“You really are… just thinking about watching the show.”
Jin Yizhu sighed ambiguously. Her shoulders relaxed as she dropped her smile and reached out to her.
“Do you have any more clips? Give me one.”
Wei Shuyu did not care about the restaurant, the gift, or her. Instead, this made Jin Yizhu feel a subtle sense of relief.
Was the musical really that interesting? Perhaps it was not that important. What mattered was that she had gained a “friend” who was very much to her taste.
“No more. I don’t need two clips by myself,” Wei Shuyu shook her head. “Use this one.”
She slipped the hair tie from her wrist and handed it to Jin Yizhu.
A beige hair tie made of real silk, smooth to the touch. Jin Yizhu took it and casually tied up her hair. She asked, “What do you want to eat?”
“Anything is fine, as long as we can make it to the show,” Wei Shuyu propped up her chin, rarely showing a hint of anticipation. “I haven’t seen 1789 in Hong Kong yet.”
“You really like this show?” Jin Yizhu asked. “What’s it about?”
She handed the menu to Wei Shuyu, gesturing for her to order. Wei Shuyu glanced at it and handed it back.
“Sorry, I can’t read French,” Wei Shuyu answered frankly. “Order whatever. I’m not picky.”
Jin Yizhu raised her hand and beckoned the waiter.
Her voice was soft, but her enunciation was precise. She skipped the appetizers and desserts, ordering only the main courses without asking Wei Shuyu’s opinion.
Wei Shuyu let her decide the dishes without saying a word.
She just propped up her face with one hand and lazily looked out the window. Car lights streamed endlessly down the street, separated by the sparse night sky, as if everything had nothing to do with her.
Before long, the server brought the dishes.
Veal steak, baked snails, foie gras mousse, a plate of Vacherin cheese, and a basket of toasted bread. The table wine had already arrived—Romanée-Conti, a mild and soft variety—but no one touched it.
The two ate quickly. As if by prior agreement, there were no pauses or conversation. The exquisite dishes became like a plate of egg fried rice under their knives and forks—no rhythm or savoring, just to fill their stomachs.
In less than twenty minutes, they had nearly finished.
Wei Shuyu set down her knife and fork and glanced up at Jin Yizhu.
Jin Yizhu asked, “Leaving now?”
“Yeah,” Wei Shuyu nodded, then asked, “Are you full?”
Jin Yizhu had not eaten much. She only touched half of her main course and half a piece of bread, but she finished the foie gras mousse.
She was a little surprised. She always ate lightly, especially at dinner when she had no appetite. Wei Shuyu was the first person to ask her that.
“I eat little at night,” Jin Yizhu said. “It’s fine. Let’s go.”
Wei Shuyu gave her an extra glance but said nothing. Before leaving, Jin Yizhu suddenly stopped, picked up the table wine, and downed half a glass in one go.
She wanted to add some flavor to this tasteless dinner, even if it was just the illusion brought by alcohol.
The smooth wine slid down her throat—not spicy like baijiu, but still like a dull knife scraping a bit of pain in her esophagus.
Jin Yizhu looked at Wei Shuyu’s back. She did not walk too fast, maintaining a measured distance, just a few steps ahead. The loose beige long skirt draped over her, resembling a wisp of mist in the dim light.
Only the bag she had given her stood out as the sole touch of worldly glamour on Wei Shuyu, anchoring her to the present.
Jin Yizhu felt puzzled.
She did not even know herself whether she wanted to grasp this mist or let it carry her away.
“What’s wrong?”
Wei Shuyu turned back, snapping her out of her momentary daze.
“Did you drop something?”
“It’s nothing,” Jin Yizhu shook her head. “Let’s go.”
The car waited at the door. Emerging from the dim restaurant, Hong Kong’s bustling night scene swallowed everything.
The driver saw them coming and felt a bit surprised.
He had thought they would take longer.
The Eldest Miss was always particular about dining and never rushed through it, especially at this Michelin restaurant she had booked in advance.
Usually, when she brought friends, they would eat and chat leisurely. That elaborate meal took at least an hour and a half.
Today, they finished in half an hour. Was this new playmate not to her liking?
The driver suppressed his doubts, said nothing, and opened the car door for them.
Jin Yizhu got in smoothly. Her gaze swept over the canvas bag on the back seat, but she said nothing more. Wei Shuyu noticed her look and explained proactively, “There was a little incident. I need to switch hotels tonight.”
She kept it simple, not planning to tell Jin Yizhu more details.
Jin Yizhu nodded. She should not pry, but that half glass of wine she had just drunk acted like a flame in her stomach, stirring her heart and blood, creating an improper illusion.
“How about going to my family’s hotel? I have a suite on the top floor,” Jin Yizhu said abruptly. “We can go to Tokyo Disneyland tomorrow.”
Wei Shuyu fell silent. Jin Yizhu involuntarily looked at her, seeking an answer in those deep brown eyes.
“Sure,” after a moment, she lowered her lashes. “Then I’ll have to trouble you.”
Ten minutes later, the car stopped at the Central Theatre.
The timing was perfect, right at the opening entry.
Jin Yizhu had bought S-seats in the exact center, third row—wide view, just right.
There were five full rows of S-seats. Securing this central spot showed her thoughtfulness, whether through money or connections.
“This seat is great,” Wei Shuyu was clearly in a good mood. “The best spot in the entire theatre. Miss Jin is impressive.”
“As long as you like it,” Jin Yizhu gladly accepted the praise, her lips curving slightly. “Why are you still calling me Miss Jin?”
“It sounds more polite,” Wei Shuyu smiled. “Or do you prefer Yizhu? Little Zhu? Zhu-zhu?”
Her tone was light, deliberately sidestepping the topic. Jin Yizhu appreciated her thoughtfulness.
“Call me Jin Yizhu,” she leaned over, very close to Wei Shuyu, her breath brushing her ear. “Yizhu works too.”
Wei Shuyu’s shoulders stiffened for an instant. She wanted to pull away but felt it would be too deliberate.
Fortunately, they entered at the perfect moment. The theatre lights dimmed abruptly, actors appeared, and the interplay of light and shadow blurred faces.
Wei Shuyu breathed a sigh of relief. She sat very straight, eyes fixed on the stage, gaze unwavering.
Jin Yizhu leaned back in her seat, fingers lightly rubbing the ticket stub, gradually shifting her focus back to the stage.
Splendid costumes swirled, skirts flew. With the best cast and best seats, yet amid perfect arias, Jin Yizhu felt profoundly out of place.
It was as if an invisible wall separated her from the person beside her.
Driven by the strange sensation, Jin Yizhu’s gaze shifted from the stage to Wei Shuyu.
Wei Shuyu looked focused, lips slightly pursed, stage lights reflecting in her eyes like flowing splendor.
“What’s wrong?” Perhaps noticing her gaze, Wei Shuyu whispered. “Feeling bored?”
She asked while her eyes never left the stage, as if nothing in the world concerned her. She immersed herself in distant 1789, leaving Jin Yizhu alone in the 21st century.
Jin Yizhu shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
She found herself at a loss. She wanted to stand up, walk out, do something else.
But Wei Shuyu was still watching.
Unwilling to disturb her, Jin Yizhu silently bowed her head, pretending to be immersed as well.
On stage, lights flashed, enacting a revolution she cared nothing about.
Crimson words scrolled on the screen, assaulting her retinas along with the soaring song.
‘Notre seule arme, c’est notre liberté.’
“Our only weapon is our freedom.”
Jin Yizhu stared at the line, finding the red too glaring.
She looked away, catching Wei Shuyu imperceptibly straightening up.
Why? What was she thinking?
Amid her aimless thoughts, intermission arrived abruptly.
Wei Shuyu emerged from the show, leaning back into her seat, eyes bright. She asked, “Want me to go for a walk with you? Were you feeling stuffy just now? The air in here isn’t great.”
Jin Yizhu did feel a bit stifled and uncomfortable, but seeing those usually cool eyes light up, her discomfort suddenly vanished.
“Get a drink?” she asked. “There’s a bar over there.”
“Sure.”
Wei Shuyu stood to go with her, but someone approached.
A middle-aged man in his forties, greasy-faced, in a custom suit that clung tightly, exuding contrived elegance.
“Miss Jin, what a pleasure. Didn’t expect to see you here.”
His tone was enthusiastic, laced with fawning. Wei Shuyu tactfully stepped aside, not listening, but his loud voice drifted into her ears.
“…Didn’t know you got into musicals lately. Why not tell me earlier? We have a box upstairs. How about joining us for the next act?”
“No need,” Jin Yizhu brushed him off. “I have a friend. We’re leaving.”
“Yes, yes, go ahead. If you’re free this weekend, come play at our golf course.”
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Jin Yizhu left him behind without a glance, naturally linking arms with Wei Shuyu. “The golf course owner. He has some business with my family.”
Wei Shuyu nodded, expression calm, clearly uninterested.
“One Martini,” she turned to ask Jin Yizhu. “What do you want?”
“Whiskey on the rocks,” Jin Yizhu replied. “Three ice cubes.”
Moments later, Wei Shuyu returned with her glass and handed the whiskey on the rocks to her.
Jin Yizhu asked instinctively, “How much? I’ll transfer it to you later.”
“It’s nothing,” Wei Shuyu said. “My treat.”
She plucked out the olive, chewed the flavor, tossed it in the trash, then downed the Martini.
The cold liquor warmed her cheeks pink, adding color to her lips and a touch of allure.
“Jin Yizhu, you really like whiskey?”
At the small bar, she propped her chin, watching Jin Yizhu.
“Not many people drink such strong stuff in a theatre.”
Jin Yizhu sipped slowly, the glass cold in her hand from the ice.
After drinking, this woman seemed much cuter.
“Yeah, I usually drink more whiskey,” she answered. “Don’t worry, I hold my liquor well. I won’t get drunk.”
“Who cares if you get drunk…” Wei Shuyu chuckled.
“You’re drunk,” Jin Yizhu concluded. “So one Martini takes you down.”
“Not quite,” Wei Shuyu said. “At most, it improves my mood a bit. For watching a show, a little buzz is just right.”
She timed it perfectly. Jin Yizhu’s whiskey hit bottom as intermission ended.
Wei Shuyu grabbed her hand. “Still watching? I remember you don’t like these.”
Jin Yizhu was surprised by her perceptiveness. She wanted to say no but did not want to spoil Wei Shuyu’s fun.
“You came specifically for the show. You like it a lot, right?” Jin Yizhu said. “Maybe we should finish it.”
“Nah,” Wei Shuyu shook her head. “We’re out to have fun. Both of us need to enjoy it.”
She turned decisively, leading Jin Yizhu toward the exit. Her hair fluttered, brushing Jin Yizhu’s nose tip.
A faint jasmine scent, so subtle it almost went unnoticed, flashed by without a trace.
Outside the stuffy theatre stretched a nightscape more brilliant than the stars.
Cars sped past, leaving a whiff of exhaust.
The driver was not at the door. Jin Yizhu reached for her phone to call him, but Wei Shuyu stopped her wrist.
“Let’s just walk around,” she said. “Jin Yizhu, don’t you want to see the real Hong Kong?”
Jin Yizhu paused.
She had lived in Hong Kong for many years, visited many places, threading through Michelin restaurants and luxury boutiques, always by car from door to door. She had never considered how her Hong Kong differed from others’.
“Jin Yizhu,” Wei Shuyu’s fingertips trailed down her wrist, interlocking their fingers. “Let’s go.”
A soft voice, like a mermaid at sea, seduced the lost traveler.
Jin Yizhu nodded as if possessed by a ghost. “Are you taking me to eat boiled beef offal?”
“It’s possible,” Wei Shuyu answered, “but why boiled beef offal?”
“That’s how they do it in TV dramas.” Jin Yizhu said.
Wei Shuyu laughed again. The night wind blew over, and she hummed a melody—very light, somewhat familiar. Jin Yizhu remembered: it was a segment from the theater just now.
Jin Yizhu turned her head to look at her. “Don’t you not speak French?”
“But I really like this song.” Wei Shuyu paused her steps. “I remember there’s a beef offal shop around here… Wait, let me check the map.”
She stopped in place and studied the electronic map on her phone. Her expression was focused, and her side profile, outlined by the faint light, revealed a vivid charm.
Jin Yizhu said nothing. She simply stood by her side, staring fixedly at her.
She thought again of that line of red words in the theater.
Freedom. Our only weapon is freedom.
