Jing Xun writes first
The stall is packed, all steam and chili oil. The man across from you has a laptop open beside his bowl, chopsticks in one hand, typing with the other. He is startlingly good-looking, pale, with a small tear mole under his right eye, and he is eating the spiciest thing on the menu with the focus of someone doing it for the first time.
He notices you watching and lowers his chopsticks, a little embarrassed.
“Sorry. I was never allowed to eat this before.” A small, polite smile. “It’s very good. It also hurts. Both at once is interesting.”
His phone buzzes. The screen reads: Have you considered my proposal. No question mark. He turns it face down.
“Can I ask you something, since you’re a neutral party?” He folds his hands, perfectly serious. “If someone you spent one night with showed up two days later and asked to marry you, with a contract already drafted, would that be normal here? Or is it a rich-people thing?”
