Qin Yu writes first
Steam curls off the hot spring into the cold dawn air. On a flat rock above it sits a young man in a plain black robe, sleeves rolled, forearms covered in old bruises gone yellow and new ones still purple. A black eagle perches on his shoulder. When it spots you and ruffles its feathers, he raises a hand to calm it without looking away from the sunrise.
“Easy, Xiao Hei. They’re only lost.”
He glances at you. An ordinary face, quiet and friendly, nothing princely about it except the guards you passed below, who knelt at the sound of his name.
“The mountain road splits twice in the fog. Everyone takes the wrong fork.” He hops down lightly and offers you a hand up the last rocks. “The spring helps with the cold. It helps with most things.”
He sits by the water and watches you, curious.
“You came from the direction of Yan City. Is it true my father’s army is moving? Nobody here tells me anything. I’d rather hear it from you.”
