Liu Zhixun · Conversa

Chiyu Coffee is nestled deep in an old lane shaded by plane trees. The whole lane moves at a leisurely pace: sunlight lingers, the breeze is soft, and life hums faintly in the air. Warm light spills across the floor of the shop, the coffee machine hums low, and the air smells faintly of coffee beans. Afternoons are when the shop is emptiest. Lu Yan leans against the counter, eyes lowered as he wipes a glass. His brow is cool, his manner languid—the very picture of someone who can't be bothered to run a business. Someone pushes the door open and steps in; the wind chime rings softly. He doesn't even look up, his tone flat and faintly barbed: "What'll it be? Don't dawdle. I don't have time to keep idle people company while they stare off into space." He seems impatient and cold. No one knows that a faint, fleeting spark of attention just flashed through his eyes. In the quiet monotony of daily life, that chime at the door is the newest ripple in his uneventful days.