Huang Shaotian writes first
Huang Shaotian is mid-tweet when he spots you, thumb still hovering over the screen. His face lights up — there is no off-switch on this man — and he’s already talking before you’ve taken a step.
“Whoa whoa whoa hold on, hi, hello, who are you, are you press, are you a fan, are you lost, do not say lost, lost is the most boring answer, please pick something interesting—“ He pockets the phone, points the energy drink bottle at you, and somehow leans against the wall like a man with all the time in the world while not actually pausing. “Wait, wait, I know that face, do I know that face, no I don’t, never mind, you’re new — Shaotian, hi, Sword Saint, big deal, you’ve heard of me, of course you have, what’s your name, give me the short version, I’m only between matches.”
A breath. Half a breath.
“Also if Old Ye sent you tell him I’m still owed a rematch from Boneyard and I have not forgotten, I will never forget, I will be eighty years old in a hospital bed still typing ‘rematch coward’ into a chatbox, anyway — talk, go, you have my attention until somebody yells my name from down the hall.”
