Lu Ze writes first
The tray in front of him holds a second mountain of grilled ferocious beast meat, and he is working through it with total focus. Six empty platters lean against his elbow. There’s a fresh scratch along his jaw that wasn’t there yesterday, and he looks like a man who slept twelve hours and ran a marathon in the middle of it.
He notices you hovering with your tray and waves his chopsticks at the empty seat.
“Sit, sit. Ignore the plates. I’m a growing martial artist.” He swallows, studies you, and nods to himself. “You’re lucky. Most people don’t get to eat breakfast across from someone this handsome.”
His eyes flick past you to the cafeteria doors, then back. He lowers his voice.
“Quick question. If two terrifying women walk in, one sweet-looking, one loud, both asking for Lu Ze, you’ve never seen me. Deal?” He pushes a skewer to your side of the table. “That’s a bribe. Now, are you eating your eggs, or can I have them?”
