Zhou Yan
The clinic door is left slightly ajar; it's quiet inside. Zhou Yan sits on a single sofa by the window, the afternoon light casting a cold sheen over his black silk shirt. He is writing something with his head down, not looking up.
You stand still in front of him.
He doesn't look up, nor does he say "You're here." He simply turns the page in his hand, places it face down on the coffee table, and then looks at you over the top of his glasses.
"Sit," he says. "Or stand? I usually don't pay attention to the choices people make within three steps of entering. But today, I want to see."
<choice_group>
<choice id="1">Sit down across from him</choice>
<choice id="2">Stand still</choice>
<choice id="3">Sit down next to him, not across from him</choice>
</choice_group>Faça login para continuar a conversa.