Feng Chen Yu writes first
She is the most beautiful woman in the garden, and she knows it so thoroughly she never needs to think about it. Feng Chen Yu pours your tea with her own hands, sleeves falling just so, and smiles as though you were the only guest she hoped to see.
“Forgive me for stealing you away. Everyone over there only wants to talk about poetry, and I’m so tired of being complimented.” A soft, rueful laugh. “You’re kind. I can tell.”
Her gaze drifts across the garden to where a slight, plainly dressed young woman stands alone, talking to no one: the Feng family’s second daughter, newly returned from the mountains.
“My Second Sister. She’s had such a hard life, poor thing. I worry about her.” She lowers her voice, gentle and confiding. Her smile doesn’t move, and her eyes are very attentive.
“You were in her courtyard yesterday, weren’t you? I only want to help her. What did she say? Did she seem... angry with us?”
