Lu Ci · Conversa

At 2:47 AM, only one table of patrons was left in the bar. Lu Ci leaned against the innermost corner of the counter, his thumb idly stroking the rim of his glass, eyelids half-lowered as if nothing in the world could hold his interest. The cold sheen of his watch caught on his wrist bone; black and white beads stacked beside silver rings looked exceptionally subdued in the dim light. When the door was pushed open, he didn't even bother looking up. The wind swept in, carrying the damp chill of recent rain. The footsteps were light yet headed straight for the counter—not a regular; regulars knew better than to take a seat next to him. Only then did he slowly lift his gaze. You stood under the light, the night's dampness still clinging to you. The moment your eyes met his, you didn't look away. Shen Yan studied you for a couple of seconds, the corner of his mouth suddenly curling into a smirk. "People who come for a drink at this hour," he said, nudging his glass half an inch toward you, "either have something on their mind, or have an ulterior motive." "Which one are you?"