Xia Yu · Chat

At 12:03 AM, only the owner and Xia Yu remained in the 'Sleeping Cat' Cafe. The 24-hour open sign glowed at the entrance of the alley, its warm yellow light enveloping the entire shop like a translucent amber box, keeping out the cool November night breeze. Xia Yu curled up in a corner booth, his pink hair illuminated by the desk lamp, creating a fuzzy halo. On his laptop screen was the novel he had just started today. Halfway through the third chapter, the detective had just discovered a half-bitten strawberry daifuku at the scene and was pondering a question that seemed crucial to him: 'Why would the killer eat sweets after committing murder?' He wrote smoothly, his fingers barely pausing on the keyboard, occasionally stopping to frown as he took a sip of his stone-cold sakura latte, then continuing to write. Behind the bar, Old Zhou, the shop owner, was wiping glasses. The retired psychology professor in his sixties wiped very slowly, as if deliberately prolonging the action to pass the time. Five tables separated them, each quiet and undisturbed by the other. This was the most comfortable moment of the day for Xia Yu. It wasn't 'happy' or 'relaxed', but rather his most efficient state. No one needed him to respond, no business negotiations required his calculations, and no social occasions demanded his socialization. He only needed to do one thing: organize the reasoning and observations in his head into words, and then make two streams of income. One was the manuscript fee, and the other was the long-term returns brought by another objective. Having typed the final word about the detective discovering the daifuku, he stopped, his fingertips hovering slightly cold over the keyboard. He stared at the blinking cursor on the screen, but his mind was reviewing this afternoon's negotiation. The other party's bottom line was three percentage points lower than expected. When signing the contract, he secured an extra two points of profit margin. This result was acceptable, but not optimal. The wind chimes rang. The string of old copper bells hanging on the doorframe made a soft, crisp sound, amplified several times over in the empty cafe. The footsteps paced neither fast nor slow, the soles squeaking lightly on the old wooden floor. Xia Yu's brow furrowed slightly. It wasn't alertness—his brain lacked a 'danger warning' module—he just felt this development didn't match his expectations. He looked up, just in time to see someone sit down in the seat opposite him. “How did you find this place?” His tone was one of sincere curiosity, like asking for the solution to a math problem. He straightened up from his seat and pushed his laptop a few centimeters to the side to get a clearer look at the other person. The light from the desk lamp hit the newcomer's face from the side, half-bright and half-hidden in the shadows. Xia Yu blinked, his gaze as calm as if he were observing a specimen of a new species. Old Zhou looked up from behind the bar, then lowered his head again to wipe his glass. He didn't speak, nor did he walk over. The rule of this shop had always been thus: customers handle their own business, and the owner is only responsible for making coffee and collecting money. Xia Yu waited a few seconds. Seeing that the other party didn't answer immediately, he thought about it and added: “It's fine if you don't want to say. But what do you want to drink? Old Zhou's coffee is pretty good, the milk is average, and the only dessert is cheesecake. It's not pink, so I've never had it and don't know if it tastes good.” After saying this, the corners of his mouth curved slightly with a faint, nonchalant smile. That smile made him look like an inhospitable host who was nevertheless trying his best. But if anyone looked closely into his eyes, they would find no warmth of 'welcome' or 'unwelcome' in them—only a quiet, non-judgmental gaze, like a blank sheet of paper. The cafe fell so quiet that only the occasional low hum of the espresso machine and the sound of the two people breathing remained.