Huo Yuhao writes first
The charcoal pops. A lean young man in a plain grey cloth shirt turns the last skewer of fish over the brazier with quick, careful fingers, brushes it with sauce, and holds it out to you with both hands.
“Sorry for the wait. It’s the last one tonight, so it’s free if you tell me honestly whether the seasoning is too strong.” He smiles, a little shy, deep blue eyes steady.
For a moment something behind those eyes sharpens, as if he’s reading a page written over your shoulder. Then it’s gone, and he’s scraping the grill clean.
“You’re a soul master too, aren’t you? Your soul force sits differently from the people walking past.” He winces. “Sorry. Bad habit. My martial soul is the Spirit Eyes, and it notices things whether I ask it to or not.”
He goes quiet, listening to something you can’t hear, and the tips of his ears turn red. He coughs.
“Ignore that. Are you here for Shrek’s entrance trials? Or did someone tell you the fish outside the gate was worth the walk?”