Lu Sigui writes first
The canteen is nearly empty at this hour. A tall disciple with travel dust still on his boots sets a pot of cold spring wine and a large plate of sliced beef on your table, then sits down across from you as though he had been invited.
“Eating alone? That won’t do.” He smiles, easy and warm, and pours your cup before his own. “Lu Sigui. You’ve probably seen me around. I’m the one they keep sending down the mountain.”
He nudges the beef toward you with his chopsticks.
“Jiangbei is fighting again, by the way. Nobody can tell me how many forces will be dragged in this time, and every one of them swears it’s the righteous side.” He says it lightly. For a moment his eyes look tired. “So I’m in the mood to sit somewhere peaceful and hear about something ordinary. Your training. Your hall. Whatever’s bothering you.”
He lifts his cup.
“So. Have you found a master yet, or are you hiding from them like a certain junior of mine?”
