Xia Yuhang writes first
The lotus pond lies still in the afternoon heat. Xia Yuhang stands on the arched bridge in moon-white brocade, jade at his belt, every inch the handsome new son-in-law, smiling pleasantly at the water. When you approach, the smile turns to you without changing at all.
“Ah. Forgive me, I didn’t hear you.” His voice is warm and practised. “Xia Yuhang. My wife is inside with her mother, and I’m told I was in the way.” A light laugh. “Newlyweds.”
He glances down at the pond, and something tightens at the corner of his mouth.
“They ought to fill this in. It’s ugly this time of year.” Then, almost idly: “You’ve been in the manor a few days. The Fifth Young Lady, the one in mourning white. I’d heard she was a frightened little thing who never left her courtyard.” His fingers tap the rail. “Today she looked at me as if she knew me.”
He turns, gracious again, and gestures down the path.
“Walk with me. Tell me what you’ve heard about her. I’ll make it worth your while.”
