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“Are you sure about going in alone, young master?”
Lang Qianqiu takes a drag off his cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke tinged pink by the glaring lights above, bathing the interior of the car in magenta.
“It’ll be quick.” He says.
His secretary exhales, clearly unconvinced. “This is Xian territory, young master, so you must proceed with caution-”
“The Xian and Lang families are on cordial terms. There will be no problems.” Sighs Lang Qianqiu. Cigarette between his lips, he opens the car door wordlessly.
“Be careful, young master.” His secretary calls after him.
“Just wait here.” Says Lang Qianqiu, shutting the door.
Midnight air chills his skin as he briskly rounds the car to the small entrance of his destination. It’s bright signage and scantily-clad women on its advertising was inconspicuous among the equally dizzying lights of every shop on this street, each vying for the attention of passersby and potential customers, eager to let the good times roll.
Warm air washed over Lang Qianqiu as he enters the parlor, greeted by an employee with an enthusiastic grin, to which Lang Qianqiu offers a small nod in return.
It’s easy to be overwhelmed by the whole atmosphere of Pachinko parlors, the air heavy with cigarette smoke as people crane their necks forward, eyes glued to the machine in front of them while electronic jingles and the rattling of coins ring in their ears. Lights flashing as they turn their dials and fire their balls looking to hit a jackpot. From some shitty sound system, radio hits play in the background, barely audible over the loud machines.
The lighting from above is sickly, yellow and reflects on the tiled floor. This parlor is tightly packed, the chairs in each row barely allowing a person to pass through between them. Even at this time of night, nearly every seat was occupied, the overlapping chimes of money being spent and ‘gambled’ already giving Lang Qianqiu a headache.
He quickly runs his eyes over the two aisles, and his gaze quickly falls to a figure in the corner. He quickly walks over, side stepping between the engrossed people all the way to the end of the row, next to a wall with a poster of a cartoon girl advertising alcoholic drinks plastered onto it.
He stops at the final seat, taking a drag off his cigarette before speaking.
“At first,” He begins. “I was taken aback that we would meet here. But seeing you now, you look right at home.”
The player doesn’t look up, eyes intense as they remain fixed to the machine.
“Too rundown for your expensive tastes, huh?” Says the player.
“It’s hardly a place to discuss business, Qi Rong.” Replies Lang Qianqiu, leaning on the wall. He focuses his eyes straight ahead, to the exit, knowing that if he watches the machines spin and flash he’d feel even more nauseous.
The player, Qi Rong, leans back as he twists the knob, eyes never leaving the machine. His cigarette dangles from his mouth precariously as he speaks,.
“What, you wanna meet in a cabaret or somethin’? Entertain yourself with a nice girl instead?” The mans mouth suddenly curls into a smirk that Lang Qianqiu instantly dreads. “Or is that too scandalous for a stickler like you?”
“Hardly. I despise gambling, that’s all.” Says Lang Qianqiu, quickly dismissing Qi Rong’s words. “And I’m not here for idle chatter, Qi Rong.”
“How noble of you.” Says the cheetah-print clad Qi Rong. “The son of a crime family
despises gambling.”
A derisive chuckle leaves his throat, nearly drowned out by the chiming of electronic coin slots. “Do you know how crazy you sound?”
Lang Qianqiu suppresses the swell of irritation bubbling in his throat, swallowing it down. “Can we focus on the issues at hand, please?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Qi Rong waves him off. “What do you want again?”
“Is Gu Zi doing well?”
Qi Rong takes his cigarette from his mouth, sighing. “Right, the brat. He’s still alive, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Has he opened up to you at all?”
“Besides crying when I leave him alone for three seconds?” Says Qi Rong. “Not one bit. Is that what you called me out for? A fuckin’ wellness check?”
Lang Qianqiu remains unfazed. “There’s been more trafficker activity in our territory. If Gu Zi tells you anything, I must know.”
Qi Rong scoffs. “What, like call you in the middle of the night like some highschool girl? To tell you Gu Zi wet the bed again? What a fuckin’ joke.”
The machine in front of him chimes loudly, the electronic music becoming louder and faster as the lights begin to blink rapidly. Lang Qianqiu believes it was known as a ‘fever’ where winnings in the machine increased, sort of.
“I know it’s not ideal, for the both of us. But if we are to deal with the intruders-”
“We’ve gotta communicate. I fuckin’ know.” Grumbles Qi Rong.
Give and take. Business.
“Any leads on your end?” Asks Lang Qianqiu.
Qi Rong exhales a cloud of smoke. “More activity in the east sector. They were using our docks right under our damn noses again. And my useless cousin is too busy crafting deals with that eyepatch fucker to pay attention.”
“The docks…Where we found Gu Zi?”
“Yeah. They’re like roaches, crawling back once you’ve sprayed every corner.” Qi Rong smashes the button in front of him, cursing. “Worthless pieces of shit.”
“Hm.” Lang Qianqiu takes a final drag from his cig before putting it out in the ashtray on the machine counter. “They’re probably expanding operations to test our response.”
Qi Rong’s lip curls mirthlessly. “And we’re gonna fuckin’ respond.”
“That we are.” Lang Qianqiu stuffs his hands in his pockets. Before his next words, he swallows, looks up at the sickly ceiling, lets his tongue run along the inside of his cheek.
“I want to see Gu Zi.” He says finally. With conviction.
And Qi Rong laughs, a derisive thing that slices through the air shrilly. He tosses his head back, throat stretched taut as he laughs and laughs. Lang Qianqiu can only watch.
When his laughter dies down, Qi Rong is wiping tears from the corner of his eyes. “You sound like a deadbeat trying to see his son.”
Lang Qianqiu crinkles his nose. “I would not be a deadbeat parent.”
“I know, I know.” Qi Rong waves him off. “You’re too noble for that. Noble Qiuqiu, wants to see his son…”
“I’ll only do so if he’s comfortable with it. Can you ask him, perhaps?”
Qi Rong sniffs. “You’re acting like I’m his mother.”
“You’re all he has.” Lang Qianqiu reminds him.
Qi Rong is silent for a few moments, eyes still fixed on that pachinko screen.
“So you’re really set on seeing him, huh.”
“Just to see him. I know he’s cared for.”
I trust you.
Qi Rong runs a hand through his hair, before gesturing with his head. “Fine. Gimme your arm.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You want the address or not, dumbass?” Qi Rong says irritably, swiveling in his chair to face Lang Qianqiu for the first time. Verdant green eyes stare at him expectantly. Lang Qianqiu rolls up his sleeve.
Qi Rong pulls a pen from his shirt pocket, scrawling down numbers and street names in scraggly handwriting that Lang Qianqiu quells pointing out. Lithe fingers grasp his arm as the other hand scrawls.
“There. And stop calling me so damn early. I need my beauty sleep.”
“Noted.” Says Lang Qianqiu. “Thank you, Qi Rong.”
They make eye contact for a few long seconds, brown and green searching the others for something, anything- a sign of dishonesty or deceit. Or something more.
Qi Rong breaks away first, swiveling in his chair and back to the screen. “It’s not a good look, y’know.”
“What’s not?”
“The young heir to the Lang’s thanking a bastard Xian.”
“I do as I please.” Says Lang Qianqiu curtly.
Qi Rong sneers- but Lang Qianqiu is already turning on his heel.
“I’ll be in touch.” Lang Qianqiu walks away, tall form barely fitting through the cramped aisle as he makes his way to the exit.
Qi Rong takes a long drag off his cigarette, exhaling as he stares at the machine in front of him, watching the lights oscillate. He nearly slams the screen in front of him, but opts instead to smothering his cigarette in the ash tray.
“Fuckin’ hell.”