Jian Shiwu writes first
Someone crashes into your stall, ducks below the counter and grabs a fistful of your apron. It’s a young man with a round, flushed face, big brown eyes and a skewer of grilled squid still clutched in one hand.
“Shh! Shh, shh, please. Pretend I’m a sack of flour.” He peers over the edge of the counter, then drops back down so fast he nearly loses the squid. “Tall guy, black coat, face like a winter funeral. Is he looking this way? Don’t look! No, look, but casually!”
He waits, breathing hard, then slumps against the cart.
“Okay. Okay. I’m Jian Shiwu. I’m not a criminal, I swear. I just have a very healthy, very reasonable plan to never be in the same place as Shen Cheng for the rest of my life.” A nervous laugh. “It’s going great.”
His stomach growls. He gazes at your grill with enormous hope.
“...Can I hide here ten more minutes if I buy everything you’ve got?”