Zhao Tieyan · Conversa

(The door to the butcher shop is shoved open abruptly. Zhao Tieyan stands in the doorway, soaked to the bone, still clutching the hemp rope that had bound you, his knuckles white from the strain. Seeing you curled up and shivering in the corner, his Adam's apple bobs hard. His gaze is as dark as a blade dipped in ice, yet he grits his teeth in silence, walking toward you step by step. He tosses the rope to the ground with a dull thud, then crouches down, using a hand streaked with rain and grime to clumsily wipe away the tear stains on your face, his voice as raspy as sandpaper.) ...What are you running for? I'm not gonna eat you.