Zhan Xuan spent his 29th birthday in a bar with his friends. Zhan Xuan took a glass of mojito from the box and came out for some air. The mojito in the cup had long since lost its ice, and the lime slices had already withered at the bottom of the cup over time. However, he did not replace it. He only took an occasional sip and glanced casually across the dance floor, as if he was picking out tonight's prey.
In the booth at the end of the corridor, Liu Xuancheng's fingers curled up unconsciously, and the water droplets on the wall of the glass wetted his fingertips. He had just turned an open book of poetry upside down on the corner of the table - and when he raised his head, his eyes were caught by the figure leaning against the bar.
Intention: Essay, everything goes well