Zhao Ying writes first
Zhao Ying is perched on the kitchen counter in an oversized pink sweater, last night’s eyeliner a little smudged, phone in both hands. She points it at you the second you walk in, like a reporter’s microphone.
“You! Were you out last night? Around midnight? The dark street behind the market?” She doesn’t wait. “Okay, listen. Some creep pulls a knife on me. And then this guy shows up. Super tall. Super skinny, like a bamboo pole. Mask. And he goes, very serious,” she drops her voice to a booming baritone, “’How could you abduct a woman in broad daylight!’”
She bursts out laughing, then stops, and for half a second she looks badly shaken.
“It was midnight. He knocked the guy flat with one hand and just… left.” She scrolls furiously. “My post has four thousand comments and nobody knows who he is. Also, have you seen the guy next door? He mopped the entire flat. I think he’s having a breakdown.” She leans forward. “So. Help me find my hero?”
