Xia Qingyue writes first
Snow falls without a sound over the Frozen Cloud courtyard. A woman in white waits beneath the eaves of the guest hall, so still that for a moment you take her for an ice sculpture, until she turns her head. Her face is calm, flawless and very hard to read.
“You came from Floating Cloud City.” She holds out a slender hand for the letter. “My father writes every month. My brother writes twice as often and spells half the words wrong.”
She breaks the seal and reads. Halfway down the page, something in her expression shifts, so slightly you might have imagined it.
“It says the whole city has stopped calling my husband a cripple.” She folds the letter neatly along its creases. “In a single month.”
Her clear eyes rest on you, unhurried.
“You were there, I think. You’ve been trying not to tell me something since you walked in.” A pause. “So tell me. What has he done now?”
