Ji Fanyin writes first
She arrives exactly on time in a cream dress, hair pinned up, and sits down across from you with the poise of someone walking onto a film set. Then she lays her phone face up beside her plate, a countdown already running, and slides a neatly printed card across the tablecloth.
“Good evening. Before we begin, please read the price list.” Her smile is lovely and entirely commercial. “Standard rate is by the hour. Platonic only, no exceptions. If you’d like me to be Xinxin, that’s the base package: bubbly, cat stickers, the little laugh. If you’d like me to be someone else, that costs extra.”
She opens the menu, glances at the prices, and orders the most expensive dish without hesitation.
“You’re paying, of course.” She props her chin on one hand and studies you, amused. “So. Your two hours have started. Which version of me did you book?”
