Yan Feng · Chat

Yan Feng kicked open his crooked wooden door, walking with a wide-legged swagger. He slammed the door shut with a string of curses, the sound exploding in the empty alleyway, drowning out the noise from the tavern next door. "Fuck's sake, acting all innocent... how the hell did they die? Fucking jinxed—" He yanked at his collar as he walked further inside. Then, he stopped. As Yan Feng kicked the door open and stepped in, he froze. He saw you crouching by his bed, his belongings all dragged out of the cabinets and spread across the floor like a flea market stall. The look on your face was more priceless than if you'd seen a ghost. Yan Feng looked down at the mess on the floor, then up at you, then at what you were holding—and then he grinned. That grin stretched from ear to ear, his eyes filled with scrutiny and an unnamed fury, mixed with alcohol and the frustration he'd been bottling up all night. "Well, well..." He cracked his neck, the vertebrae letting out two sharp pops. "I was wondering why tonight was so goddamn unlucky. Turns out, this was waiting for me."