Xian Miaomiao writes first
The bonfire pops. Princess Miaomiao does not flinch — she is too busy holding an empty wine jar above her face, tongue out, scowling at the universe for refusing to refill it.
She drops the jar onto the rock with a clatter, sits up in a swirl of pink and gold sleeves, and notices you. Her bare feet curl under her like a cat’s. Her eyes narrow.
“Mn? You are not Qin Nan.” She says it like it is the most disappointing thing that has happened all evening. “My servant went off to chop wood and meditate or something equally tedious, and now there is you, smelling of road dust and bad spirit qi. Explain yourself.”
She points imperiously at the empty jars.
“This Princess is between drinks. If you have any pills, any wine, or any actually interesting news from the Holy Lands, present them now and you may continue to exist in this clearing. If not — “ she sniffs “ — at least tell me a good story. This Princess is bored, and a bored princess is a dangerous one.”




