That was a lie. Zhinu knew what she was looking for. She knew what she was looking for because, when she saw the empty front desk, her heart plummeted, her cheeks became hot and she had the profound, heavy sense that she was, in fact, a clown rather than a popstar. Why would he even be there? There was no reason he would want to wait up to talk to her at – she glanced up at the clock behind the desk – 1 a.m. Shit, 1 a.m.? She had to be up in four hours! The right thing to do was to go back to bed and stuff her ears with cotton wool, and yet, her body balked at the very idea of sleep.
The growl of her stomach gave her an excuse to delay the inevitable, and also reminded Zhinu that there had been a vending machine in the bar area. Zhinu followed where her ravenous body pulled her, with the idea of filling herself up with something fried and beige and salty and pre-packaged sending a delicious thrill through her. Her mother had her on everything steamed, lean, clean and green. It was somewhat anti-climactic then that, when stood in front of the glowing, humming machine, Zhinu remembered that she had no money on her. Returning to the room sort of defeated the purpose. Continuing along with her rebellious mood, Zhinu kicked the machine. The packet of tempura seaweed she’d been targeting shimmied but didn’t budge. She slapped the glass. It flirtatiously wiggled and moved a little closer to the edge. Zhinu’s hand smarted but the exhilaration that shot through her balmed the sting. She laughed; it bubbled over and out of her. She kicked the machine again and started hitting at it with both hands simultaneously. This time she didn’t even care if the bag moved, all she felt was the vibration within her veins and a new power moving through her. She felt like a superhero after the first mutant bite. In an instant she was pounding the glass with her fists, kicking it in a flurry and finding herself releasing sounds that were guttural and primal. It felt good to be using her voice in a way that wasn’t sweet or controlled. She was euphoric and furious, feral and free . . .
‘Are you okay?’
Fuck.
Zhinu’s arms dropped to her side. She held still, save for her panting. She turned around and dabbed at her eyes, which she’d just noticed were watering, to see Niulang stood in the doorway, staring at her with gentle curiosity. He’d had a shower – she could distinctly smell the soap and shampoo on him – and his hair was now ruffled. He’d changed into sweatpants and switched his vest for a clean one. He looked quite delectable. Zhinu brushed some of her hair out of her face and cleared her throat, stood straight and forced a beam on her face. ‘Yeah! Yes. Thank you. Um. Sorry I just . . . I . . .’ Nothing she said would make sense of what he had just witnessed. Nothing would make him think she was a normal person. At the very least she’d just exposed herself as an incompetent thief. She sighed. ‘I was hungry.’
Niulang walked towards her, his gaze fastening her to the spot and making her breath heavier. Shit. He was going to throw them out of the inn. Her mother was going to murder her. Bingwen would feast on her remains.
‘What do you want?’ he asked.
Zhinu swallowed. ‘What?’
Niulang pointed to the vending machine.
Zhinu cleared her throat. ‘Oh!’ She pointed at her target. ‘Those please. Thank you.’
Niulang approached the machine, kicked twice and hit the side of it in an intricate, expert pattern. Two packets of snacks dropped down. He passed her one and grinned.
‘There’s a technique to it.’
Zhinu laughed, and with it, all her tensed muscles relaxed. ‘Oh. See, I was doing bang, bang, bang . . .’
‘That’s where you went wrong. It’s bang, bang, bang.’ Niulang tapped the side of his head. ‘It’s a science. Don’t feel bad about it.’ His eyes skipped across her. ‘Zhinu, right?’
Her name sounded good in his mouth.
‘Um. Yes.’
‘Niulang,’ he said, as if her mind hadn’t clung to it the minute she’d heard it. ‘Do you want a drink? I know a great bar around here. The bartender is kind of a dick, but you can just ignore him.’
Zhinu bit back her smile. ‘Um, I really should get back to . . .’ What? The bed she shared with her mother?
‘I would love a drink. Thank you.’
In approximately eight seconds, Niulang had hopped behind the bar and poured both of them a finger of baiju. Zhinu sat on the bar stool and relished the burn from her first sip; the fire in her chest felt appropriate, made her adjust into the moment more. It was a surprisingly delightful accompaniment to the tempura seaweed.