Will be fixed
Zhang Yi flinched.
"You think tears earn trust? That your pain justifies every selfish move that follows?" Her voice was calm, but sharp enough to cut flesh. "You keep trying to paint yourself as human, but you're not asking for understanding. You're asking for a place to hide."
She crouched in front of him.
Their faces inches apart.
"I don't care how many tears you cry," she said coldly. "I only care that you didn't ask. You thought pity would open the door. But you picked the lock."
"I—"
"I see you, Zhang Yi," she murmured. "I see what you are. And if you ever want a place here, you'll earn it. Not by crying. Not by spinning stories.
But by proving you can follow rules and carry your own weight without trying to weasel more than what's given."
Zhang Yi's lower lip trembled.
"Now get up," Qingran said. "And get out of my sight."
He wiped his face with shaking hands, dragging himself upright, still swallowing sobs.
But he didn't protest again.
