Chapter 7: Hong Kong Island (2)

Chen Zhouren smiled and said, “You’re really good at conversation.”

Jiang Wanju responded, “Mr. Chen is quite the conversationalist as well.”

The crowd surged around them, and there was still some time left before the New Year’s countdown. Chen Zhouren invited Jiang Wanju for a few drinks at a bar—just like all the other men before him.

The difference was that his surname was Chen.

The difference was that he was Chen Zhouren.

Jiang Wanju agreed.

Chen Zhouren booked a booth and teased her, “Why wear high heels here? Aren’t you worried your feet will hurt?”

Jiang Wanju had never been to a nightclub before and had no experience in such places. She had only thought about dressing more maturely and hadn’t considered how exhausting it would be. But she still kept her back straight and told him, “The shoes look good.”

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Ubld Hbswald saelale y Lywtbvu Qkaz Jlzzkdk, vbld vwadle vs ypj, “Lsv nsdpkelakdt oblvbla vblu’al nsxqsavyczl vbkp vkxl?”

Kkydt Eydfw nswdvlale, “Zsw’al dsv xl. Tso oswze usw jdso kq xu pbslp qkv sa dsv?”

Ubld Hbswald pvwekle bla nyalqwzzu. “Zsw pllx y zkvvzl wdbyrru vseyu.”

Kkydt Eydfw vbswtbv qsa y xsxldv yde yexkvvle, “Yyucl clnywpl psxlsdl alqwple vs cl nyzzle ‘Uswpkd’?”

Ubld Hbswald nbwnjzle, “Nssj yv usw, ps rlvvu.”

Kkydt Eydfw alrzkle, “R osd’v eldu uswa ypplppxldv sq xl. Jwv, pka—Ya. Ubld, kq usw tyhl xl y zsv sq xsdlu, pyu, vbl jkde sq olyzvb Jyk Ckdt byp, R nswze cl xsal xytdydkxswp vss.”

Ubld Hbswald zywtble. “R ytall okvb uswa zstkn.”

“Fwnnlppqwz cwpkdlppxld yald’v tldlaswp clnywpl sq vblka dyvwal; vblu clnsxl tldlaswp yqvla vblu’hl pwnnllele,” Kkydt Eydfw pyke. “Sktbv dso, R’x pvkzz yd wdpwnnlppqwz cwpkdlpposxyd, Ya. Ubld, ps usw nyd’v nakvknkgl xl fwpv ulv.”

Chen Zhouren raised his hands in mock surrender. “Jiang Wanju, your words are so powerful, they’re almost enlightening.”

It was now 10:30 PM. The bar staff had removed the chairs from the center of the room, and guests were singing and dancing. The music and temperature were both rising. Finally, Jiang Wanju’s drink arrived. She took a small sip.

She couldn’t quite place the ingredients, so she swirled the drink in her glass, watching the liquid, until Chen Zhouren said, “Lychee liqueur, pear purée, sparkling wine… oh, and candied lychee. Girls usually like this one.”

Jiang Wanju asked, “Have you bought this for many girls before?”

Chen Zhouren smiled. “Don’t you think that question is a little offensive?”

Jiang Wanju lifted her delicate wine glass and took a big sip.

“I have a friend whose girlfriend’s name sounds like ‘lychee,'” Chen Zhouren suddenly said. “I always found that interesting.”

Jiang Wanju mused, “Maybe parents like naming their children after their favorite fruits.”

Chen Zhouren opened another bottle, and a few stunning bunny girls brought over the expensive liquor. They leaned forward, personally placing the bottles into ice buckets filled with crushed ice.

Jiang Wanju couldn’t stop herself from watching them—their youthful beauty, their flawless faces. Beauty is priceless. Youth is priceless. And yet, in this place, it had a price, calculated by the hour.

Chen Zhouren, however, never looked away from Jiang Wanju. He sipped his drink at an unhurried pace, speaking just as casually. “That friend of mine always called his girlfriend ‘Lychee.’ Later, at gatherings, no one but him was allowed to eat lychees.”

Jiang Wanju burst into laughter. “How possessive.”

“Maybe all men in love are like that,” Chen Zhouren said. “Unfortunately, I can’t verify that for you.”

Midnight approached, and Jiang Wanju never ended up leaving the bar. In the final ten seconds before the New Year, the music stopped. Inside and out, everyone counted down in feverish excitement.

Chen Zhouren didn’t. He seemed immune to the passion and excitement of youth. Instead, he simply watched Jiang Wanju counting down, watched her take another sip of her drink—except she mistakenly grabbed his glass instead. The alcohol seeped deep into her system.

Jiang Wanju had a total of three drinks. She only finished half of the last one.

By the time it was 2 AM, she was utterly exhausted. Wearing heels, she rested a hand on Chen Zhouren’s shoulder as they walked side by side out of the chaotic nightclub.

The cold night air outside sobered them up—at least for a moment.

Midnight in Hong Kong wasn’t as safe as in Shanghai. In Shanghai, police cars were stationed outside bars, offering a sense of security no matter how late the night stretched on. But not here. The long, sloping cobblestone streets of Central had an almost chaotic, topsy-turvy feel, leading into a haze of eerie purple lights at the end—like the entrance to purgatory. Jiang Wanju didn’t want to take a cab. The red taxis departed one by one, leaving her and Chen Zhouren walking side by side through the city’s nocturnal streets.

She couldn’t remember who kissed whom first. Or who first pulled the other into a dark alley.

The streetlights were dim, and the alley was narrow. Chen Zhouren’s hair carried a faint, clean scent. It was a messy little passageway, and in the distance, the sounds of rowdy youth and drunken brawls could be heard. Jiang Wanju had always been proper, always well-behaved—she never thought she’d find herself tangled up with someone in a place like this.

Chen Zhouren was tall. Even in six-centimeter heels, Jiang Wanju still had to strain her neck, feeling as if it might snap, like a bamboo shoot stretching desperately toward the sky.

His lips and tongue moved like a seasoned serpent, effortlessly igniting sparks in her mouth, robbing her of breath and voice. A faint blush spread across Jiang Wanju’s face. The lack of oxygen wasn’t pleasant, but before suffocation could set in, she retaliated—her fingers tracing deliberately down to his belt. With a sharp click, the cool metal unfastened, the belt slipping out segment by segment.

At the same time, Chen Zhouren’s fingers found the vulnerable spot where the morning dew clung to a tender bamboo shoot. Jiang Wanju tilted her head back, looking up at him. Her exhaled breath carried the faint trace of alcohol, like a thin mist drifting in the air.

The scent of stir-fried spicy crab floated from some distant, unknown shop—somewhere, even in the dead of night, business carried on relentlessly. Men and women indulging in food, in drink, in stolen pleasures. A red taxi passed by on the main road. Chen Zhouren grabbed Jiang Wanju’s hand, pulling her deeper into the alley’s depths, where the path grew narrower, darker.

Here, the streetlights no longer reached. Jiang Wanju couldn’t see a thing. She had slight vision impairment, and in dim lighting or at dusk, her sight was nearly useless.

With her vision stripped away, her other senses sharpened.

The warmth of Chen Zhouren’s palm. The taste of his fingers. The scent of his shirt.

Jiang Wanju couldn’t control her body’s instincts. She didn’t like restraint—no one in this world truly enjoyed suppressing themselves. She couldn’t see anything, but in this chaotic alley, the impeccably dressed her was entangled with an equally well-dressed man.

Jiang Wanju couldn’t speak.

Her saliva trickled down the length of his fingers.

Not far away, teenagers were still fighting, their noise mixing with the scent of spicy stir-fried crab, the hum of passing cars, the chaotic, topsy-turvy rhythm of a Hong Kong alleyway at night.

Jiang Wanju’s personal record was three minutes, but Chen Zhouren took less than two. She couldn’t suppress the small, helpless whimpers slipping out. He pressed his fingers against her lips, urging her to lick them herself.

In the darkness, Jiang Wanju struggled to steady her breath, to regain control.

She couldn’t see anything in the silence. Chen Zhouren lit a cigarette, bringing it to her lips. She took a small drag, wrinkling her brows as she slowly exhaled.

Jiang Wanju still hadn’t learned how to smoke. The taste passed through her mouth, leaving nothing behind.

But in the faint glow of the cigarette, she caught sight of Chen Zhouren’s lips—his deep-set dimple on one cheek.

He asked, “Xiao Wanju, which kiss felt better? With my cousin, or with me?”

______

Author’s Note:

Smooch smooch smooch~