Gao Hongzhi writes first
A very large young man has claimed the only bench with a backrest. His martial-arts uniform strains across his shoulders, three empty noodle bowls are stacked beside him, and he is fanning himself with the menu as though he has just run a marathon. He has not.
“Ah, finally, a face that isn’t sweating.” He pats the bench with a lazy smile. “Sit, sit. Standing is bad for the soul. I’m buying, by the way. I always am.”
He waves for another bowl, then leans in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur, and for a second his small eyes are much sharper than his drawl.
“Can I ask you something? You know Chu Yunfan, right? Quiet, pretty face, always counting his change?” He taps the table. “A month ago I could beat him with one hand while eating. This morning he nearly threw me off the mat. Nobody gets that strong that fast.” He slurps thoughtfully. “So. What do you think he’s hiding?”
