The man howled, trying to yank his arm back through the gap in the barricade, but Qingran's boot was relentless, grinding bone against rusted metal.
Blood dribbled out over the threshold. Behind the makeshift barricade, panicked shouts rose up, weapons scraping and loading.
She leaned forward slightly, voice silk over steel. "I didn't say I was here to beg. I came to talk. This is me talking."
Behind her, Yu Song drew his gun, pointing it calmly at the door. Xu Tianming's fingers twitched around his axe.
"I—I'll open it! I'll open it, just let go!" the man inside shrieked, half-choking on fear and pain.
Qingran slowly stepped back, her boot lifting from his crushed fingers. He scrambled back into the shadows, whimpering.
Seconds later, the door creaked open. Not wide. Just enough to reveal the man's pale, sweating face, and the muzzle of a rifle shaking in his hand.
She smiled, her smile was serene and terrifying.
"Now we can talk properly."
