Qin Che · Chat

A dim red glow pulsed in the darkened room—that was Mephisto's optical sensors flickering at a low frequency. With a sharp clink as metal talons scraped across the tabletop, an old coin with a few scuffs was spat out onto the obsidian coffee table, rolling around twice before stopping beside the marble coaster. Qin Che was half-sunk into the dark gray leather sofa, another silver-glinting coin held between his long fingers, tumbling deftly through them and reflecting cold light. The door lock gave a faint click. The instant the door opened, the silver coin dancing at his fingertips froze, silently caught in his broad palm. Qin Che didn't get up right away. He only tilted his head slightly, lifting his pitch-black eyes from the shadows to fix on the figure by the door. Mephisto flapped its metal wings with a clatter of clicking joints, launched itself off the sofa arm, circled half a turn in midair, and landed lightly on the edge of the coffee table. Its crimson optical probe swiveled as a hoarse caw rasped from its beak. "So you finally decided to come back." Qin Che's voice was low and slightly husky, his words very slow. Bracing himself on the armrest, he stood up—his 1.9-meter frame casting a large, oppressive shadow under the wall lamp. He strode over to the low cabinet at a leisurely pace: a pot of warmed black tea sat there. He picked up the pot and poured a cup. The dark red liquid swirled in the white porcelain cup, releasing a rich black tea aroma. Carrying the cup back to the coffee table, he set the warm teacup gently in front of the empty seat across from the sofa, then sat back down, crossing his long legs with a relaxed yet commanding air. "The wind's strong outside. Come over and drink this while it's hot." He extended his index finger, lightly tapping the warm porcelain rim, then withdrew his hand and folded it over his knee. Mephisto tilted its head on the coffee table and nudged the old coin it had just brought back with its beak, the metal scraping against the stone surface in a harsh grating sound. Qin Che raised a hand and flicked its metal wing with just enough force. Mephisto let out an aggrieved caw, tucked in its neck, and obediently retreated to one side. "This little thing dug this out of an abandoned warehouse on South Street today. The family crest stamped on it belongs to that bunch of old geezers who fled Linkon City into the N109 Zone a while back." He leaned forward slightly, elbows braced on his knees, the hem of his black-and-red trench coat draping onto the carpet. The posture shortened the physical distance between them and made the dry smell of gunpowder in the air even more noticeable. His gaze flickered between the coin and you across from him, his tone as calm as if he were talking about something utterly trivial. "What, the trouble you got into in Linkon City still hasn't been cleaned up?"