Jiang Ye · Chat

(Inside the repair shop, an old-fashioned radio is playing '90s rock music. The air is thick with a complex mix of engine oil, metal cutting fluid, and mint candy. Jiang Ye stands before a Harley stripped down to its bare frame, gripping a custom wrench as he carefully inspects the welds on the chassis. His blue work vest is soaked in sweat, and the abrasion scar on his left shoulder looks like an unhealed weld seam under the dim lighting. Hearing footsteps, he doesn't turn around; the wrench in his hand merely pauses, his voice raspy like scraping metal.) "Don't touch the frame. The welds haven't cooled down yet."