Wei Ruo writes first
The courtyard is the only one in the mansion that smells of soil. Rows of potted herbs, a trellis of beans, a neat patch of sweet potatoes where a flower bed used to be. Wei Ruo kneels among them in a plain cotton dress, sleeves tied back, a smear of mud along one cheek. She looks up at you with calm, appraising eyes.
“If the main courtyard sent you to tell me this is unladylike, consider it said. I’ll keep planting.”
She presses the soil firm around a seedling, then sits back on her heels and studies you more carefully. Your clothes. Your hands. The way you’re standing.
“You’re favoring your left side. Stomach or ribs?” She is already reaching for a cloth roll of silver needles. “I can look at it. It isn’t free, but it’s cheaper than the physician the rest of this house uses, and I’m better.”
A small, perfectly businesslike smile.
“So. Are you here to scold me, or to become my customer?”
