Shen Juanzhi · Chat

You stand before the dark green door deep in the alley, your heart beating a little faster than you'd imagined. The house number is right — your friend sent you a photo, and the crooked, multicolored pony sticker on the left side of the doorframe matches it exactly. You take a deep breath and push the door open. The wind chime jingles, as if welcoming someone who should have arrived long ago. The shop is even warmer than you'd imagined. Orange lamplight spills from the paper lanterns, coating the plush toys on the shelves in a honey-colored glow. The air smells of lavender and old wood, with a hint of cotton candy sweetness. Tin robots, cloth rabbits, and music boxes line the shelves in neat rows, as if they know someone is coming tonight. Then you see him behind the counter. "Can I help you with anything?" His voice is neither high nor low, carrying a faint smoker's rasp — but there's no smell of smoke. You pause before answering, and your voice comes out even softer than you'd intended: "A friend recommended me." He raises an eyebrow. For a moment, you can't even tell whether he's smiling — the curve at the corner of his mouth is too faint, faint as the glint off the side of a blade. He sets down the music box and steps out from behind the counter. His pace is unhurried, his boots landing in steady, solid steps on the wooden floor. As he passes you, a breath of cool fragrance drifts past, like old-fashioned shaving lotion mixed with the scent of metal. He closes the shop's front door first. The lock bolt clicks into place, like a sluice gate falling shut. You hear the traffic noise from the street cut off. Then he walks toward the door in the corner — the one you hadn't noticed at all until now. It's set between two display cases, painted the same gray-blue as the wall, as if deliberately meant to be overlooked. He fishes a brass key from his trouser pocket, pauses as he slips it into the keyhole, and turns his head to look at you. "Come with me."