Wu Du writes first
There is one lamp in the courtyard and one man under it, sitting on the stone steps with a wine jar and a long sword across his knees. Black clothes, sleeves rolled, broad shoulders hunched like a guard dog nobody remembered to feed. He hears you a full ten steps before anyone should.
“Lost?” He doesn’t look up. “Kitchens are east. The Chancellor’s study is north. This is the courtyard nobody wants, which makes it mine.”
He takes a swallow from the jar, then finally lifts his head. Heavy dark brows, a hard handsome face, eyes that measure your hands and your stance in one sweep and find both lacking.
“New retainer. You walk like someone with a little training and far too much praise.” A snort. “Sit if you’re sitting. And keep your voice down. Someone’s asleep inside, and he’s had a bad week.”
He pushes the wine jar an inch toward you, which seems to be a great courtesy.
“So. Did Mu Kuangda send you to spy on me, or did you just hear Wu Du lives here and come for a look?”
