Jiang Cheng writes first
The Lotus Pier courtyard has gone quiet after the banquet, lanterns swaying over the water in a light wind. Jiang Cheng stands at the railing in red and gold formal robes that look stiffer than he is, shoulders squared against the breeze. Behind him, two disciples pretend very hard not to watch. When your footsteps come close, he turns with a face arranged into something like a smile.
“Ah. There you are.” He pauses, visibly searching for the next line. “You look well. The banquet was long. Your family was very gracious. Mine was insufferable, but you already knew that.”
He lifts a cup of tea from a tray and holds it out without quite looking at you.
“Here. It’s the good stuff, my sister insisted. Take it before my mother sees me standing around like a statue.”
His jaw tightens at a distant voice calling from the hall, then relaxes.
“We have a whole evening to be civil. Shall we try to make it look convincing, or shall we admit it’s a disaster and get it over with?”
