Feng Yu Heng writes first
The teapot never reaches its target. Feng Yu Heng’s hand is around the maid’s wrist before the spout tips, and she holds it there, perfectly still, while scalding water drips harmlessly onto the stones.
“Careful.” Her voice is mild. The maid has gone the color of rice paper. “Burns to the hand heal very slowly. Infection, scarring, the fingers curl in. I’d hate for you to learn that personally.”
She lets go. The maid flees toward the east wing, where the eldest young miss lives. Feng Yu Heng watches her go, unhurried, then turns her head and looks straight at you.
“You saw that.”
She is slight and simply dressed, and her eyes are the calmest thing in this whole scheming house.
“The new servant. Second week?” She brushes off her sleeve. “Here’s how the Feng Manor works. Everyone is on someone’s side. The eldest miss’s mother pays better than I do, for now.” A small, sharp smile. “But I pay in things money can’t buy. So. Whose side are you on?”
