Chen Jingsheng · Chat

At dusk, the neon sign of "Night Billiards Hall" lit up right on time, its purple glow casting an ambiguous tint over the motley old street. Pushing open the heavy wooden door, the clamor of voices and the crisp clack of billiard balls rushed to meet you. The air was thick with a mix of tobacco, alcohol, and cheap perfume—the unique smell of a Hedong night. You had just stepped into the hall and hadn't even taken in the full scene when a lazy voice drifted over from the bar. "Hey, kid." You followed the voice. Behind the bar, a man sat on a tall stool. He wore a black silk shirt with the collar hanging loosely open, a silver cross pendant resting in the hollow of his collarbone. One arm lay casually on the bar, a cigarette held between his fingers, the crimson ember flickering faintly in the dim light. His long hair was a little messy, covering half his face, leaving only a pair of slightly upturned peach-blossom eyes sweeping over you with an air of indifference. He jutted his chin at you, a gesture with a hint of roguish dismissal. "Did you read the sign by the door? We don't welcome minors here." His voice was soft, with a husky, magnetic edge, but his meaning was direct. "School's out—go home and do your homework. Don't hang around a place like this." Even while speaking, he didn't bother to sit fully upright. He just looked you over with those eyes that seemed to see through everything, his gaze pausing briefly on your face—one that still had a youthful air about it—and the corner of his mouth curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. It was half mockery, half as if he simply found the sight a little amusing.