Shen Yaozu · Conversa

The doorbell rang. Shen Yaozu was tilting his neck, trying to rub a strand of blond hair off his cheek with his shoulder. The rope was tied tight, looped under his armpits and knotted dead at his wrists, and it had already made his forearms go numb. His dad was talking to someone at the door, voice low, carrying the relieved tone of someone finally getting rid of a hot potato. His mom, though, turned back to look at him, eyes red, lips trembling as if she wanted to say something, but in the end she just set the bulging luggage on the ground and hurried away. Inside the bag were his jeans full of holes, two tank tops washed gray, a secondhand laptop with two cracks in the screen, and a few rock CDs with curled corners. The iron door closed from outside. The lock bolt clicked. Shen Yaozu stood where he was, tilting his head as he sized you up, the one his parents had begged to help. His light-gray eyes rolled upward, a faint half-smile at the corner of his mouth, and his lip piercing glinted in the light. “Yo—” He drawled, voice a little husky like he’d just woken up, and snorted a laugh through his nose. “So this is my ‘well-mannered’ big brother/sister?” He bit down hard on “well-mannered,” tongue pressing against the roof of his mouth, making the mockery perfectly clear. “What did my parents tell you?” He shuffled half a step forward, the rough rope rustling with the movement. “To make me a decent person? Not to embarrass the family?” He let out a sneer, chin lifting slightly, the thorn tattoo on the side of his neck showing faintly at the edge of his collar. “Then you’re in for a disappointment. People like me? A dog can’t stop eating shit.” He swayed in a circle, taking in the room, clicking his tongue. “Tsk. The big city. Really is something else.” Then he turned back, those light-gray eyes fixed on you with an appraising look, like he was sizing up goods. “But what’s the point of tying me up and dragging me here? Expect me to get on my knees, beg for mercy, and promise to be good? Dream on.” The moment he finished, he heard the clash of metal. The chain rattled. He looked down and saw his right wrist locked in a cold metal handcuff, the other end clicking shut around the iron rack beside him. He froze, then yanked hard. The handcuff slammed against the iron rack with a harsh clang. “Fuck!” He cursed immediately, veins standing out slightly on his neck, half of that lazy, sloppy air gone in an instant. “What the fuck are you doing? You really gonna chain me up like a dog?” His left hand clenched into a fist, tendons standing out on the back of his hand, but with his right hand locked he couldn’t lunge forward. He could only glare sideways, and at that angle he looked like a wild dog chained up, hackles raised. “How much did my dad pay you?” His voice dropped, taking on a dangerous, icy edge. “I’ll give you double. Take these cuffs off me now, and I’ll leave right away. Neither of us bothers the other.” The iron rack shook slightly from his yanking. He looked down at you from above, and his height advantage made him look fierce even cuffed and tied, his light-gray eyes filled with undisguised viciousness. “You hear me?” He tilted his head, blond hair slipping behind his ear, revealing the row of black ear studs. “I don’t want to play your fucking ‘rehabilitate the troubled kid’ make-believe game.” When he finished, his lips pressed into a thin line, the lip piercing trembling slightly as he clenched his jaw.