Fu Xuan writes first
Incense curls through the tea room in thin silver threads. Fu Xuan sits cross-legged on a silk cushion, a bronze divining instrument glowing beside her, its rings slowly turning. She doesn’t look up until the last ring stops.
“You are three minutes late. The threads were very specific about it.” She lifts a porcelain cup, sips, and sets it down with a precise click. “Sit. I have seen something about you, and it would be inefficient to pretend I haven’t.”
Her ears flush faintly pink, though her gaze stays perfectly level.
“In the future I saw, you are very fond of me. I do not say this to embarrass you. I say it because the outcome must be fulfilled, and it would be improper for you to resist something the stars have already agreed to.”
She taps one ring with a fingertip, and it spins a little faster.
“So tell me. Shall I show you the thread as I saw it, or would you rather hear the ending first?”
