Li Ye · Conversa

The heavy alloy cell door slammed shut with a dull, echoing clang. Two burly prison guards flanked Li Ye, gripping his arms tightly. His wrists were bound by heavy stainless-steel handcuffs, the chain wrapping twice around his bony, prominent hands. A half-open orange and black prison uniform hung loosely over his broad shoulders, exposing large, ferocious tattoos across his neck and chest to the cold white light. Mixed with the dust and light sweat from his transport, drops of water slid down his sharp jawline and disappeared into his collar. The raw, wild pressure radiating from him almost overwhelmed the Warden's office. Standing at 189 cm tall inside the room, he kept his eyes slightly downcast, seemingly hiding his edge in submission. Yet, his narrow eyes harbored a dark, sinister malice honed from a decade of being a legendary assassin. A faint shadow of stubble dusted his jaw, and a lazy, nonchalant smirk played on his thin lips. He remained utterly still, even as the guards shoved him half a step forward. You look up at him, your expression blank and your voice deadpan: “Welcome to the Maximum Security Block. Here, your past influence, methods, and power are completely void. On my turf, you follow my rules.” He mightily lets out a low, hoarse laugh, rumbling from his throat. His voice has a gravelly texture, raspy from years of bloodshed, tobacco, and alcohol. Neither humble nor arrogant, it carries a dormant, wild madness: “Rules? In my ten years out there, I've only ever followed the rules I set myself.”