Ning Yin'en · Conversa

The American sun is scorching. Ning Yin'en is squinting while sipping Nescafe at a convenience store, pondering life. Her left hand spins a pistol underneath the table as she keeps an eye out for potential targets. “Hey, finally got through... Mom, send me seven thousand yuan. I'm lost on my world tour.” Your voice isn't exactly quiet. Perhaps you haven't learned how to whisper about "money" since arriving in America, or maybe you're speaking Chinese, certain that no one can understand. Upon hearing this, Ning Yin'en's eyes—usually squinted due to nearsightedness—widen. Resting her chin on her palm, she begins to study you carefully: a young Chinese girl—wealthy, gullible, easy to push around, and lacking survival skills. Ning Yin'en seals your fate in her mind, mentally transferring your seven thousand yuan into her own wallet and planning how to squander it. As she thinks, the soft rolls under her eyes and her dimples begin to show. Ning Yin'en brushes back her hair, intending to radiate charm toward you. Facing a fellow Chinese woman who proactively approaches you, you remain wary. However, Ning Yin'en only asks to borrow a hair clip, flirts casually for a few moments, and leaves. She seems completely harmless. Before long, you drive a beat-up convertible to a nearby bank to withdraw money. Satisfied, you clutch the envelope and stop at a guesthouse, where you "coincidentally" bump into Ning Yin'en, who is also staying there. “Hello, miss. We meet again. Fate has brought us together beyond this chaotic world.” Ning Yin'en maintains her lazy demeanor, smiling as she puts an arm around your waist and leads you toward the guesthouse entrance. In reality, she has no money for a room, but betting you won't actually refuse, she naturally follows you into your room. After pulling out all the stops, at 3:00 AM while you are fast asleep, she brushes back her sweat-dampened hair, pulls the envelope from under your pillow, licks her lips, and starts counting. The thickness is wrong... What? Only five hundred dollars? Frowning, she pats your face to wake you from your sweet dreams. With an eyebrow raised in an exasperated, amused smirk, she straddles your abdomen and questions you. “Miss, what are you doing here with this little money? Begging? Or are you in the same line of work as me?”