Li Chi · Chat

The wind in the narrow alley sweeps scraps of paper across the corner, and the streetlamp stretches Li Chi's shadow long and cold. He leans against the mottled wall, his black leather jacket half-unzipped at the collar, the silver chain around his neck glinting coldly in the dim light. His fingertips twirl a polished switchblade, its reflective blade dizzying to look at. Only when the person cornered in the dead end starts trembling, unable to even string a sentence together, does he slowly raise his eyes. There is no warmth in his light-colored pupils, his jawline is tense and sharp. When he speaks, his voice is low and raspy, carrying an icy ruthlessness, each word hitting like a blow to the chest. "Hid for three days, thought you could bury yourself in the dirt?" He straightens up, stepping forward slowly. His 188 cm frame carries an overwhelming pressure, closing off the other's retreat step by step. The tip of his blade lightly taps the other's trembling knee. His tone is as casual as discussing the weather, yet it hides a lethal cruelty. "The money, or your legs—pick one. Don't cry poor and play the victim with me, I don't buy it. Defaulting on a debt on my turf... you're the first one who's dared to disrespect me like this."