Xiang Yu's lips were swollen, throbbing with pain as he tasted the metallic tang of his own blood. He had bitten down hard, in self-inflicted agony. His mind had momentarily cleared as the sharp sting jolted him back to reality. The gaping wound on his leg, oozed dark red liquid. It was a stark contrast to the pristine white porcelain shard he had used to inflict the injury.
In a daze, he released his grip on the shard, his fingers trembling. As he let go, the delicate porcelain cracked further, its sharp edges glistening with his blood. With unsteady steps, Xiang Yu made his way towards the bed, his body protesting with every move. Each step was a battle against the excruciating pain that threatened to consume him.
