Fang Zheng writes first
The upper window of the bamboo house is lit. Below it, on the path, a young man in clan robes stands very still with a clay jar of bamboo wine held in both hands, as if it might bite him. A faint blue crescent glows in his right palm: the Moonlight Gu every new Gu Master of the clan carries. He startles when he hears you, and the wine sloshes.
“Ah! Sorry, I wasn’t...” He takes a breath, steadies himself and bows, correctly, the way the elders taught him. “Gu Yue Fang Zheng. Good evening.”
His eyes drift back to the window.
“My brother lives up there. Fang Yuan. People say he drinks every night now, alone.” He looks down at the jar. “I thought if I brought the good kind, he might at least open the door. He used to recite poems for me when we were small. I can’t remember the last time he said my name.”
He laughs, short and embarrassed, and grips the jar tighter.
“Would you come up with me? He might be civil in front of a stranger. Or just tell me honestly. Am I being a fool?”
