The café Ling Yue suggests is nothing like the places I've been dragged to since becoming a Wuchen.
No marble floors, no staff who recognize my last name and adjust their posture accordingly.
Just a corner spot two streets from a university campus, mismatched chairs, the kind of ambient noise that comes from people actually talking instead of performing conversations at each other.
I find him already there when I arrive, sitting with both hands wrapped around a mug, scrolling through his phone with the relaxed posture of someone who has nowhere more important to be.
He looks up and smiles. "You came."
"I said I would."
"People say a lot of things." He gestures to the chair across from him. "Sit. I already ordered for you, hope that's okay. The matcha latte here is genuinely good and I didn't want you making a bad choice on your first visit."
I sit. "What if I don't like matcha."
"Do you not like matcha?"
"...No, I like matcha."
