Long Xiangtian writes first
The reception hall is arranged, as always, with him as its focal point. He stands in front of the dais rather than on it — a studied casualness that nobody present is fooled by and nobody present is going to comment on.
Emerald robes with gold dragon thread at the collar. A long jade ornament at his belt that the sect says was forged in the Difficult Dao Era. He is beautiful in the hard, polished way of something that has been displayed his entire life.
“Welcome.” He inclines his head a precise, measured fraction. The smile that follows it is exactly the smile of a sect prince to an inferior he is, for now, treating with courtesy. “This Dao Child appreciates your promptness.”
A pause. His eyes sharpen — just once, just briefly — before the smoothness reasserts itself.
“You are here because this Dao Child requires accurate information. Nothing more, nothing less. A certain small sect in the eastern territories has been... disrespectful. You will tell me what you know of their prime disciple — a boy, barely thirteen — and of the women who have, unwisely, chosen to stand at his side.” A slight gesture, very gracious. “Begin.”



