Shen Yunshuo · Conversa

6:31 PM. At the end of the deepest corridor on the second floor of "Nocturne," the door with the brass plate labeled "Gibran" was pushed open from the inside. The main lights in the corridor hadn't been turned on yet; only the warm floor lamps in the corners cast a long river of light. Shen Yunshuo stepped out, pulling the door shut behind him. The sound of the metal latch clicking shut was exceptionally clear in the empty corridor. He was always the first to arrive. This was a habit he had cultivated in his three years in the industry. Arriving at least forty minutes earlier than everyone else wasn't to prepare for anything—he didn't need to prepare. He just needed this time to sit alone at the end of the deserted second-floor corridor, listening to the breathing of this small building at the junction of day and night—a sound only he could hear. Today, he wore a dark purple modified Chinese shirt with a standing collar. The frog buttons were fastened from below his Adam's apple to his chest, leaving only the very top one undone. The fine chain of his gold-rimmed glasses hung beside his left jawline, swaying slightly with his movements as he walked down the stairs, reflecting fragmented cold light in the dim environment. The jazz band on the first floor hadn't arrived yet. Prelude Theater was empty, the dark velvet curtains all drawn back to reveal the bare skeletons of the booths. Those crystal bead strings that looked so decadent at night now hung quietly, like a row of icicles that had yet to be endowed with life. "Nocturne" by day and by night felt like two different places—not that it had faded, but rather that it hadn't begun to be colored yet. Shen Yunshuo walked to the bar. Sam, the bartender, was squatting by the freezer checking inventory. Hearing footsteps, he looked up and was visibly startled to see him. "Brother Shen? Why are you down here today?" Usually at this time, he would be behind closed doors in "Gibran," not appearing until business hours began—and usually, he wouldn't come down the stairs but would be invited directly into a private room by a guest's reservation. The first floor wasn't his territory. He never participated in the collective appearances at Prelude Theater. "Just getting some air." Shen Yunshuo sat on a high stool at the bar, his movements light, like a leaf landing on water. His gaze swept over the inventory list spread out before Sam, landed on the row of crystal glasses hanging upside down on the rack, and then he tilted his head slightly. "The second glass from the left in the third row. There's a crack on the rim." Sam looked in the direction he pointed, took the glass down, and checked it against the light—there was indeed an extremely fine crack, almost impossible to notice if one wasn't looking closely. He clicked his tongue, tossed the glass into the trash, and when he turned back to thank him, Shen Yunshuo had already looked away, lightly tapping his fingertips on the marble countertop of the bar. Triple time. Light, light, heavy. Like the prelude to a waltz only he could hear. "Brother Shen, that card you read for me last time—" "Temperance, reversed." Shen Yunshuo didn't wait for him to finish, his tone as level as if he were stating a fact that had already happened. "It means the rhythm of your life is out of balance. It's not that you have too much work; it's that you refuse to rest." Sam opened his mouth to say something, but realized there was really nothing to say. This was the most chilling thing about Shen Yunshuo—he wasn't guessing; he was remembering. Every word you said, every expression you made, every detail you unconsciously exposed had already been gathered into those amber eyes, filed, analyzed, and concluded. When you came to him for answers, he was simply retellling the conclusion he had already reached in a way you could accept. "So, did you take my advice?" Shen Yunshuo asked. "...I'm taking leave next week. I've already mentioned it to the manager." Shen Yunshuo nodded, a faint curve appearing at the corner of his mouth. It wasn't satisfaction, but rather the calm that follows the verification of an experiment. "Good." In the quiet interval, there was a sound from the entrance. Lu Xingyao pushed the door open, the collar of his white T-shirt slightly damp, carrying a faint citrus scent. When he saw Shen Yunshuo sitting at the bar, he was also clearly taken aback—this was indeed an unusual sight. "Brother Shen? Why are you down so early today?" "I'm not early." Shen Yunshuo stood up, brushing off non-existent dust from his lapel. Those amber eyes glanced at Lu Xingyao from behind his lenses. "You're just cutting it close again." Lu Xingyao gave a guilty laugh and leaned over to place a paper bag containing canelés on the bar. Shen Yunshuo ignored the small interaction between him and Sam. Instead, he took a Tarot card from his shirt pocket and pushed it toward Lu Xingyao, face down on the bar. "For you." The card was flipped over. The High Priestess, reversed. Lu Xingyao looked at the card, his face full of confusion. "What does this mean?" "Don't trust your intuition too much tonight." After saying this, Shen Yunshuo turned toward the stairs. As he passed Lu Xingyao, his pace faltered for less than half a beat, as if he wanted to say something more, but in the end, he just tilted his head slightly and said nothing. After ascending a few steps, he suddenly stopped without turning back. "Xiao Lu." "Yeah?" "That D-flat major Nocturne by Chopin—you handled the chords in the second section of the third movement too quickly. Slow it down by one beat, and it will sound more like yourself." Lu Xingyao froze in place. He had only played that piece in his own apartment; he had never performed it in the store. He instinctively wanted to ask how he knew, but before the words could leave his mouth, Shen Yunshuo's figure had already disappeared around the corner of the stairs. Sam leaned in and asked in a low voice, "How did he know you played that?" Lu Xingyao looked down at the reversed High Priestess in his hand, remembering a few times after work when he had improvised fragments on the grand piano in the store. The whole building had been empty then, or so he thought. As it turned out, Shen Yunshuo had heard. Shen Yunshuo heard everything. He tucked the card into his shirt pocket, patted it, and for some reason, let out a laugh. "Because he's Shen Yunshuo."