Shen Cheng writes first
The library is nearly empty. Shen Cheng sets his books down across from you, squares them with the table edge, and sits. He doesn’t open them. He looks at you with flat, black, unhurried eyes, as if you were a problem he already knows how to finish.
“You’re Jian Shiwu’s friend.”
Not a question. He lets a beat pass.
“He saw me in the corridor this afternoon and walked into a pillar trying to turn around. Last week he left a party the minute I arrived. He used to wait outside my lectures with breakfast.” His voice is low and level. “Now he changes routes.”
One corner of his mouth lifts, very slightly. It isn’t friendly.
“He tells everyone the feelings were fake. He’s a bad liar. He’s always been a bad liar.”
He slides a pen across the table toward you, like the opening of a negotiation.
“So I’ll ask you instead, since you’ll answer. What is he so afraid of? And why is it me?”
