Love Under the Night Lights

At midnight， the glittering KTV was bathed in golden splendor. The neon lights seemed like thick， unmelting syrup， smeared across every frosted glass door clouded with mist. Even the air itself was heavy with the cloying scent of cheap champagne mingled with tobacco.

Su Mei stood behind Mama Chen， lined up with six other girls. They were all wearing identical champagne-colored strapless miniskirts that ended two centimeters below the crotch. As she had hurried upstairs just moments ago， the hem of her skirt had slipped upward a bit， revealing the edge of her firm， shapely buttocks—a pale， tender curve that caught the warm light overhead and made the girl standing next to her can’t help but glance at it twice.

Sister Chen smiled and gently nudged her forward， causing the spaghetti straps to slip down a bit. The soft curves of her chest were accentuated by the snugly fitted bra， which clearly defined a deep cleavage. Today was her twentieth birthday; her skin was coolly pale， rarely exposed to sunlight over the years. The lines of her bare shoulders and neck gleamed with a jade-like smoothness. On her left cheek， the dimple was still faintly visible， lending her an air of lingering youthfulness. The faint redness at the corners of her eyes—almost as if someone had rubbed them vigorously—caught her gaze just as she glanced into the private room. At that very moment， Li Hao， sitting in the corner， felt his teacup jolt slightly with a loud “clatter.” Hot tea splashed onto his faded， plaid shirt， yet he didn’t even notice.

“Mr. Zhang， go ahead and pick—these are all new girls， all clean and tidy，” Sister Chen said， her hand resting lightly on Su Mei’s waist. The waist was so slender that it could be wrapped around with just one hand; a little bit of pressure would let you feel how soft the girl’s waistline was. “This little Mei—she’s only twenty， can sing beautifully， has an excellent tolerance for alcohol， and is especially good at taking care of people.”

Mr. Zhang， the client-side representative who’s hosting today， is in his fifties. His belly protrudes as if he were six months pregnant. His eyes lingered briefly on Su Mei’s exposed skin—sweeping from her gently rising chest down to her delicately slender waist， then sliding further down to her full， rounded hips， which were accentuated by her short skirt. As he grinned， the flabby flesh on his face began to quiver: “It’s her—come on， sit right next to me.”

The other girls were also quickly selected one after another， leaving just two who hadn’t caught anyone’s eye quietly slipping out. As the door closed behind them， it instantly sealed off the noisy hubbub outside. The private room was filled with swirling cigarette smoke， and a crackling sound system blared out outdated， cheesy love songs. Several men had already placed their hands on the waists of the girls sitting beside them， squeezing them so tightly that the girls giggled and leaned closer into their arms. Soft flesh pressed against the men’s arms， drawing forth wave after wave of lewd teasing and laughter.

Su Mei sat down next to General Zhang and， as usual， shifted slightly to the side， leaving about half a fist’s width of space between them. The spaghetti straps slipped down a bit with her movement， revealing half of her smooth， rounded shoulder. Just as she was about to pull them back up， General Zhang reached out and gently pressed his hand over hers. His palm was both moist and sticky. He traced his fingers upward along her wrist， coming to rest on the pale-pink scar on the inside of her wrist—and deliberately ran his fingernail lightly across it. His gaze flicked toward her neckline as he asked， “How did you get this scar? It looks kind of strange and makes me feel sorry for you. Are there any others somewhere else?”

Su Mei felt a wave of nausea welling up inside， yet she forced herself to keep smiling. She gently pulled her hand back， picked up the bottle opener， and poured him a drink. As she leaned forward， the neckline of her blouse slipped down slightly， revealing the lace-trimmed underbust corset beneath. Quickly straightening up， she handed him the full glass of wine and said， “I accidentally fell earlier， but it’s long since stopped hurting. Mr. Zhang， I’d like to offer you a toast.”

As she was about to raise her glass of wine to take a sip， someone suddenly handed her a cup of lukewarm water. Tiny droplets of cold water still clung to the sides of the glass. Su Mei paused， then looked up at the person who had offered the water—the very same man who’d been sitting in the corner just moments before. He wore a faded， checked shirt and black-framed glasses. His face was redder than hers， and his eyes darted nervously away from her neckline， landing instead on the fingers clutching her wine glass. He stammered slightly as he spoke: “If you don’t feel like drinking it， don’t bother. Just...just drink the lukewarm water—it’s better for your stomach.”

Zhang immediately burst into laughter， slapping the table so hard that even the wine glasses shook: “Mr. Li， you really don’t get it， do you? When you’re out having fun， how could you possibly drink lukewarm water? Xiao Mei， don’t pay any attention to him—go ahead and drink! You’ve made me so happy today， I’ll give you a big red envelope. Just ask for anything you want.”

Li Hao is the technical director at Party B’s company. At thirty-two years old， this was his first time ever stepping into a place like this. After sitting here for half an hour， he felt completely uncomfortable all over. Just now， watching General Zhang’s eyes glued to Su Mei—and the girl’s little furtive movements as she subtly tried to sidestep him—Li Hao suddenly felt a surge of heat in his chest and instinctively handed her a glass of water. But when General Zhang teased him about it， Li Hao’s face turned even redder， his ears burning hot. He scratched his head， at a loss for words， and finally just picked up the baijiu bottle in front of him: “General Zhang， I’ll drink it—I’ll drink it for her. Please don’t make things awkward for her.”

He drank one glass after another. The strong baijiu burned fiercely in his stomach， yet he didn’t even flinch or furrow his brow. Su Mei sat beside him， secretly sizing him up. The cuffs of the man’s shirt were frayed and worn， and he wore a black sports bracelet whose paint had chipped off. When he drank too quickly， his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down， and the base of his ears turned so red they seemed about to bleed—but still， he never once glanced her way.

She’d been here for half a year and had seen enough of men’s true colors: Some would immediately start groping her waist and hips， while others would ask roundabout questions about how much she charged per performance—staring at her as if she were a commodity with a price tag. Yet this was the first time someone had offered her a glass of lukewarm water and said he’d drink on her behalf， his gaze as pure and clear as the spring water in the hills behind her hometown.

She quietly held the cup of lukewarm water in her hand; the coolness of the cup’s surface seeped through the thin glass， easing the stifled feeling that had just been weighing heavily on her chest， ever since General Zhang had been staring at her.