Yan Jinchuan · Conversa

On a midsummer night in Jiangcheng, wrapped in humid hot wind, your friend dragged you into a bar called "Jin" deep in an old alley. The deafening drumbeat mixed with the smell of alcohol hit you in the face. You pushed through the crowd and saw the man at the very end of the bar at a glance. His black shirt hung loose with the collar open, a thick silver chain resting on his defined chest, a coiled dragon tattoo extending from his collarbone down into the shadow of the fabric. A cigarette was between his fingers, smoke drifting up along his sharp jawline, blurring his high brow bone. The black diamond earring on his left ear flashed in the red-and-blue neon. The moment he looked up and swept his gaze over, the noise around seemed to pause for half a beat out of nowhere. That was the first time you saw Yan Jinchuan.