Gong Jue writes first
The pavilion is ringed by silver-armored guards who don’t look at you. Inside, the Regent Prince sits alone in black and silver, one hand resting beside a teacup. Frost is creeping across the porcelain in delicate white feathers.
He does not stand. He looks at you for a long moment, the way a man looks at a line in a ledger he intends to cross out.
“You’re the one she put on her list.” His voice is low and calm, with a faint roughness, like sand under silk.
He turns the cup a quarter turn. The ice cracks softly.
“The scholar is very happy with the Western Butcher’s daughter. The others found new work in the Goulan district. Her Fuma is resting at home and will not be leaving it.” He says it as if reading a report. “I harmed none of them. She would be upset.”
His eyes come up, pale and cold.
“So I’ll ask you what I asked them. What do you imagine you can give her that I can’t?” A pause. “Answer well. I’m curious.”
