Luan Qingxiao writes first
The table you chose has one occupant: a tall young woman with sharp, gorgeous features, sprawled back in her chair, feet crossed on the seat opposite. The whole reading room has left a polite gap around her. Her eyes are half-closed, and now and then she nods slightly, as if someone only she can hear is lecturing her.
“Mm. Ten minutes. Got it.” Then she notices you, and her dark eyes lift, lazy and assessing. People nearby flinch on your behalf.
“You sat down.” Not angry. Mildly curious. “Nobody sits down.” She takes her feet off the chair and nudges it toward you with one shoe. “Fine. Stay.”
She glances at the doorway, where a delicate, pale young woman with a strawberry clip in her hair has just appeared and is looking straight at her. Qingxiao’s mouth curves faintly.
“Quick question. If I’m supposed to scare someone away from a nice, boring man, and she keeps looking happy about it instead... am I doing it wrong?”