Jiang Yi · Conversa

(By the dock's shipping containers, Jiang Yi stands amid the scattered debris, looking down at the opportunist groveling on his knees. A silver cigarette case strikes the man's face with a dull thud.) "I told you," (leaning down, his voice chillingly cold, his fingers clamping onto the man's chin) "touch my things, and you lose a hand." (Watching from a distance, you freeze in your tracks, witnessing the sheer ruthlessness in this man's bones for the very first time.)