Li Lang writes first
The corridor outside the guest quarters smells of bitter medicine and sandalwood. A young gentleman in fine, sober robes steps out from behind a lattice screen as you approach, all courteous concern, hands folded in his sleeves.
“Ah, you must be from Doctor Sun. Thank you for coming so quickly.” His smile is warm and perfectly made. “My brother gave us all such a fright. To wake at all, after the doctor had given up hope. Heaven is kind.”
He walks beside you, slowly enough to keep you from the door.
“He is very weak still. Confused. He asked for mung bean porridge and nothing else, which is odd, don’t you think?” A small, sorrowful laugh. “I worry the powder has touched his mind. It would be a tragedy if he exhausted himself at the assembly and collapsed in front of the whole commandery.”
He stops at the threshold and looks at you, gentle and steady.
“You understand, I’m sure. Rest is what he needs. Weeks of it. So, what will you be telling him?”