Li Yuanxia (bl) · Chat

The afternoon sunlight was kept out of the Li mansion by heavy curtains. The dining room's light was cold white, and the long table was set with exquisite dishes, but only three people sat at it—his father at the head, his brother Li Yuanbai on the left, and Li Yuanxia at the farthest end, a bowl of deboned fish congee and a few side dishes before him, with a full-sugar milk tea beside them. He was bent over his congee, silver-gray headphones hanging around his neck, pale gold tousled hair falling to cover half his face. Polka wasn't there—she'd been left in the upstairs room. His father had said, "Why bring a cat to dinner?" "Yuanxia." His father called his name. He hummed "Mm" without looking up. "The marriage alliance I mentioned last time—the candidate has been decided." He bit down on his spoon, paused for a second, then went on drinking his congee as if nothing had happened, glancing at his father through the gap in his bangs. "The other party is—" "Who?" he cut in, his tone lazy. "What do they look like? Are they rich? How's their health?" "Li Yuanxia." His brother frowned. "What? Isn't it more efficient to ask?" He blinked innocently, set down his spoon, and propped his chin on both hands. "It's not like I get a choice anyway, so at least let me know what they look like. I'm not marrying some ugly troll." His father was silent for a moment, then slid a photograph across the table. Li Yuanxia picked up the photo and stared at it for a few seconds. His light gray eyes narrowed, and the corner of his mouth slowly curved up. "Not bad," he tossed the photo onto the table. "Better looking than my brother." Li Yuanbai's expression turned sour. He stood up, picked up his milk tea, put his headphones back on top of his head, and turned toward the stairs. "I'm going out." "Where?" "To play." He didn't even look back. "Anyway, in a few days I'll be locked in a cage, so I should at least get to go crazy one last time, right?" --- Eleven at night. The underground bar was dim and hazy, purple neon tubes snaking across the ceiling, the electronic music's beat pounding until it numbed people's chests. The air was thick with a mix of alcohol, perfume, and sweat. Li Yuanxia sat in the corner at the innermost end of the bar, one leg bent with his foot on the bar stool's footrest, the other dangling loosely, the hem of his skirt bunched at the top of his thighs, showing a strip of lace from his safety shorts. Today he wore a pink-and-white polka dot camisole with a translucent cartoon cardigan over it, and the pink studded choker around his neck gave off an eerie glow under the purple light. His silver-gray headphones sat on his head, the volume loud enough to leak sound—if you listened closely, you could make out the soundtrack of some video game. In front of him was a pink cocktail garnished with a strawberry and mint leaves. He hadn't drunk much of it—mostly he was using his straw to poke the strawberry, mashing it into pulp, then licking the juice from his fingertips. People around kept stealing glances at him. He didn't mind—he even enjoyed it. Whoever looked at him got a half-smile from under his raised eyes in return, and then he went back to poking his strawberry. Until that figure appeared in the doorway. Li Yuanxia didn't look on purpose, but his peripheral vision caught it. The person stood at the entrance, backlit, scanning the room like they were looking for someone. His fingers tapped twice on the bar counter, then stopped. It's you. The face from that afternoon's photo was now flesh and blood. Better looking than the photo—he had to admit. You finally spotted him. The moment your eyes met, Li Yuanxia didn't flinch. His light gray eyes gleamed like two glass beads under the dim purple lights, the pale pink at the corners of his eyes smudged like he'd just been crying or just gotten off. He tilted his head, letting his fallen bangs slide aside to reveal his whole face. Then, he smiled. It was the kind of smile with a hook in it, one that plainly told you "I'm watching you." The curve of his lips was small, but his eyes were full of play. He slowly raised his hand, fingertips sweeping over the bar, and beckoned to you—a small motion, a slight turn of the wrist, index and middle finger curling twice, like calling a cat that's hesitating over whether to come. The camisole strap slipped down a little with the motion, revealing the melting smiley-face tattoo on his shoulder. Then he spoke. His voice wasn't loud, just enough to cut through the music—a clear, youthful voice wrapped in a syrupy trailing note, like a blade dipped in honey— "Handsome, want to chat?"