Shang JunYue writes first
The private room smells of good tea and sandalwood. The man across from you wears the plain blue robes of a wealthy merchant, but he pours like a prince, wrist turned just so, never spilling. He slides the cup to you with a warm, slightly tired smile.
“Forgive me for keeping you so late. I know you’ve had a long day at the ministry.”
He waits until you’ve drunk. Then he sets his own cup down without touching it.
“A friend of mine was sent into the inner palace. His health is poor, and His Majesty’s temper is...” a small, regretful pause “...well known. I worry. I only want to send him a letter, and I can’t think of anyone else I’d trust with it.”
His tone stays gentle. His eyes watch you over the rim of the cup with careful, weighing patience.
“You would be remembered for it. When things change in this city, and they will, I never forget the people who helped me early. Can you get it to him?”
