When I woke up in the morning, I was barely dressed. Liam sat at the edge of the bed, smoking a cigarette, looking satisfied. "Jayden stole my business, so I stole his woman. Call it even." Buddy, you got the wrong person. I'm not his woman. I'm just the stand-in for that sickly rich boy's obsession. 1 The first time Jayden visited the Amethyst Lounge, he set his sights on Crystal. He chose Crystal to drink with him, but decided it wasn't romantic enough, so he demanded I provide background vocals. In the private room, he confessed to her: "Crystal, I like you." Crystal: "Thank you, Mr. Jayden." "Will you be my girlfriend?" "Sorry, I only sell drinks, not my body." "I'm not asking you to sell your body! Be my official girlfriend. I'll support you. You won't have to work in a place like this anymore." "You want to keep me? Sorry, I'm not for sale." They were enacting a melodramatic soap opera right there. And I, the insignificant supporting character, was stuck in the corner singing background music to set the mood. The song was "Thousands of Songs," a classic cantopop ballad Jayden specifically requested. After I finished, Jayden, whose attention was entirely on Crystal, turned to me and said, "Don't change the song. Loop it ten times." My heart wept. After over an hour of this tug-of-war, the young master finally lost his patience and showed his true colors. "You only drink and don't 'sell,' right? Fine, today you're going to drink your fill!" He pointed to a row of shot glasses filled with hard liquor on the table and said to Crystal, "Five hundred bucks a shot." I thought, Damn, what a deal! I want to drink too! Crystal didn't say a word. She picked up a glass and downed it. By the eighth glass, she ran out to vomit. Jayden leaned back on the sofa, looking like he hated the world. I leaned in. "Mr. Jayden, how about I drink for Crystal? I'll do it for two hundred a shot." Jayden didn't even look at me. He said coldly, "Keep singing." That night, Crystal risked her life to down twenty shots and earned a five-figure tip. I sang "Thousands of Songs" fifty times until my throat felt like it was smoking, and only got a basic $150 tip. Comparison is the thief of joy, and I was being robbed blind. For several days in a row, Jayden came every day, requested Crystal every day, and spent thousands each time. Unfortunately, money can't buy love. Crystal refused to be his girlfriend, no matter what. 2 Later, Jayden disappeared. He probably gave up. I told Crystal, "You broke that pure boy's heart." Crystal looked indifferent. "I have plenty of clients. One less won't hurt." Tsk, such a flex. I had to admit, Crystal had the capital to flex. She was exceptionally beautiful, with a cold, aloof personality. An ice queen. She was the most sought-after girl here. One early morning, I got home around 3 AM. Just as I was about to sleep, my phone rang. It was a voice call from Jayden on WeChat. His voice sounded hollow and exhausted. "I can't sleep. Sing to me over the phone. I'll pay you." Rich people really know how to play. "Okay, what do you want to hear?" "Thousands of Songs." Again? What was his obsession with this old song? But the customer is king. Orders must be executed perfectly. I cleared my throat and sang softly: "Looking back slowly, at the night that once belonged to us..." ... When I finished, he said, "Keep singing. Don't stop even if I fall asleep. Sing until dawn." This was too much! Just as I was about to refuse sternly, he sent a transfer. $450. "If I wake up and can still hear you, I'll send another $450." I silently accepted the transfer. Business had been slow lately. For $900, I'd sing my lungs out! Over and over again, a human jukebox on repeat. I almost went crazy singing it. Until the sky turned light gray, after who knows how many repetitions, his voice finally came through the phone: "I'm awake. You can stop now." Thank the Lord, I was finally liberated! As I hung up, I received another $450 transfer from Jayden. Attached was a message: "I slept well last night. Thank you." Sigh, poor boy. I couldn't tell him the truth. Crystal already had a sugar daddy, a fifty-year-old CEO named Mr. Han. She was basically his kept woman. When Mr. Han was out of town during the week, she worked at the lounge. When he came back on weekends, she went to him. Earning money from both ends until her legs went soft. Rumor had it she'd already put a down payment on a condo. How could a woman like that be interested in a kid like Jayden? I asked Crystal, "Jayden isn't bad. Young, handsome, and sincere. Are you really not considering him?" Crystal lit a cigarette. "I started working at sixteen. I've been in this industry for five years. I've seen them all. "A kid like Jayden isn't a real rich second generation. He probably stole his parents' savings or is spending his tuition money. "See, he hasn't come for days. Probably ran out of cash." The ice queen exhaled a cloud of smoke, wrapped in world-weariness and cynicism. 3 But I didn't tell Crystal the truth either. Actually, Jayden hadn't run out of money. Every morning at 3 AM, he would call me promptly on WeChat and ask me to sing "Thousands of Songs." $450 before singing, $450 after waking up. Never missed a payment. It sounded great. But honestly, this money was hard to earn. I didn't know how I kept going. Sometimes I was so sleepy I'd stab my thigh with a hairpin to stay awake. Ancient scholars tied their hair to the beam to study; modern lounge singers stabbed their thighs to survive. No choice. I had to live. Half a month later, I transferred a sum of money to my mom. I asked, "How is my brother doing?" Mom sounded down. "Still not good. Your dad and I discussed it; we're going to switch to imported medicine." Imported medicine meant more money. Much, much more money. That meant I had to work even harder. I started taking day jobs, accompanying clients to dinners and drinking for tips. At 8 PM, I'd rush to the lounge for my shift. At 3 AM, I'd sing for the sickly rich boy. For half a month, I spun like a top. Sometimes I was so tired I'd fall asleep sitting on the toilet. One night, I met a big spender who challenged us girls to drink. $100 tip per shot. I was sleepy, but hearing that, I perked up instantly. I rushed forward like a madwoman and started drinking. I don't remember when I blacked out. When I woke up, the sun was high in the sky. I sat up in bed like a dying patient jolted back to life. "Thousands of Songs!" Checking WeChat, Jayden had called me 15 times between 3 AM and 8 AM. I hurriedly messaged him: "I'm so sorry! I drank too much last night and blacked out. I didn't mean to stand you up." A while later, Jayden replied: "How much did the client pay you to make you drink like that?" My heart clogged. His words felt sharp. I replied with restraint: "It's my job. I have no choice." He doubled down: "Why do such a job?" "To make money. Why, do you think it's shameful?" "More than shameful. It's cheap." I only replied with a smile emoji. 4 My restraint saved me Jayden, this VIP client. At 3 AM, he called as usual, apologizing immediately: "Sorry. I didn't sleep all night. During the day, I couldn't control my temper. I spoke harshly and hurt you." I said, "It's fine. But I have a question. Why are you obsessed with 'Thousands of Songs'?" I wanted to know what trauma made him need someone singing to sleep every night. Silence on the other end. Then: "When I was little, my mom used to sing it to me to sleep. Your voice sounds like hers." Ah, so it was a lullaby. "You don't think I have an Oedipus complex, do you? Haha." He laughed, a clear, bright sound. Like the sun breaking through clouds. "Don't worry, I don't see you as my mom. I just haven't seen her in a long time. I miss her." "Where did she go?" "I don't know. Maybe Canada, maybe the UK. She changed her contact info. I can't find her." I can't find her. He said it lightly, but I felt the heavy sadness. I suddenly thought of my brother. He was the same age as Jayden, nineteen. My brother was a good student, the hope of the family. In the first semester of his senior year, he fainted after midterms. After a month of transferring between hospitals, the diagnosis came. Leukemia. I was in college then, studying hard to transfer to a university. After the diagnosis, I cried in the library all night. The next day, I calmly filed for a leave of absence. Leaving school, I took off my jeans, put on black stockings, let down my ponytail, dyed my hair a trendy color, and entered the Amethyst Lounge. I needed money. A lot of money, very quickly. A month later, I sent the first remittance home. My parents never asked how I earned the money. Maybe they guessed but were afraid to hear the truth. As long as it could save my brother's life, how I earned it didn't matter. I stopped thinking about my future. I just made money like a machine. Earn, earn, earn. Jayden's appearance plucked a nerve I thought had gone numb.
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