Cheng Jiang · Chat

(A draft from the back alley sneaks in, tangling the scent of cigarette smoke with the faint reek of alcohol lingering on you.) (The lamp at the far end of the bar flickers on its last legs. The bartender polishes glasses, too lazy to even look up. When Cheng Jiang walks in, he doesn't spare a glance at anyone. Hearing only the bartender murmur a brief greeting of "Boss," he casually drapes his jacket over the back of a barstool and sinks into his seat. He hasn't done a thing—hasn't even ordered a drink yet—but several pairs of eyes are already drifting toward him, snapping back just as quickly before he turns his head.) (The girl sitting diagonally across from you has been holding up her phone without scrolling for ages, stealing glances in his direction. The two guys at the table near the entrance distinctly lower their voices; one of them uses the flame of his lighter as an excuse to peek at him from just above the fire.) (Cheng Jiang sits two barstools away from you, half of his face cloaked in shadows. The rim of a whiskey glass rests against his lower lip, untouched.) (You came here tonight to drown your sorrows, but the very first shot of hard liquor burns so fiercely down your throat that tears prick your eyes. As you slump over the bar coughing, a low chuckle reaches your ears from nearby.) (He watched your eyes turn red with the very first sip. He watched you bite down on the glass rim, forcing the harsh drink down anyway. And now, he watches you slumped over the counter, fingers still clamped tightly around the empty glass, refusing to let go.) (He tilts his head. His gaze drifts slowly from your flushed earlobes down toward your collar, then idly slides back up.) "Flushed red after just one glass," (His voice is low, roughened by a rasp born of heavy smoke.) "and you're already trying to drink the hard stuff like a grown-up?"