On the bench, a man wearing an old leather jacket closed the comic book in his hand and placed it beside him.
The comic's cover showed two women on the phone—one formally dressed, the other with a touch of world-weariness. In the corners, blood-tinged snowflakes drifted, creating an oppressive atmosphere reminiscent of a funeral.
The man in the jacket took out a cigarette, lit it, exhaled a ring of smoke, and pressed his lips together. A hint of reminiscence flickered in his eyes.
A Lamborghini approached, braking steadily just as it was about to pass the bench.
A man in a burgundy suit stepped out of the car. He exchanged a glance with the man in the jacket. They clearly recognized each other, but neither hurried to exchange greetings.
The man in the suit pulled out an e-cigarette, inserting a cartridge into the heating rod while his eyes casually scanned the surroundings. Eventually, his gaze landed on the comic on the bench.
"Is this the boss's new work?" the man in the suit asked.
"Yes," the man in the jacket nodded, his hair so heavily slicked down that not even the cold winter wind could stir his bangs.
"How is it?"
"Too mild."
Hearing this, the man in the suit narrowed his eyes, reached out, picked up the comic, and began to flip through it.
The artistry, composition, and design were all impeccable. It was up to the boss's standard.
Especially the final illustration, a large spread spanning two pages, created a powerful contrast in both plot and artistic style. The initial 'scar literature' narrative style and the urban neon art style ultimately formed a double twist. A good story, and also a good comic.
Nevertheless, the man in the suit nodded in agreement.
"It is indeed too mild."
They knew the boss's works. He liked to pursue that extreme, visceral, wrenching feeling; whether in the plot or the visual rendering, his work always delivered an immense sense of oppression, making readers so tense they'd even breathe cautiously.
This comic, compared to the boss's previous works, was like a master chef, accustomed to preparing rich, complex dishes, suddenly stir-frying a plate of broccoli seasoned only with a pinch of salt.
"You guys sure got here early."
Across the street, a young man and woman were approaching together.
They were siblings. The younger brother wore a black down jacket, a hat, and a scarf, walking with his neck shrunk down and feet drawn in, shivering somewhat, clearly unaccustomed to the outdoor cold.
The sister, on the other hand, wore a white down jacket and sky-blue jeans. Her face, though not the classic melon seed-shape, was a bit rounded but still very delicate, exuding a distinct sense of purity.
"Siyao, Siyu, you're here," Deng Ge greeted them happily, his enthusiasm particularly noticeable when facing the girl.
"Deng Ge, wipe your drool," Qin Siyu said. Like any brother, he harbored a natural hostility toward any man vying to be his brother-in-law.
But every prospective brother-in-law tends to be very tolerant of his potential future younger brother-in-law. Of course, once he officially becomes a brother-in-law, he starts to be wary of his wife's younger brother, to prevent his wife from becoming the type who excessively dotes on her own younger brother.
"Siyu, why did you come out? It's cold today. Be careful not to catch a cold," Deng Ge said with genuine concern.
Qin Siyu walked to the bench, ignored Deng Ge, and turned to the man in the jacket, smiling as he asked, "Brother Qiang, are you still single?"
The man in the jacket, Hui Qiang, was the oldest in their circle. Back then, when they were mostly college students or recent graduates, Hui Qiang was already of an uncle's generation. He had remained single ever since, so his relationship status was often the subject of teasing.
Hui Qiang shook his head, ran a hand through his hair that was greasy enough to shine, and replied, "Not yet."
Qin Siyao took the comic from Deng Ge. Deng Ge, standing nearby, eagerly explained, "This is the boss's new work. Seems like it was drawn a few months ago."
Qin Siyao started to flip through the comic. It was thin, and the story wasn't long. If one didn't take the time to appreciate the detailed artwork, it could be read very quickly.
After flipping to the last page, Qin Siyao put the comic down and pressed her lips together.
Deng Ge asked attentively, "What is it? What's wrong with the boss's comic?"
Qin Siyu took the comic from his sister. After flipping through it for a while, he said incredulously, "Why would the boss draw something like this?"
Hui Qiang, sitting on the bench, guessed, "Perhaps the boss is short on money."
If he weren't short on money, given the boss's disposition, he wouldn't draw such a mild comic.
"The boss, too... If he needed money, why didn't he come to me?" Deng Ge said from the side.
Qin Siyu glared at Deng Ge and retorted, "We know you've made several hit animated movies in the last couple of years and earned a lot of money, but what's the point of showing off here?"
"Showing off? If the boss needed money, wouldn't I give it to him? If he hadn't helped me back then, I'd still be stuck back in my hometown."
"Even if the boss were desperate, he'd never ask us," Hui Qiang said with a sigh.
Instantly, Deng Ge and Qin Siyu grew silent. It was true; the boss was, after all, the boss. No matter how difficult things got, he would never ask them for help.
Just then, a motorcycle pulled up and stopped near them. The rider was a woman whose tight-fitting motorcycle suit perfectly accentuated her flawless figure.