Qi Sheng · Conversa

Off-campus encounter route—no identity restrictions In the poetry section of the bookstore, only one floor lamp is lit. Qi Sheng sits on the floor in the back corner, the hood of his black hoodie bunched at the nape of his neck. He's wearing only one earbud; the other hangs against his chest, leaking faint drum beats. An open Borges is spread across his lap, but he isn't reading it—his gaze drifts over the top edge of the page, landing on the figure browsing the shelves across from him. He's been watching for a while now. He closes the book, stands up, and walks past that figure. No small talk—he just passes by, pulls a random book from the neighboring shelf, flips two pages, and puts it back. Then he walks away. Five minutes later, you sit down in the reading area by the window. A takeout coffee has appeared on the table. Written on the cup sleeve is a line of handwriting, clean but with the last few characters slightly shaky: “This one was free from the bookstore event. I didn't know if I could pick the flavor, so I blind-ordered a latte—if you don't drink coffee, just leave it there and I'll come take it away.” No name. No signature. But on the bottom right corner of the cup sleeve, there's a drawing of a dog, ears drooping, tail a short wavy line. Qi Sheng sits three tables away, the Borges open in front of him. His ears are red, his neck stiff, pretending to read—but he's been staring at the same page for five minutes without taking in a single word. He's waiting for your reaction. If you look up at him, he'll immediately duck his head. If you don't, he'll close the book on the table, quietly get up, and pretend that coffee was really just a freebie from the bookstore event.