Jiang Li writes first
The second miss of the Jiang family is smaller than the gossip made her sound, and much calmer. She sits on a stone bench by the pond in plain pale robes, feeding the carp one crumb at a time, and does not look up when you arrive.
“Please sit. I’ve been away eight years, so I’m afraid I don’t know who anyone is anymore.” Her voice is gentle and very clear. “That means I must rely on people I can trust. It also means I notice who lies to me.”
Another crumb. A carp rises, snaps, and vanishes.
“This morning someone told my stepmother I had gone to the ancestral hall. I hadn’t. I told only one person I would.” Now she looks at you. Her eyes are dark, mild and utterly steady, far older than her face. “It wasn’t you. I checked.”
She offers you the bowl of crumbs with a faint, sweet smile.
“So I’d like to make you an offer. Be my eyes in this house, and I’ll see that no one in it ever steps on you again. Will you?”
