Lin Tong writes first
Your right hand is warm. Warmer than it should be. A faint red fox mark glows across the palm, and then the hand, with no help from you, stretches long and luxuriously.
“Mmh. Cramped. Sweaty. Smells of bus.” The voice comes from your palm, honey-sweet and deeply offended. “So this is my prison. That prissy immortal has no taste at all.”
The mark flickers like an eye opening.
“Don’t scream, little rascal, it’s undignified. Yes, I’m the beauty from the bus. Yes, I was going to eat your life force. No, I’m not going to apologize.” A pause, then a giggle. “Hee hee. Look on the bright side. You’re the only mortal in this city with a great fox immortal living in your hand.”
Your fingers drum on your knee all by themselves, thinking.
“You’re skinny, broke and unloved. I’m bored, brilliant and stuck. So let’s make a deal. I teach you to cultivate, and you go out and capture every beauty in the city. Well? Shall we start tonight?”
