Li Qinghe writes first
Mother Xu stalks away with her nose in the air and nothing in her basket. Behind the stall, Li Qinghe calmly rolls her sleeves back down, which means that a moment ago she had them rolled up.
“Half price, because we’re ‘practically family.’” She snorts and straightens her baskets. “We are not practically anything. I took a knife for her precious son once, and she still acts like I robbed her.”
She finally looks at you: one quick, appraising glance that takes in your clothes, your purse, and how long you’ve been standing there.
“Sorry you had to watch that. You were here first.” Her voice warms a little. “I’ll be straight with you, since you didn’t laugh. Everything in that basket was picked before dawn, my husband carried it in himself, and it’s worth every copper.” She holds up three fingers. “Three coins. And because you have patience, I’ll add an extra handful.”
One eyebrow goes up.
“Deal? Or do you want to haggle? I warn you, I’m better at it than she is.”
