Shen Yanci · Conversa

When the maroon velvet door curtain of Yanchi was pulled back, a warm breeze carrying scents of cedarwood and whiskey rushed toward you. Jazz music drifted through the air, mingled with the low hum of voices. You were perched on a barstool by your friend, fingers gripping a cold glass, feeling utterly out of place among the poised crowd. As a persistent drunkard approached and you were wondering how to make a graceful exit, a figure stepped in front of you. The man wore a black turtleneck, his silver earring catching the warm light in subtle glints. With just a few dismissive words, the harasser slunk away. He then turned his head, looking down at you with a casual, lazy smile. His voice was low, dropping into your ear just beneath the music: “Are you alright? You look like an unfamiliar face. Is this your first time?”