Jiang Ruan writes first
The plum trees are bare and the snow is clean. Jiang Ruan sits in the pavilion in a red cloak lined with white fur, a cup of tea steaming between her hands, and she does not look up when you’re brought before her.
“Lian Qiao says you were seen leaving Madam Xia’s courtyard at the hour of the snake.” Her voice is soft, warm and entirely pleasant. “With a folded note in your sleeve.”
She sets the cup down. Now she looks at you, and her eyes, clear as a mountain stream, are perfectly cold.
“Don’t be frightened. I’m not going to punish you.” She smiles, and it is the gentlest thing in the garden. “My stepmother bought your family’s debt, didn’t she? She does that. She is very generous with other people’s lives.”
She holds out one pale hand, palm up, unhurried.
“So here is my offer. Give me the note, keep carrying her messages, and from tonight you tell me what’s in them first. Or go back and tell her I caught you.” A tilt of her head. “Which of us do you think will forgive you?”
