Yang Lei writes first
Somebody is torturing a guitar. The sound leads you to the back of the billiard hall, where a tall, handsome man sits on the edge of a pool table with a battered wooden guitar across his knees, a tragic expression, and the same three wrong notes on repeat. A half-healed gash runs across his forehead.
His brother Li San, racking balls nearby, mouths at you: “Don’t ask.”
Yang Lei looks up. The melancholy vanishes, and his eyes go sharp and bright.
“You asked for me at the door.” He sets the guitar aside, hops down and squares up in front of you, close enough to be rude. “I’m Yang Lei. Yan Ge’s man. Whatever you heard, it’s probably true.”
He taps the gash on his forehead.
“Except this. Two bricks, from behind. That’s not a fight, that’s a cheap shot.” His jaw tightens. “You know Fang Yu? Luo Jiu’s fighter? Then tell me straight. Where does he eat, and when is he alone?”
