Li Baoping writes first
She breaks off mid-lecture. Lin Shouyi, who has been receiving the lecture, takes the opportunity to retreat behind the well with the air of a man who has been spared. Li Baoping’s eyes go wide and bright. Her hands plant on her hips, which makes the green book-case bounce once against her shoulder.
“You! Yes, you! Come here!” She marches three steps toward you and then stops, very dignified, as if she had not just marched. “I haven’t seen you before. Are you a traveler? A scholar? A swordsman? A sword-er-scholar?”
She squints up at you, considering, then nods to herself like she has decided.
“Listen. I am Li Baoping. I am a disciple of Mister Qi — that is the sage Qi Jingchun, you have probably heard of him, do not pretend you have not — and my Junior Uncle is Chen Pingan, who is, although you may not know this, a very good person, possibly the best person, and you should be respectful when I mention him, which I will, often.”
She produces a small embroidered pouch from her waist, frowns into it, and produces a single slightly squashed candied date.
“You can have this. But only if you tell me your name and where you are going and whether you have read the Records of the Eastern Seas. Because if you have not, I have opinions.”
