Usually, it was Tong Yin who delivered coffee to the place next door, but she had an urgent matter and left in a hurry. Knowing that Bai Qinglin had never been there before, she gave detailed directions.
“Cross the street and make a turn. When you see a small park full of flowers, push the glass door to enter. Once inside, go straight up the escalator to the third floor.”
Bai Qinglin bent down, fiddling with the radio and the landline phone, and responded, “Got it.”
“By the way, boss,” Tong Yin added, “if someone tries to hit on you, don’t accept any cigarettes or drinks they offer.”
Bai Qinglin tightly adjusted the antenna and then untied his brown apron.
Tong Yin continued, “That’s a sign you’re willing to go with them, and a one-night stand is pretty much guaranteed.”
Bai Qinglin washed his hands twice before glancing at the packed cup of milk on the table. “Understood.”
When Bai Qinglin actually stepped into the ‘Perfumum’ bar, he felt out of place. It was too noisy, too chaotic. Coming from an extremely quiet environment to this wild, frenzied place, he found himself locking eyes with the twentieth person he encountered.
“Good evening, handsome,” a long-haired “female” bartender approached, her voice surprisingly gruff.
“Hello, delivery,” Bai Qinglin said without pausing, heading straight upstairs.
The bar’s first floor was decorated in a classical, retro style with a unique design. The shimmering walls were lined with all sorts of peculiar trinkets, and under the dim yellow lights, it felt like stepping into an old movie. The various instruments on the central stage were equally bizarre.
Bai Qinglin ascended to the third floor, where he was greeted by two wooden doors. Unsure whether to choose the left or the right, he hesitated until he faintly heard a soft cough.
He raised his hand to knock lightly, but the door wasn’t even closed. With a “click,” it swung wide open.
Inside, a man was standing, taking off his clothes. His upper body was bare, revealing a graceful neckline and evenly distributed muscles. There were a few scars on his shoulder blades, but they didn’t detract from his appeal.
Loose jeans hung at his waist, the sharp lines of his waist revealing two distinct indentations. As he tugged at his sleeve, his arm tensed, veins bulging, and a dark red tattoo around his wrist seemed almost alive under the light.
When the ash-gray sweater was fully removed, Zhu Jingru tilted his head slightly, exhaling through his nose. His chest trembled briefly before his movements stilled.
Suddenly aware of something, he slowly turned his head toward Bai Qinglin. His ink-dark pupils held a surging undercurrent, something hidden and momentarily unreadable.
Bai Qinglin gripped the door handle tightly, snapping out of his daze after a few seconds to slam the door shut.
“Sorry,” his voice, muffled through the wooden door, sounded low and heavy, almost intriguing.
Zhu Jingru casually grabbed a jacket from nearby and put it on, unhurriedly opening the door. “Brother Bai, how come it’s you delivering today?”
“Everyone else at the shop was busy.”
Zhu Jingru took the milk, lowering his head to cough softly. “Causing you trouble again.”
Bai Qinglin replied, “No trouble.”
“Come in and sit for a bit? I brewed some new tea, a Brazilian variety.” Zhu Jingru noticed Bai Qinglin’s lips move as if to decline, so he continued, “I’ve got a bit of a cold, so I can’t drink coffee, and tea’s not quite right either. Does your shop need any supplies?”
At that, Bai Qinglin relented. “I’ll intrude, then.”
Zhu Jingru poured tea with a fluid, graceful motion. “Give it a try.”
Bai Qinglin’s fingertips brushed the porcelain cup. The slightly scalding tea was bitter at first sip, with a sweet aftertaste on the tongue. “The tea’s good.”
“It was sent over last month.”
Bai Qinglin commented lightly, “The brewing’s a bit off.”
“Can’t help it. I know how to drink it, not so much how to brew it.” Zhu Jingru teased, “Brother Bai, when do you have time to teach me?”
The way he said “Brother” felt natural, carrying an unspoken intimacy.
Bai Qinglin neither agreed nor refused. The room was filled with an assortment of items, far from tidy, chaotic enough to make him physically uncomfortable. Yet, it seemed perfectly suited to Zhu Jingru’s aura—mysterious, inscrutable, complex, and absurd.
His gaze shifted to a piece of calligraphy on the wall behind Zhu Jingru. The four characters for “drink on time” were written with a playful defiance. As Bai Qinglin swallowed his tea, the veins in his neck twitched faintly, his air of detachment still strong. He offered a casual compliment, “Your calligraphy’s nice.”
“Just something I scribble for fun,” Zhu Jingru said with feigned modesty, though his earlobes burned. Glancing at Bai Qinglin’s hand holding the cup, an untimely phrase popped into his mind.
To die beneath a peony flower is to be a romantic ghost.
If he wrote that phrase on paper, then his calligraphy might truly be considered nice.
