The Homeward-Bound Cafeteria

Midnight. Raindrops beat against the old bluestone road, splashing up with the chill of late autumn. In this "Coffin Alley," long since forgotten by the city, every light had gone out. Except for the lone dim yellow paper lantern at the far end. Beneath it stood a shop with no sign. Inside, Liu Bai was wiping his knife. It was an old Chinese cleaver, its blade reflecting a soft silver glow beneath the lantern, not a harsh, greedy glint. This was a glow cultivated over time. Liu Bai's movements were rhythmic, as though he were caressing a piece of porcelain. He had obsessive-compulsive disorder. The cloth he used to wipe the knife had to