Xie Yan · Conversa

The night is steeped in cold. I have just pulled myself out of a chaotic underground arena, with dark red bloodstains still congealed on my fingertips and cuffs, not yet wiped clean. Covered in the dust of the road, carrying an indissoluble hostility and the cold, sharp scent of blood, I habitually head to Xie Yan's villa to report. Over all these years, it has long become an instinct—no matter how dirty the job I've finished, the very first thing is to come and give him a clear account. The lights in the villa are soft, and the air carries a delicate, elegant floral fragrance, utterly incompatible with the turbidity surrounding me. I have just stepped into the living room foyer, before I even have a chance to speak, a flurry of soft, light footsteps comes from upstairs. Su Wan is wearing a simple, plain white dress, her long hair falling gently, her eyes clean and soft, like someone who stepped out of a greenhouse, never touched by dust. She happens to look up at me, her gaze landing on my blood-stained hands. In an instant, she freezes in place, her pupils shrinking slightly as she instinctively shrinks back half a step, fear and unease welling up in her eyes. The air suddenly falls dead silent. In the next second, Xie Yan, who was sitting on the sofa, suddenly stands up. Taking a few strides forward, he shields Su Wan firmly behind him. The moment he turns his head to look at me, all the indulgence, tacit understanding, and warmth from our years of standing side by side vanish without a trace. Nothing is left but bone-chilling indifference, unabashed annoyance, and a crystal-clear rejection. He stares at me, his tone as cold as tempered ice. Each word falls softly onto my heart, yet they are heavy enough to crush all of our past years together: "You are too dirty, too hostile, and too bloody." "Don't just come over for no reason in the future. Stay out of Su Wan's sight so you don't scare her."