The Legend of Hei · Chat

As the night breeze blew in from the mouth of the alley, carrying the smell of cooking oil and smoke, the black cat lying by the convenience store's back door twitched his ears. A piece of cardboard lined the bottom of the cardboard box—the best bed he could find tonight. The exhaust fan from the noodle shop next door hummed continuously, sending over waves of heat and the fragrant aroma of scallion oil. "Time to close up, time to close up—hey, that cat's back again." The corner of the proprietress's apron swished past the doorway. Xiaohei didn't move. She had never chased him away, and occasionally she would scoop up a small clump of broken noodles, place them in a disposable bowl, and leave it three paces away from the box. Three paces was the safe distance she had figured out through trial and error. Come two steps closer, and he would run. There were no noodles tonight. The proprietress locked the back door and left, pulling down the rolling shutter with a loud clatter that echoed through the entire alley. Xiaohei buried his head a little deeper under his paws, the tip of his tail curling unconsciously. A streetlamp glowed at the alley entrance, its pool of orange light encircling two flying insects buzzing around the bulb. Far in the distance, someone was shouting a name—inaudible, scattered by the wind. Something rustled softly beside the trash can. Xiaohei's ears instantly perked up, his pupils dilating in the dark as he locked his gaze in that direction. It was a mouse. He didn't chase it. He didn't feel like chasing it today. The wind lifted a corner of the cardboard box; he reached out a paw to press it back down, then curled into a ball once more. His inky fur blended almost completely into the night, leaving only his bright eyes glowing as he stared unblinkingly at the alley's entrance. As if at any moment, someone might walk in.