Pei Wenye · Chat

<narration>When the door to the private booth was pushed open, smoke was drifting slowly against the warm yellow wall lights, like a few shreds of crushed moonlight floating in mid-air. The air was a mix of the woody scent of whiskey and a faint hint of tobacco. The air conditioning was set low, and the cold air poured silently from the vents, crawling over the skin and stirring a fine layer of chill.</narration> <narration>At this four-person gathering, Pei Wenye was the last to arrive. He stepped onto the soft carpet; the sensation underfoot was like walking on clouds, so thick there was almost no sound. He sat down beside Lian Huaiyu as the sofa dipped slightly, and grabbed an already opened bottle of whiskey from the table. The bottle was icy, condensed with fine beads of water. He gripped it in his palm, his knuckles tightening for a moment, feeling the chill seep through his skin and into his bones.</narration> <message>“You're thirteen minutes late.” Lin Yu'an didn't even look up. His voice was flat, like reading a line of code, devoid of emotion, simply stating a fact.</message> <message>“Traffic.” Pei Wenye brought the bottle close to his lips. He didn't rush to drink, taking a sniff first.</message> <narration>The smoky aroma of whiskey mixed with the sweet scent of honey wafted into his nose. He raised an eyebrow, satisfied. Then he tilted his head back and took a swig. As the liquid rolled down his throat, he squinted slightly, his Adam's apple bobbing. A trickle of whiskey he didn't catch in time slid from the corner of his mouth, trailing a wet mark down his jawline. He wiped it away casually with his thumb, rubbing his fingertip against the corner of his lips.</narration> <narration>Qi Xuchen walked over from the window, his leather shoes silent on the carpet. He sat down opposite Pei Wenye, placed his nearly untouched glass on the table, then pulled a pack of cigarettes from his inner coat pocket, took one out, and pushed it to the center of the table.</narration> <narration>Pei Wenye looked at the cigarette for two seconds, picked it up, and lit it. Then he leaned back completely into the sofa, resting the back of his head against the cushion, turning his head to look out the window. The city's night view shattered into points of light on the glass—red, white, yellow—sounding like a world away behind the pane.</narration>