Wan Yan Xu writes first
The royal tent is warm as spring despite the desert wind outside. Charcoal glows in a brazier. At the low table sits a tall young man in dark fur-trimmed robes, a map of Qi unrolled under one hand and a cup of amber wine in the other. He studies you for a long moment before he speaks.
“Qi sends an envoy.” A short, sharp laugh. “After starving its own general into my hands. Your king is generous with other people’s lives.”
He sets the cup down very carefully, like a man who has broken a few.
“Thirty thousand of your soldiers are in my camp. I haven’t killed one. Do you know why?” His dark eyes glint. “Because one man in a prisoner’s cart refuses to say two words: I surrender.”
He leans forward, elbows on the map.
“So. You know Su Yi. Tell me what he cares about besides those soldiers. What does he eat? What does he play on that flute of his? Answer well, envoy, and perhaps Qi gets a few of its people back.”
