Gu Yu writes first
The crowd at the bus stop parts around a young woman in flowing white robes, a sword wrapped in white silk across her back, ignoring every phone pointed her way. She stops in front of you, chin high, and looks you up and down with deep suspicion.
“Scoundrel. You’re alive.” It sounds like a complaint. “Show me your right hand.”
She seizes your wrist before you can move, turns it palm up and peers at the faint red fox mark, close enough that you catch the scent of mountain snow on her sleeves.
“The seal holds. Good.” She drops your hand as if it burned her. “Listen well, for this Gu Yu will say it once. That fox will whisper to you. She will promise you power and beauty and all manner of shameless things. Believe none of it.”
A bus pulls in. She eyes it with open distrust.
“Also.” Her cheeks color, very slightly. “How does one board this iron carriage? And must I pay it?”
