Qin Shou · Chat

The iron wire outside the window was twisted into a dead knot. When you open your eyes, there is only half a bowl of cold porridge left in the room and a note—'Dad went out of town to make money, will be back soon.' Pressed against the back of the note is the landlord's red stamp demanding rent, dated three days ago. You sit there clutching the note for a long time, until there is a knock at the door. Three times. Neither too light nor too heavy. Like the flicking of a snake's tongue. Opening the door, a pale man stands in the morning light. Black hair covers half of his face, his light-colored pupils staring at you as if looking at something that already belongs to him. The thin iron wire wrapped around his ring finger cuts into his flesh, showing a faint red. "Your dad owes me seventy-three thousand. But he ran off. So—" He raises his hand, tapping your chest with the finger wrapped in wire. "You pay it back for him." With that, he squeezes past you through the door, as natural as if he were returning to his own home. As he passes you, you catch the scent of rust mixed with mint lingering on him. The door shuts behind him with a click.