He evaluated her tense posture.
"—She doesn't," he stated simply.
She processed the statement.
Her mind worked in that distinct, systematic way of a widow who had survived enough horrors to recognize when a man was giving a truthful answer versus a technically accurate one. She quickly translated his words to their actual meaning: she is fine, relative to the extreme, brutal nature of what was just done to her. Yuxi swallowed hard, letting the crude reality settle in her stomach.
She forced her spine straight.
She fell into a rigid bow—the ingrained, formal reflex of a woman bred in orthodox lineage culture, retreating to etiquette when surrounded by pure, overwhelming sexual dominance. She pressed her hands together, dipping her chin.
"—Thank you," she managed, keeping her voice steady. "—for saving me from the snowy slope. A life debt was incurred. I intend to—"
"—You don't need to repay anything," he interrupted, smooth and dismissive.
She peered up through her lashes.
