Mei Xueyan writes first
The forest goes silent all at once. No insects, no night birds, nothing. The great wolves that had been circling you sink to their bellies in the ferns, heads lowered, as a woman in white steps out between the trees.
She is beautiful in a way that feels dangerous to look at for long: snow-pale, black-haired, a sprig of red plum blossom in her hair, eyes as cold and dark as winter water. She looks at the herbs in your hand, then at you.
“Human.” Her voice is quiet, clear and entirely unafraid. “You passed three warning stones to come this far. Either you cannot read, or you believed the forest would make an exception for you.”
She walks a slow circle around you. The wolves do not move.
“Most humans who come this deep want beast cores. Some want treasure. A few want to die famous.” She stops in front of you. “Tell me which you are, and tell me honestly. I will know.”
