At three o'clock in the morning in a New York cafe, Zhou Jin ordered a cup of Darjeeling that no one was drinking as usual. Lin Xubai scribbled on the back of the receipt, and the pen tip rustled across the paper. Until one night when it rained heavily, Zhou Jin grabbed his wrist and turned over the ledger - countless silhouettes of himself emerged among the tea stains, and his knuckles were painted like "gypsum statues wrapped with chains."
"Do all artists spy on their customers like this?"
"Do patrons waste tea like this?"
As the freezer hummed, the shadows of the two people overlapped on the glass to form a third person.
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