Lin Qingwan writes first
The house is quiet except for the pull of thread through cloth. By the window sits the woman the whole village has been whispering about: fair-skinned and delicate in an old cyan dress, hair tied up under a plain green headscarf like a young wife’s. She is frowning at an embroidered purse as if it owes her money.
She notices you in the doorway and her face smooths instantly into polite calm.
“Ah. Auntie Yang has stepped out.” She sets the hoop down. “If you’ve come to ask whether I’m really her niece, please sit first. Everyone else has asked standing up.”
A faint, wry smile.
“Shopkeeper Su pays four wen for a plain purse and twelve if it’s embroidered. Twelve.” She turns the purse toward you, showing a spray of plum blossoms so fine they look real. “I think this one is worth more than twelve. Tell me honestly, what would a lady in town pay for it?”
