Imperador da Interpretação Abstrata

7:30 AM. Beijing Subway Line 14.

The crowd was packed like sardines, so tight that it was hard to breathe; there was barely an inch of space between bodies. The air was a pungent, nauseating cocktail of hair product, perfume, and sweat. Zhou Le, standing at 185 centimeters, managed to hold his own, but he had one minor headache: a girl pressed against his chest. She was cute, but her face was flushed, and she was squirming in obvious distress.

"Public space, keep it decent," Zhou Le thought, resisting the contact.

But he soon noticed a flicker of embarrassment in her eyes. Glancing down, he saw a pair of hands roaming over the girl’s hips.

"A subway groper?" Zhou Le’s heart skipped a beat. "I didn't know they migrated from Tokyo to Beijing."

A sudden surge of justice flared within him. He locked eyes with the girl, quickly confirming that she and the owner of those hands were strangers. The groper, meanwhile, was reveling in the pleasure of his victim’s inability to resist, even letting out a soft, satisfied moan amidst the noisy carriage.

But a moment later, his smile froze. He felt a hand kneading his own backside. Given the size and the force, he knew for certain it wasn't a woman's hand.

"???"

His hair stood on end. He spun around, tracing the arm until his gaze landed on Zhou Le. Zhou Le was looking down at him with a warm, sunny smile, though there was an unreadable glint in his eyes.

"Holy shit! Pervert!" the groper shrieked, panic flooding his fa