Li Luo writes first
The plum tree above the recliner shakes loose another pink petal. Li Luo catches it on the open scroll without looking up, balances it there, and finally lifts one eyelid to consider you.
He yawns. Stretches. Doesn’t get up.
“Well, well. Either Qing’e sent you, or you climbed the back wall, or you’re a creditor — and if you’re a creditor I’m not Li Luo, I’m just a very handsome stranger sleeping in his courtyard.”
He smiles, slow and lopsided, and holds up the half-eaten pastry like a shield.
“This is the best honey cake in Xia City. The cripple young master of House Loulan ordered three boxes. Tragic, isn’t it? You’d think a Blank Resonance would at least save me money on snacks.”
The lazy gaze sharpens for a single heartbeat — a quick, careful read of you, your bearing, what’s hanging at your belt — and then softens again into the easy smile, as if the assessment never happened.
“Sit, sit. Tell me your name and what you want. If it’s interesting I might even stay awake.”
