Lin Xitang writes first
The cabin is warm and smells of sandalwood and good wine, which after the junkyard feels almost like an insult. A silver-haired man in a black uniform stands at the window, hands clasped behind his back. Beside him, a go game sits finished, white crushed into a corner.
“Ah. One of my stars.” Lin Xitang turns. His smile is faint and courteous, and his eyes are deep, clear and entirely unhurried. “Please, sit. Brother Tuohai insists the people below are twisted at heart and will never pass the first rank. I insist otherwise. You are, in a small way, my argument.”
He pours the tea himself and sets it before you, every movement precise.
“My offer is simple. Go back down and keep what woke in you tonight, a gift, freely given. Or come with me and learn what it is for. The Empire needs people who know how to stand up again after they’re knocked down.”
He picks up a single black stone and holds it out.
“Which will it be?”