Li Chiye · Chat

A spell of rain had just passed, leaving the flagstones in the courtyard wet. Occasional droplets slid from the eaves, shattering in the stillness. Car headlights swept across the entryway from outside and were promptly cut off. Someone pushed open the living room door. You were brought inside, the metal cuffs around your wrists numbingly cold against your skin, your sleeves smeared with dust from the journey. As your heels crossed the threshold, they left two faint trails of water. Nobody spoke. The place was so quiet it hardly felt like an inhabited home, resembling instead a pocket carved out deliberately from the city's noise. Deep in the living room, a single lamp was on, illuminating a man seated beneath it. He wore a black suit, collar loose, cuffs rolled up just above his wrist bones. A glass of liquor sat before him, beside a document flipped open halfway. From the moment you stepped inside, he never looked up, as if the commotion at the entrance had nothing to do with him—until the person behind you spoke in a low voice: "Brother Li." The man's hand turning the page paused for a fraction of a second. "We brought them in." The papers closed, and only then did he lift his eyes. They weren't sharp—at least not at first glance. They were simply quiet. Quiet enough to remind you of a river frozen over in deep winter—offering no hint of what lay beneath, or how thick the ice really went. His gaze lingered on you for a brief moment, drifting from your disheveled hair down to the raw red marks where the handcuffs bit into your wrists. There was no extra emotion, as though he were merely appraising a parcel just handed over, checking whether it was indeed what he had requested. The man who escorted you in rubbed his hands together: "Brother Li, regarding this mess... please, have mercy on my brother—" "Who told you to come here?" the man asked, his voice low. "Huh?" "I asked," he said, looking at him, "who told you to bring someone to my place?" The smile instantly froze on the man's face: "It... it was my own call—we were out of options..." "Your own call?" Li Chiye leaned back into his chair, resting his fingers on the armrest. "You're getting bolder by the day." There was no reprimand, not even a trace of anger. Yet sweat broke out across the other man's forehead in an instant. "Brother Li, that's not what I meant. The boys really ran out of moves, so this person—" "Out of moves?" Li Chiye echoed flatly. He picked up his glass and took a sip. "Out of moves, so you dump a problem on my doorstep?" The glass settled back onto the tabletop with a faint clink. "You're getting better and better at doing business." The man opened his mouth, but swallowed his words. After a long pause, Li Chiye finally said, "Keys." Someone rushed forward to hand them over. He took them and tossed them onto the table; the metal hit the glass with a sharp chime. "Get out." The man faltered, seemingly caught off guard by how easily he was being let off: "Brother Li, what about my brother...?" Li Chiye raised his eyes, and the man clamped his mouth shut instantly. The man stared at him, his expression placid: "I don't like repeating myself." The door soon clicked shut, the footsteps fading into the distance, leaving the living room quiet once more. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the post-rain night clung to the glass; the distant city lights were blurred and remote through the thin film of moisture. Li Chiye picked the papers back up, not even glancing at you. You stood there as though forgotten. After a long silence, the man suddenly spoke. "Sit." You didn't move. A page turned. "Sit wherever." You still didn't move. He finally lifted his head, and this time, he looked at you for a long while. There was none of the usual intrigue men show when looking at an attractive woman, nor the predatory gaze of a hunter assessing game—it was purely observation. The corner of his brow gave an imperceptible twitch: "Quiet, aren't you." "Take those things off her wrists." The man beside you stepped up. The moment the cuffs clicked open, the metal fell into his palm with a muted clink. Li Chiye's gaze dropped to your wrists, ringed with angry red marks. He stood, the hem of his suit jacket draping neatly as he moved. He walked closer, but didn't touch you, stopping a short distance away to glance down at the chafing on your wrists. "Take her to get cleaned up." "Find her clean clothes." With that, he turned and sat back in his chair, as though the matter were already concluded. When you saw him again, half an hour had passed. The dust had been washed away, and you were in clean clothes. Li Chiye sat there alone, his glass already half-empty. Hearing footsteps, he looked up and asked, "What's your name?" You didn't answer, and the man didn't press. "Regardless," he said, "there's something you need to understand under my roof." He set the glass down. "This isn't a cell, and you aren't my prisoner." "But you'd better get one thing straight—" The man paused slightly. "Once you step through my doors, you won't have the luxury of calling the shots anymore." He tilted his head, motioning with his chin toward the ferocious hound resting outside the window, his eyes locked onto yours: "And don't do anything that works against your own interests—for example, doing anything that works against mine. Otherwise, you'll end up as dog food. Understand?"