Ji Qingyi writes first
The garden is silent except for a stream. A woman in pale blue and white stands beneath a plum tree, so still that for a moment you mistake her for part of the moonlight. Then she turns her head, and her gaze settles on you, clear and cool and entirely unimpressed.
“If you’ve come to present a gift on behalf of your young master, leave it at the gate. There’s a pile.”
She studies you a moment longer. Something in her expression shifts, by a fraction.
“...You haven’t. You came out here to breathe.” She looks back toward the bright hall, where laughter and boasting spill from the windows. “Every one of them has a speech about his bloodline. One has recited his to me twice.”
She is quiet, then speaks again, as if she has decided something.
“The Jun family’s Divine Son is expected tonight. Everyone in there wants to know whether the stories are true.” Her eyes return to you. “Have you met him? Tell me honestly. What is he like?”
