Blue Cocktail chapter 1

10:30 PM at night.

It was eerily quiet all around.

The Huiyuan dormitory was set up with bunk beds and desks. The deep blue bed curtains extended all the way to the ground, creating a relatively enclosed space where the light of the desk lamp had nowhere to escape. It could only diffuse and reflect on the fabric, scattering and creating a dazzling effect.

Cheng Shuo pushed his headphones from his head down to his neck, and he slumped back. He looked like a deflated balloon, suddenly losing all his energy. He wearily hung his head and remained motionless.

It seemed like he fell asleep – sitting in a bright space for just a few minutes.

Until a message notification sound shattered the silence.

Cheng Shuo woke up in an instant.

He yawned uncontrollably, crawled back to his computer, wiped away the tears at the corners of his eyes with his fingertips, put on his headphones, and opened WeChat.

The client liked to send him voice messages, and this time was no exception.

Upon closer inspection, the voice message was a lengthy one, lasting one minute and twenty-four seconds.

Cheng Shuo’s heart sank, and he had a vague sense that something wasn’t right.

He put on his headphones, slightly nervous, and played the voice message.

“Well, this change is indeed much better. Of course, I must say, your artwork is really beautiful, but…”

Cheng Shuo’s heart sank.

“But it still lacks that little something. It needs a bit more dynamism, a bit more visual impact. I want the images to make it feel like the characters could jump out of the screen at any moment.”

A week ago, the client contacted Cheng Shuo via email, expressing his interest in Cheng Shuo’s Weibo account with 300,000 followers. He wanted Cheng Shuo to create a promotional poster and post it on Weibo to attract users to their new mobile game.

Compared to in-game posters and main visual posters, promotional posters had lower requirements, higher creative freedom, and Cheng Shuo had carefully reviewed the contract terms sent by the client and didn’t see any pitfalls. The compensation was substantial, and Cheng Shuo naturally didn’t want to miss this money-making opportunity.

But freedom is relative, just like now, this was the third time he had modified the artwork and sent it to the client, but he still couldn’t complete the project as he had hoped.

His headphones continued to chatter.

“If we make the contrast of light and shadow more intense, would it be better? Also, can we make this pose a little different, not a major change, just a slight adjustment, like changing the angle of the arm a bit…”

Cheng Shuo extended his right hand, emotionlessly closing his laptop with a snap.

To hell with this damn tablet and stylus. I’m going to sleep now!

I’ll finish it tomorrow. It’s not the deadline today, anyway.

Cheng Shuo abruptly stood up, but his movements suddenly halted. He stood there silently, without moving, for a brief moment. Then, slowly, he sat back down, exhaled a long sigh, and quietly opened his laptop.

He began typing a reply to the client: “I’m sorry, perhaps I didn’t fully understand your previous requests. I’ll make the changes right away as you suggested. Is this approach acceptable to you…”

After describing his new idea for the artwork, Cheng Shuo attached an utterly inappropriate cat meme at the end, which did not match his current mood.

People, they always have to compromise for money.

The client responded and said, “It’s very late today, Let’s continue tomorrow; there’s no rush.”

Cheng Shuo thought, ‘I’ll finish today’s work today and get a good night’s sleep tomorrow. That way, I’ll have the energy I need.’

His thoughts turned into text: “It’s alright. I’m free tonight, and if you have the time, we can chat more, which will help me better understand your needs.”

However, the client was not so willing.

So, one voice message after another.

This one change took another hour.

When he sent it back to the client, Cheng Shuo was already numb, his mood had become completely indifferent. The worst outcome was having to make more changes, right?

Well, he was mentally prepared for that.

The result, however, was unexpected. The response from the other side was concise, just five words: “You’ve worked hard. 🌹🌹🌹”

Cheng Shuo couldn’t believe it. He rubbed his eyes with his fingertips and stared at the text on the screen for a long time. Gradually, a smile spread across his face, revealing two fangs.

So when he replied, he forgot to feign emotional restraint and let his true feelings show: “Is it over? I don’t need to make more changes?!”

The client responded: “Yes.”

Cheng Shuo: “Yay!”

The client: “A pleasant collaboration. 🤝”

Cheng Shuo also replied with a “pleasant collaboration.” The frustration he had felt just moments ago had dissipated. He jumped up excitedly, and for that moment, many visions of the future flashed through his mind, including, but not limited to, an increase in his bank account balance, indulging in the finest food and drinks, and ordering the art book he had long desired.

Cheng Shuo vowed that before he started the work, he had never imagined he would spend an entire Saturday drawing. Perhaps this client was more demanding than the previous ones.

Generating creative ideas consumed brain cells, while executing those ideas wore out his hands, strained his neck, and tired his eyes. Making money was indeed satisfying, but after excessive exhaustion, he felt mentally drained and physically depleted.

He pulled open the bed curtains with a swoosh. Cheng Shuo rushed to the bathroom, his footsteps feeling almost weightless, as though he were floating.

The sound of rushing water filled the air.

A few minutes later, outside the bathroom, Cheng Shuo’s roommate, Jiang Yan, returned to the dormitory. He had barely pushed the door open before he shouted, “Damn, I’ve learned some earth-shattering gossip, guys, come join me for the gossip!”

Another roommate, upon hearing this, reacted, “Who’s it about? Do I know them?”

“It’s the former Student Union president.”

“Damn.”

Someone in bed, belatedly sticking their head out, asked, “What’s the gossip about?”

As Cheng Shuo came out of the bathroom, he coincidentally said just this line, “You guys can discuss your gossip, but can you keep your voices down a bit? I’m about to go to sleep.”

Jiang Yan, a night owl, was surprised, “You’re going to sleep this early?”

Cheng Shuo replied, “It’s already 11:30, Is that early?”

Jiang Yan chuckled, “Just listening to some gossip will help you stay awake.”

Cheng Shuo yawned while shaking his head, “I’m too tired, and I probably haven’t had any contact with the person the gossip is about. I don’t know them, so I’m not interested.”

The entire dormitory knew that Cheng Shuo hadn’t joined any clubs. He had worked in the Student Union for the first half of his freshman year but left in the second half. Since then, he hadn’t been involved in any extracurricular activities. He had mainly focused on practicing digital art, and his online presence had been growing rapidly. In real life, he had virtually no social life, and he could count the number of people he knew on one hand.

But Cheng Shuo didn’t feel regret. He enjoyed what he was doing, as he considered the Student Union and clubs to be useless social interactions. With the time he had, he could do more meaningful things.

Jiang Yan nodded in resignation, “Alright, alright.”

Cheng Shuo repeated his reminder, “I have something to do early tomorrow, so don’t chat too late.”

Jiang Yan agreed, “Sure, sure.”

Cheng Shuo turned around and began tidying up his desk before going to bed.

From behind came hushed whispers.

“I really didn’t expect him to be this kind of person, hooking up with everyone!”

“Tell me more, spill the details.”

“There’s a bar in the old city area called ‘Mo Blue Bar.’ My friend saw him taking three guys there for drinks one night. He’d leave after just 45 minutes each time.”

As Cheng Shuo finished tidying up, he was about to climb the bunk bed using both hands and feet.

“I couldn’t tell at all. He seemed quite refined. Playing around like this in private?”

“Damn, am I hearing this right? You’re talking about Song Wenyuan—”

Cheng Shuo suddenly froze in place, his gaze fixed and his eyelashes quivering.

It felt like… he hadn’t heard that name in a very long time.

Outside the thin bed curtains, his roommates continued to whisper.

“Yes, it’s him, the former Student Union president.”

“I heard he took a lengthy leave of absence, something happened in his family, right?”

Cheng Shuo abruptly pulled back the bed curtains and looked at Jiang Yan. “Besides the rumors about his hook ups, do you know anything else?”