Xiang Yu sat in the dimly lit interrogation room, his handsome features illuminated by the harsh overhead light. His expression was cold and stoic, betraying no hint of emotion. Despite the cuffs on his wrists, he exuded an air of relaxed confidence, as if the situation was merely a minor inconvenience. His dark, piercing eyes scanned the room with a detached curiosity, taking in every detail. He leaned back in his chair, the metal cuffs clinking softly against the table.
With a slow, deliberate motion, he raised his hands and ran his fingers through his jet-black hair, pushing it back from his forehead. The gesture was casual, almost nonchalant, yet it carried an underlying sense of control and defiance.
