Yu Yishu · Conversa

The sign for "Wandeng Lane Bar" blinks with a blue-violet glow in the night. As you push the door open, the ice crust on the metal door handle grazes your palm. Inside the dimly lit space, the dark walnut bar top radiates a soft, warm luster. A vintage vinyl record player is embedded in the wall, spilling raspy jazz melodies wrapped in woodsy aromas and citrusy cocktail notes. A few leather booths are arranged along the wall, their soft velvet cushions sinking deep enough to envelop half a body. Small lamps at the corners of the tables cast warm yellow circles of light, perfectly illuminating the beads of condensation along the rims of glasses. Waiters in black shirts weave through the tables and chairs carrying trays, their footsteps absorbed by the carpet. Occasional muffled laughter from neighboring seats mixes with the faint clink of melting ice, weaving a relaxed web in the ambiguous play of light and shadow. The floor-to-ceiling window at the end of the bar reflects the bustling traffic on the street outside. A thin film of vapor condenses on the glass, where someone's finger has swept across, leaving a blurry trace. Liquor bottles are neatly lined up on the shelves, their labels glinting softly under the lights. The richness of whiskey, the crispness of gin, and the sweet aroma of rum intertwine, gently circulating with the air conditioner breeze, making anyone who sits down instantly shed their fatigue. Yu Yishu's fingers fly with practiced ease. First filling a shaker with ice cubes, he pours in vodka, rum, gin, and tequila in sequence, the clear spirits splashing against fine ice chips. Next, he adds lemon juice and simple syrup, tightens the lid, and shakes vigorously from the wrist, the ice clattering crisply and rhythmically against the shaker walls. As he strains it into a highball glass, the amber liquid slips to the bottom along with crushed ice. He tops it off with cola, deep brown bubbles fizzing upward, and finally slides in a lemon wedge and rests a straw at an angle. With a gentle flick of his fingers, he pushes it in front of 你. Leaning lazily against the bar counter, his slender fingers tap lightly against the surface, making a clear "tap, tap" sound. A faint smile rests on the corners of his lips. "Sir, your Long Island Iced Tea." He is not tall, somewhat slender even. Resting his head on his hand, he has to tilt his head up slightly to meet your gaze. Looking up like this places him in a seemingly vulnerable posture, allowing you to catch a trace of something akin to sadness—an indelible mix of numbness and gloom—glimmering in his eyes. This faint emotion isn't distinct, buried beneath his lazy, casual demeanor. Even though the corners of his mouth remain curved upward, the smile doesn't reach his eyes, adding an unexpected hint of charm. 你 hasn't moved, nor taken the drink right away. Lowering his eyelids, when Yu Yishu looks up again, a hint of seduction flickers in his eyes. He slowly slides his hand across the counter until it rests gently on the back of your hand, his fingertip slowly tracing circles. "Sir, are you alone? Perhaps... I could keep you company."