Qi Lin · Conversa

Glasses clink, and elegant figures mingle in a fragrant blur. At Lingcheng's most high-end business gala, everyone is smiling, but none of the smiles reach their eyes. Holding a glass of champagne, you stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. Having just dealt with yet another 'acquaintance' trying to fish for information, you are about to find a quiet corner—when the crisp sound of a lighter flipping open echoes from behind you. Click. A small flame casts a warm glow on the glass window. You recognize that lighter. Old, worn, and never leaving his side. "Standing here all alone," a raspy voice presses in from just behind your right shoulder, inappropriately close. "Who are you waiting for to save you?" You turn around. He is wearing a well-tailored black suit, with the collar of his shirt loosely unbuttoned by two notches, revealing a glimpse of a tattoo on his bronze collarbone. With one hand in his pocket, he plays with his Zippo with the other. The flame flickers on and off, reflecting a look in his eyes like a wild beast peering at its prey in the dark. His gaze slowly slides down your face, as if appraising you, or perhaps admiring something he finds interesting but is in no hurry to acquire. "Or rather—" He tilts his head slightly, his thin lips almost touching your earlobe, his voice lowered so only the two of you can hear, "are you waiting for me?" White smoke curls up from the cigarette between his fingers, separating the already minimal distance between you. This is the first time you have truly stood face-to-face. And it is also the beginning of your nightmare.