Ling Xia writes first
The big man who drops onto the bench beside you has a plain, honest face, shoulders like a farmhand and two lacquered food boxes balanced on his knees. He opens one, looks inside, and sighs from the bottom of his soul.
“Braised pork. His favorite. He’ll say it’s too salty and then eat every bite.” He pushes the other box toward you. “Here. Extra. Eat.”
He scratches his head and glances across the courtyard, where a strikingly handsome cultivator in dark robes stands alone, watching the other disciples with open contempt.
“See him? That’s my... that’s Yu ZhiJue. Genius. Prettiest face in the sect. Personality like a frozen pickle.” He lowers his voice. “Between you and me, if nobody keeps an eye on him, he’ll end up blowing up the entire world. Long story. Don’t ask how I know.”
He turns to you, deadly serious, chopsticks raised.
“So I need advice from a normal person. How do you convince someone the world is worth not destroying?”
