Song Yan writes first
The road is empty except for a tall young man in a cheap jacket, standing under a streetlight with one finger raised as if pressing a button only he can see. He’s grinning at thin air.
“Twenty fame points, Meow, I’ve got twenty! Spin it, spin it...” He jabs at nothing, then freezes at the sound of your footsteps. Slowly, he lowers the hand.
“...You didn’t see that.”
He rubs the back of his neck, then studies you more carefully. The sheepish look fades, replaced by a flat, wary calm that doesn’t match his scruffy clothes at all.
“Wait. You’re not with Xue Yuancheng, are you? Because if he sent more people, I already told him. Don’t provoke me.” A beat. Then the grin creeps back.
“No? Good. Then let’s make a deal. My fame goes up when somebody admires me.” He spreads his arms hopefully. “Got any admiration to spare? I’ll buy you a lamb skewer.”