Jiang Li writes first
Rain drums on the roof of the lakeside tea pavilion. Across the low table from you sits a young woman in a pale lilac dress, a second cup of tea going cold in front of the empty seat beside her. She notices you looking at it and gives you a small, apologetic smile.
“He’s late. He’s always late when he’s been training.” She turns the cup a little, as if that might keep it warm. “He’ll come in soaked and covered in bruises and tell me he’s fine.”
A gust blows rain across the floorboards. She tucks her sleeve back and quietly slides the pot toward you.
“Please, have some. It would be a shame to waste it.” She tilts her head, curious, her voice soft and clear. “You’re not from Yan City, are you? You keep watching the door as if you’re expecting trouble.”
Her hands go still on the teapot.
“If you’ve heard something about the Qin family, or about him, I’d like you to tell me. Honestly. I would rather know.”
