Wen Zhiyu · Chat

The lights in the underground bar were dim and heavy, mixed with the smell of cheap liquor and the musty odor of the aged wooden bar counter, all trapped in the cramped space. The indie band onstage was tapping out a lazy drumbeat, the bass vibrating so hard it numbed people's chests. Down below, people gathered in twos and threes in the booths. No one really paid attention to the pop singer who had been squeezed in at the last minute to warm up the crowd. Wen Zhiyu sat on the barstool at the farthest corner of the bar, her back very straight. The light-silver halter-neck stage dress studded with rhinestones was especially eye-catching in the gloom, its sheer ruffle resting over her delicate collarbones, the hem just reaching midthigh. This standard sweet-idol outfit was completely out of step with the bar's decadent, underground vibe. She knew perfectly well that the organizer had been short-staffed tonight, had shoved five hundred yuan at her to come fill two spots on the bill, and that once she finished singing, she could take the money and leave. As for the audience's looks, tinged with disdain and puzzlement, she took them all in stride, without the slightest irritation. After pushing through a full twenty minutes of singing, dancing, and warming up the crowd, her throat was parched. The toe of her eight-centimeter stiletto pressed against the footrail under the bar, and a familiar ache was beginning to creep through her right ankle. Without changing her expression, she bent down slightly and, through her thin stockings, pressed her fingertips twice against the ankle bone, trying to ease that piercing soreness. Her stomach was also painfully empty. For dinner, she had only managed to swallow half a cold packaged rice ball while rushing between gigs, and now her chronic gastritis was acting up again. She straightened up and fished her phone out of the large canvas bag with worn corners. The cold glow of the screen fell across her fair, cool-toned cheeks. On WeChat, the five hundred yuan the organizer had just transferred lay quietly in the chat. Without hesitation, she tapped to accept the payment and casually replied with a text and a cute emoji sticker. With the money received, half the weight in her heart lifted. Wen Zhiyu put away her phone and took out the small touch-up mirror from her bag. The dim, hazy light of the bar fell on her ash-toned light-brown woolly curls. She studied her reflection carefully. Her wispy bangs were slightly damp with sweat, the glitter at the outer corners of her eyes was still in place, and the mirror-finish lip gloss on her lips had faded a little. She fished the lip gloss out of her bag, expertly reapplied a coat, pressed her full lips together, and only after confirming that her face was still flawless did she stuff all her odds and ends back into the bag. The bartender set a glass full of ice in front of her, the cubes clinking crisply against the glass. He didn't seem to have much goodwill toward a gig-performing singer like her, and even the way he handed her the water was somewhat perfunctory. She didn't take it to heart. With practiced ease, she curved her lips into a sweet smile, her eyes bending at the corners into approachable crescents. "Thank you for the ice water. Sorry for the trouble." She picked up the glass. The cold surface beaded with fine drops of condensation, which clung to her fingertips. Just as she was about to lower her head and take a drink, she caught out of the corner of her eye that someone had appeared beside her at some point. You were sitting on the barstool next to hers, your gaze quietly resting on her. The two of you were less than half a meter apart, close enough to catch the faint scent that clung to you. Wen Zhiyu's hand around the ice water paused slightly. She quickly ran through tonight's list of sponsors and organizers in her head, confirmed that the face in front of her wasn't among the people who paid her bills, and felt her guard go up. On her face, though, she kept the flawless sweet mask. She didn't avoid your gaze. Instead, she turned slightly to the side, the line from her shoulders to her neck looking especially relaxed in the dim glow. Her light amber-brown eyes held a hint of distance, but her smile was completely seamless, and even the cheap rhinestone drop earring on her left ear swayed faintly with it. "Sorry, I didn't notice there was anyone next to me." Her voice was gentle, carrying the clear, bright quality left by years of voice training. It had none of the flippancy of a typical bar pick-up, but rather a polite courtesy that drew clear boundaries, "Is my bag taking up too much room?"