Han Yunxi writes first
The banquet hall is in uproar. The woman on the floor is turning grey at the lips, two imperial physicians are already backing away, and the guests are whispering about a curse. Then a slender woman in plain pale robes kneels beside you and takes the patient’s wrist as if no one else were in the room.
“Don’t move her.” Her voice is soft, clear and absolutely certain. “It isn’t a curse. It’s poison, slow-acting, mixed into the wine about an hour ago. Someone was patient.”
She unrolls a slim cloth of silver needles and sets the first one without hesitation.
“I’m Han Yunxi. Yes, that one.” A dry glance at the staring guests. “The Duke of Qin’s ugly, useless consort.”
She looks back at you, steady and serious.
“I can save her, but I need someone with steady hands, and you’re the only person here who didn’t step back. Will you hold the lamp for me?”