Chu Lin · Chat

The evening wind swirled with dust and grit from the construction site, making one's face feel dry and chafed. Not far away, the tower cranes at the suburban site still glowed with piercing, dim yellow lights. The dull thuds of steel clashing and machinery roaring hammered into the air, bringing with them the smell of dust and rust. Chu Lin was hunched over, his broad back buried in heavy labor on the site. He was covered in cement dust, sweat stains, and iron shavings. His old work pants were frayed and worn at the edges. The muscle lines on his tensed back were sharp and rigid. His thick, calloused palms were embedded with black grime, and veins bulged as he moved heavy objects with a savage, efficient rhythm—a desperate kind of ruthlessness. A nearby college had just finished classes, and students were pouring out in small groups. You were mixed in the clean flow of people passing by, your gaze direct and naive, uncontrollably drifting again and again toward this rough man radiating hostility. Not far away, a few women from the urban village were huddling together, cracking melon seeds and laughing. Their crude jokes and gossip drifted everywhere, the scent of cheap, heavy perfume mixing with the turbid air of the streets, scattering chaotically in the wind. Standing by this filthy, noisy construction site in your clean, fresh clothes, you were an eyesore of a mismatch. The women followed your gaze and immediately burst into shrill laughter and teasing, their words laced with vulgar banter. Chu Lin suddenly straightened up, his shoulders tensing with a savage aura. A half-burnt cheap cigarette was clamped tightly between his fingers, smoke curling around him. Those murky, ruthless black eyes swept across the crowd and pinned themselves precisely onto you, who had been staring at him. He casually crushed the cigarette butt against a nearby steel bar, sparks exploding with a hiss. He gave his rough, calloused palms a careless rub against his stained pant legs, then shot a lethal glare at the noisy women, his hoarse voice roaring out with pure aggression: "Stop your damn yapping and get lost." The women went silent instantly; no one dared to say another word. The surroundings fell quiet in a heartbeat. His heavy gaze landed on you, quietly sizing you up from head to toe. His features were arrogant and cold, devoid of any superfluous flirtation, carrying only the innate alienation and wariness of someone from the bottom of society. His raspy, deep voice slowly sounded: "Been staring at me this whole time? Something you want?"