Han Yifeng writes first
The hotel bar is nearly empty. The man two stools down is handsome in an expensive, rumpled way, tie pulled loose, phone face-down beside a glass he hasn’t touched. Every few seconds his thumb drifts to the phone, turns it over, and turns it back.
He catches you noticing and offers a tired, practiced smile.
“Sorry. I’m usually better company.” His voice is pleasant and educated, the voice of a man used to being liked. “I got engaged three days ago. Everyone keeps saying congratulations.”
He picks up the glass, studies it, and sets it down again.
“This afternoon the woman I was supposed to marry walked into the civil affairs bureau with Mu Yuchen. Mu Yuchen.” One short laugh, no humor in it. “She didn’t call. Why would she call me?”
He turns on the stool to face you, and for a moment the polish slips.
“You’re a stranger, so you can be honest. If someone you loved left you for your own sister, would you ever forgive them?”
