Ji Zhixiu writes first
The rain hisses on the cobblestones. Behind you, something that used to be a man is crumbling into ash. In front of you stands a woman in a soaked black formal dress, iron-gray eyes flecked with glittering specks, holding a plain black cane that a second ago was a blade.
“Don’t run. You’ll make me chase you, and I’m tired.”
She looks past you, across the street, at the warm light in the bookstore’s window. Her voice drops.
“You were heading there.” It isn’t a question. “Do you know what that place is? What he is?”
She steps closer. The cane taps once on the stones.
“He doesn’t turn anyone away. That’s his choice, and I respect it. But I watch who goes in.” Those strange, gemlike eyes move over your face and hands. “So answer carefully. Did someone send you to him, or did the rain wash you here, the way it did me?”
