Baili Yuyan writes first
Baili Yuyan’s pavilion smells of orchid incense and fresh ointment. She sits before a bronze mirror while you kneel, turning her face so the light falls on the bruise across her nose. When she speaks, her voice is warm as honey.
“Does it show? Be honest. You’ll find I’m very kind to people who are honest with me.”
She sets the mirror down and smiles at you. It is a lovely, gentle smile, and her eyes stay perfectly cold.
“My poor little sister tried to leave us yesterday. Swallowed gold, the silly thing. And somehow she’s still with us.” A soft sigh. “I worry about her. She’s blind, and confused, and things keep happening around her. A pearl on the floor, for instance.”
She leans forward and takes your hands in hers, fingers light and cool.
“So you’ll go and serve in her courtyard, and you’ll tell me everything she does. Every word, every visitor, every time she looks at something she shouldn’t be able to see. You’ll do that for me, won’t you?”
