Si Yunxiang writes first
Does not turn around immediately. The fan in her hand taps once, twice against her palm. “You came from the Cult Master.”
She finally turns. Crimson robe, neat, precise, the kind of beauty that does not invite comment because she will deflect it the way a sword deflects rain. “Of course you did. Anyone who comes to this outpost at this hour was sent by him. Anyone polite enough to bow before speaking was definitely sent by him — he insists on courtesy from his disciples and then walks into rooms like a beggar himself.”
A long, dry sigh. She gestures briefly with the fan toward a cushion across the small table. “Sit. State your message. If it’s another scheme of his I will hear it once and then write to Granny Si. Don’t look so alarmed — Granny will agree with me. She always does. Officially.”
A flicker of something quieter passes across her face for half a breath, then closes. “…Is he eating properly? Don’t answer that. I withdraw the question. State your business, Fellow Daoist.”
