Gu Qinghe · Chat

Past ten at night, the last table of guests at Qingchen Diner had just left, and I was still wiping down the stove in the kitchen. My phone vibrated in my apron pocket. It buzzed three or four times in a row, but I didn't check it. Only after wiping my hands dry did I pull it out—messages from Gu Qinghe. A location pin, followed by two texts. Gu Qinghe: "Get over here and pick me up." Gu Qinghe: "You have thirty minutes." I replied: "Busy." She immediately initiated a voice call, but I didn't answer. Then the messages began flooding in. After three or four texts, they turned into voice notes, one right after another. I played one, and she was cursing me out. Her voice wasn't loud, but every word had barbs on it, cutting deep with every syllable. I leaned against the stove listening, occasionally tossing back a "Mm" or "Oh," each time prompting her to crank her volume up another notch a second later. She chewed me out for about three minutes before abruptly stopping. After a dozen seconds, a new voice note arrived. I opened it, and her tone had suddenly softened, sounding like an entirely different person. Background music and the clink of glasses drifted through the audio. She said she had been drinking, her head felt a little heavy, the club was too noisy, and she wanted some soup. Me: "How much did you drink?" Gu Qinghe: "I told you to come over, not interrogate me." I typed: "Send a photo so I can see." She didn't text back; she went straight to a video call. I answered. On the screen, she was leaning back against the couch of a private booth, her hair loose, wearing a black satin dress. The line from her collarbone down to her neckline was illuminated clearly under the ambient light. She squinted at me for two seconds and said, "You haven't left yet?" Me: "I'm mopping the floor." Gu Qinghe: "Walk out the door right this second, and I'll forgive you." Me: "Forgive me for what?" Gu Qinghe: "You ignored me all day today. Do you think I'm that easy to brush off?" Before I could reply, she hung up. Then WeChat chimed again. She had sent a photo—taken from a high angle, the skirt pulled up to her thigh, the heel of her shoe hooked over the edge of the sofa, a delicate chain around her ankle. I looked at it for a few seconds and typed back: "Not bad." Gu Qinghe: "When you get here, I'll let you look all you want. Don't even think about leaving until you've had your fill." I slipped the phone back into my pocket, turned off the kitchen lights, and locked up the diner. The secondhand car had been sitting at the mouth of the alley for a while; it took three tries for the engine to catch. Just as I was about to turn out of the alley, the phone rang again. This time, it was Lin Nian. She was on video too, leaning against her headboard wearing a grey silk camisole, holding a steaming mug. The bedside lamp cast a warm yellow glow. Her hair fell down the side of her face, making her look like she had just crawled out from under the covers, yet her eyes were completely alert. Lin Nian: "She called me. Said you haven't left yet." Me: "I'm on the road." Lin Nian: "She said you didn't reply to her messages today, so she created a memo with your name in it. Said she's going to review your offenses every single weekend from now on." I let out a faint laugh. "She reviews them every week anyway. One more won't make a difference." Lin Nian brought the cup to her lips and took a sip, leaving a white rim around her mouth. She slowly licked it away with the tip of her tongue, then tilted her head to look at me. "She said if you take her home safely tonight, she'll delete the memo." Me: "Did she say take her to her home safely, or bring her back to mine safely?" Lin Nian: "You'll have to ask yourself that. But big sister will give you a tip—she's downed more than half a bottle of Martell. You know her tolerance; this amount is right where she can still walk, but her head's already spinning. Watch what you say." Me: "When have I ever watched what I say?" Lin Nian: "You always do. You just never admit it." She set her cup down, leaned her face closer to the screen, and softened her voice, letting a playful lilt trail at the end: "When she called me just now, she asked me—does he not want me anymore? I told her no, you were mopping. She asked if mopping was more important than her. I told her to ask you. She said she didn't dare." Me: "You lied to her." Lin Nian: "I didn't. You really were mopping. Big sister just didn't tell her that you were smiling the entire time you were doing it." I told her I wasn't smiling. She tilted her head and stared at me for a few seconds, the corners of her lips slowly curving up. "You were. Your eyes narrow every time you read her messages. I've watched you do it plenty of times. You might fool her, but you can't fool me." I didn't reply. She didn't press further either, only picking up her cup again to take another sip before murmuring softly, "Go on. She's been waiting for you for a long time. Drive carefully." I hung up the call and merged onto the main thoroughfare of Zhujiang New Town. The penthouse club at the top of the tower had dim lighting, with jazz music pressing low against the air. I spotted her immediately—still wearing the black satin dress from the video, one high heel dangling from her foot and the other kicked under the coffee table, sitting in the corner booth with a bottle of Martell nearly drained in front of her. I walked over, pretending I was just passing by, and glanced down at her. "Well, well. Isn't this the young miss? Drinking your sorrows away all by yourself?" Gu Qinghe looked up and saw me, freezing for a brief moment. Then she stood up and swung a slap right across my face. I didn't dodge, and my cheek stung hot. Nearby patrons turned to look, then quickly looked away. I turned to walk off, but she grabbed my wrist in an instant—her fingers were ice cold, but her grip was surprisingly tight. Me: "Let go first. I promise not to run." She released her grip. I bolted immediately. Behind me came a sharp curse, followed by the clicking sound of high heels giving chase. Those d'Orsay stilettos had no ankle straps; running in them relied entirely on toe grip. Within a few strides, one shoe went flying, followed by the other. Barefoot, she caught up and yanked back hard on the hood of my sweatshirt. I was dragged back into the booth. She raised her hand again, and when the slap landed this time, it carried barely half the force, though it was still loud. She stood panting in front of me, her satin dress wrinkled from running, hair disheveled against her face, barefoot on the cold marble floor while the delicate chain on her ankle swayed. She glanced down at her bare feet and said, "Go fetch my shoes." I walked over, retrieved both heels, and held them out to her. She didn't take them, extending her right foot slightly instead. Gu Qinghe: "Put them on for me." Me: "Are your hands broken?" Gu Qinghe raised her hand and struck me with another slap. Once she finished, she said, "I waited a whole month to get these shoes. You made me run all over the club in them today, and now you won't even put them on for me?" Me: "You're right." With that, I gripped both shoes, swung my arm, and sent one flying behind a potted plant while the other slammed against the empty bar counter, bouncing once before dropping to the floor. Gu Qinghe stared in the direction where the shoes had flown, falling silent for several seconds. Then she turned to look at me and raised her hand once more—but when the slap came down, there was practically no strength left behind it, as if she only realized she had completely run out of energy after completing the motion. The rims of her eyes turned red. Biting her lower lip, she looked at me for two seconds without uttering another word. Then she went to pick up the shoes herself, fishing one out from behind the potted plant and retrieving the other from beneath the bar. She walked back to the booth, sat down, and bent over to slip on each shoe, one by one. The hem of her dress swayed slightly as she leaned down, and she tugged it back into place with an offhand motion before straightening up and looking at me. Gu Qinghe: "Sit down. Drink with me."