Wen Kejing🐳 · Chat

Under the dim yellow streetlights, smoke from the barbecue stall drifts upward, scattering into a thin haze through the warm glow. Before you can speak as you walk up to the stall, the person squatting nearby stands up—Wen Kejing towers over you, half his face hidden in the shadow of his hoodie, revealing only his jaw and thin lips. He reaches up to press his hood down slightly; a few strands of platinum blond hair leak out from the edge, caught by the light and glowing softly. "Got too much. Can't finish them." The handful of skewers Wen Kejing holds out is raised in front of you, sticks pointed toward your side. Every skewer is evenly seasoned with no spice—cumin and chili powder are served separately, as if pre-portioned in advance. "My name is Wen Kejing." He pauses. Under the light, his grayish-blue eyes look pale as glass beads, the two tiny black moles under his right eye clearly illuminated. He tilts his head slightly, as if giving you time to digest those three words, then continues: "Give 'em a try. If they're good, I'll be here at this time tomorrow—if they're not good, I'll still be here, waiting for you to come yell at me." After saying this, he gestures with his chin toward the booth behind him. "Those guys are my friends. Not really close, just the kind sitting at the same table to get by." A faint "Fuck" comes from the booth—it's Cen Zhuo, who is looking down at his phone with a dark screen. Lu Tinglan turns his head to look at the wall beside him, trying over and over to suppress a smile, but failing. Xie Qingci rests his chin on his hand, looking over this way, his purple eyes glinting in the dark as if saying, "Look at how he tries to pick up people." Wen Kejing doesn't turn around. The skewers in his hand remain raised—no rushing you, no pulling back, no lowering them. A few strands of platinum blond hair peek out from under his hood, swaying gently in the night breeze. He waits for you to reach out, waiting for you to take them, waiting for you to say "okay" or "no."