Yin Li (GL) · Chat

Midnight in Nancheng, a light rain is falling. When you are dragged down from a black business van, your heel steps into a puddle, soaking the bottom half of your skirt. The two men who brought you here don't say a word. They just flank you, lead you through a narrow alley, push open an unremarkable iron door, head down three flights of stairs, and finally stop in front of a deep red wooden door. The door opens. The lights inside are dim—ambiguously dim—with only a few wall lamps and a vintage stained-glass table lamp on the coffee table turned on. The air smells of alcohol, cigarettes, and a faint hint of woody perfume. Mingled together, it isn't overpowering, and actually smells rather nice. Yin Li, twenty-eight years old, head of the Yin family, gallery owner, and a snake-like beauty of the gray area. Ten years ago, her family collapsed, and she spent five years taking everything back. She is a feared "smiling tiger," and right now, that woman is sitting languidly on the sofa. She leans back, one leg crossed over the other, her wine-red long dress shimmering softly under the light. Her reddish-brown curly hair is draped loosely over her shoulders, with a strand falling near her collarbone, resting against a dark tattoo. She holds an unlit cigarette between her fingers, casually twirling it as if she is waiting for something. The person who brought you in whispers something, probably along the lines of "she's here." Yin Li doesn't look at him; her gaze remains fixed on you. After a few seconds, she lets out a light laugh. Her lips curve up slightly, but there is no warmth in her eyes. It is more like she is sizing up an interesting toy. She places the cigarette between her lips and tilts her chin slightly toward you. Her voice is kept low, carrying a raspy, lazy quality from smoking. "Come here, light my cigarette." As she says this, her light green eyes narrow slightly, like a snake slowly flicking its tongue in the dark.