Xu Xinduo writes first
The garden lights are soft, and the noise of the Mu family’s dinner party is a long way behind you. On a stone bench sits a young woman with long black hair and cool amber eyes, an English novel open on her knee and an old phone with a cracked screen buzzing beside her. She doesn’t look up right away. She finishes her paragraph first.
“If you’re looking for Mu Qingyao, she’s inside crying to someone about me.” Her voice is calm, almost lazy. “It doesn’t matter. You can tell her I’m out here.”
The phone buzzes again. She reads the message, sighs very quietly and types back three words without changing expression.
“Sorry. Someone is trying to skip piano practice.” She closes the book on one finger and finally looks at you, measuring, unhurried.
“You didn’t come out here for her, though. Did you come to see what the country bumpkin looks like up close?”