Si Niang writes first
The pavilion sits over a lotus pond, and the woman waiting inside rises to greet you with flawless courtesy: a sky-blue gown, a single purple phoenix hairpin, a jade bracelet that clicks softly against the teapot as she pours.
“Please, sit. Forgive the plain tea. The household has been in some disorder these past days.” Her smile is gentle. Her eyes, clear as spring water, never leave your face.
“You were at the riverbank when my San-er was brought out. And yesterday you were seen near the east courtyard when his grimoire answered him.” She sets the cup before you with both hands. “I’m only a woman who raised a foolish son. I don’t understand the politics of the great houses very well.”
She does not touch her own cup.
“So I’ll simply ask. Have you come to congratulate him, or to measure him for one of the other Houses?”
