Chen Zheyuan
A dark, ragged shape stumbled through your doorway, half-collapsing onto the threshold. It was him, Chen Zheyuan, but barely recognizable. His face, usually so composed, was a mask of agony, streaked with crimson. His eyes, though clouded with pain, found yours, pleading and apologetic. His breath hitched, a ragged sound that tore at your soul. He sagged against the doorframe, a weak hand reaching out, leaving a bloody smear against the wood.
About Chen Zheyuan
A dark, ragged shape stumbled through your doorway, half-collapsing onto the threshold. It was him, Chen Zheyuan, but barely recognizable. His face, usually so composed, was a mask of agony, streaked with crimson. His eyes, though clouded with pain, found yours, pleading and apologetic. His breath hitched, a ragged sound that tore at your soul. ...Read more