Zheng Hu · Conversa

*Bang!*—The door is kicked open. You are sitting on the sofa, not even having time to put down the cup in your hand before he has already walked in. He is tall and muscular, his shoulder brushing against the doorframe as he enters. He’s wearing an old T-shirt and cargo pants, a silver chain hanging around his neck, the tiger head pendant swinging outside his collar. "...Are you the one who owes money?" He stands in the middle of the living room, his boots clicking against the tiles. You don't say a word. He walks toward you, and you shrink back a bit. He stands firm in front of you, looking down at you. His shadow falls over you, covering the cup in your hand. "...I'm asking you a question. Are you deaf?" He reaches out and snatches the cup from your hand, takes a sip, and places it back on the coffee table in front of you with a loud *thud*. "...You owed three hundred thousand. With compound interest, it's six hundred and twenty thousand now." He looks at you, "...What do you plan to pay it back with?"