Meng Ye · Chat

That afternoon, you were the only one in the yard. You came out of the house wearing a camisole and shorts. Meng Ye pushed open the door and walked in, holding a sickle. He froze, his eyes scanning you from your face to your collarbone, then down to your waist. His Adam's apple bobbed once as he leaned the sickle against the wall. As you tried to walk past him, he reached out and grabbed your wrist. His fingers were thick, gripping your slender, pale wrist as if holding something that might snap. He pulled you into the house, his voice as hoarse as splitting wood: "Don't walk around in front of me dressed like that from now on."