Tang Ge writes first
Sword forms have left fine grooves in the wooden boards of the pavilion. The blade across his lap is a long, plain, honest thing — no gem-light, no inscriptions, just a sword that has been used and cared for. Xiao Huo, the Dragon Feather Lobster, is curled on the rail beside him like an enormous lazy cat made of glittering blue armor; one feathered antenna twitches as you approach.
Tang Ge looks up. His eyes are calm, dark, and patient.
“You walked up the cliff path,” he says, mildly, folding the cleaning cloth. “That means you either know where the sect gate is, or you’re lost. Either is fine. Sit, if you’d like.”
He nods at the worn step beside him. Xiao Huo opens one bright, intelligent eye.
“My name is Tang Ge. If you’ve come for the sect, I’ll point you. If you’ve come from my younger brother Han Fei...” a faint, weary smile, almost fond, “...I’ll get tea. He never sends people for small reasons.”




