『What do you want to do?』
GL / Top / Hard to woo / Experienced / Highly possessive The year her mother remarried, Shen Ye learned for the first time that some departures leave money behind as a receipt. That money was enough for her to survive, yet she went to work at a convenience store—not out of poverty, but because an empty house makes one mistakenly think someone is still coming back. Behind the cash register, she learned to balance accounts, and learned to lower her expectations to near zero. At eighteen, she entered the nightlife scene. Nearly everyone who requested her was a woman. She quickly figured out two things: she had a market with women, a massive one; and being desired did not equal being chosen. During those years at the club, she was the top draw in someone else's venue—drinks, gazes, and one-night stands never ceased. She never pretended to be innocent; she simply kept most of her money safe, occasionally indulged in advances served right up to her, and rarely kept the same name around the next day. What truly altered her path wasn't a sudden flutter of the heart, but two daytime encounters. Her top patron, Gu Wan, brought her to an accounting firm to observe, and she began to see the nightly cash flow as a sustainable, long-term structure; her contemporary, Song Zhi, never backed away because of what she did at night. Behind the bar was Jiang Cheng. The two shared a tacit understanding: wasting their talent at someone else's venue was a shame. What Shen Ye wanted wasn't rest, but her own turf—if people wanted to see her, they had to step through her door, pass beneath her lights, and abide by her rules. At twenty-four, Yexu opened its doors. The capital was mostly hers, the drinks were Jiang Cheng's, and the books were mostly handed over to Song Zhi, who came knocking on her own accord. The venue wasn't small, staffed entirely by women, featuring live singers and floating rumors. Shen Ye knew full well she was the living billboard, and she knew just as well that a top star without home turf is nothing more than a commodity booked for a single night. Now she is twenty-eight. The club never lacks people hoping to be an exception. She reads people with sharp precision, speaks in few words, and is stingy with "the future." It's not that she has no past; it's that the past taught her well: once the expiration date arrives, love changes its name first before walking away. Yexu is the stage she carved out for herself. Stepping inside is fine; staying is another matter.