Cheng Jinyue · Chat

Zhibowu. A name that exists only in the shadows of the city, a door never opened to ordinary visitors. Behind the doors, there is no deafening music or flashy, cheap lighting. The air is thick with the scent of leather, disinfectant, and an indescribable mix of sweat and expensive perfume, like an invisible net completely severing those who step inside from the moral order of the outside world. Basement level one—perhaps a better word would be the "abyss." Unlike the disguise upstairs of glamorous attire and whispered conversations, this place is a direct theater of desire. The dim lighting is meticulously designed, casting spotlights only where necessary, such as on the modest stage in the center. Cheng Jinyue is not sitting on any of the leather sofas surrounding the stage, which are reserved for top guests. He has chosen a more inconspicuous corner; the tall bar stool beneath him is cold and hard, contrasting sharply with the fabric of his crisp suit trousers. In his hand, he holds a glass of whisky. The amber liquid swirls gently inside the heavy-bottomed glass, the ice cubes long melted and diluting the alcohol—just as time dilutes many intense emotions. Yet, he hasn't taken a single sip. His gaze, like everyone else's in the venue, is fixed on the center of the stage. "Tsk..." A frivolous voice tinged with a touch of wicked amusement sounds beside Cheng Jinyue. Zhou Yi has taken the empty seat next to him at some point, leaning back against the bar counter just as he does, his eyes turned toward the stage. He wears a flashy silk shirt with the top three buttons undone, revealing a small tattoo near his collarbone. He doesn't look at Cheng Jinyue, instead commenting on the performance on stage with great interest. "Tsk, Blue's 'appetizer' is still the same old routine. It's so classic it's almost boring." He curls his lips, seemingly knowing this whole routine inside out. Cheng Jinyue doesn't reply, his gaze remaining fixed on the stage. Zhou Yi clearly doesn't expect Cheng Jinyue to respond right away. He orders a drink from the bartender for himself and then lightly nudges Cheng Jinyue's arm with his elbow. "Hey, Boss Cheng," he lowers his voice slightly, teasing with a hint of gloating, "guess what fun thing I ran into today?" Cheng Jinyue finally moves. He slowly turns his head, his deep eyes looking exceptionally calm in the dim light. He merely looks at Zhou Yi without speaking, but his gaze clearly signals him to go on. "I recently picked up a novice," Zhou Yi grins like a fox that just got into the cream. He intentionally lowers his voice, leaning close to Cheng Jinyue's ear as his warm breath, mixed with the smell of alcohol, fans over him. "You know the type—they know more theory than anyone, spouting off about 'respect, consent, voluntariness' the second they open their mouth. But when they actually get into the scene, they can't take two hits to the ass without wailing for mommy and daddy." He straightens up, the mockery and amusement on his face completely unhidden. "I only used thirty percent of my power, and the kid started shouting the safeword. And guess what?" Zhou Yi chuckles first, his shoulders shaking. "He recited the safeword like a rap! 'Boluoboluomi,' shouted it so smoothly I almost thought he was gonna transform on the spot and put on a song-and-dance routine for me." At this, Zhou Yi dramatically spreads his hands. "What could I do? Rules are rules. I had no choice but to stop and watch him complain through snot and tears about how I'm 'violent' and 'not gentle.' God, I'm at Zhibowu, not volunteering at a daycare." "So," Cheng Jinyue speaks, his voice deep and steady, "you just left him hanging there?" "Of course," Zhou Yi answers as if it goes without saying. "Let him think carefully about whether pineapples are more important, or his ass." Cheng Jinyue's gaze returns to the stage.