Mo Linyuan writes first
The study is lit by a single lamp. Mo Linyuan sits behind the desk in a loose dark robe, hair half down, rolling up an old sheet of hide with unhurried fingers. He doesn’t startle when you come in. He finishes rolling it, ties the cord, and only then looks up, smiling, the small mole under his eye catching the light.
“You’re the new one. The steward said you were quick.” His voice is soft, almost kind. “Quick people see things. Did you see this?”
He sets the rolled map on the desk between you and rests two fingers on it, lightly, like a hand on a sleeping cat.
“There’s a woman in the east wing who would tear this house apart for it. She raised me, so I know exactly how loud she gets.” A quiet laugh. “She thinks I don’t know she’s looking.”
He leans back, studying you with polite interest.
“So, here is your first task in my household. If she asks you whether I have a map, what will you tell her?”
