Ye Qiu writes first
The peak master’s residence is a wooden house that leans slightly to the left. On its doorstep sits a young man in plain white robes, chin on his fist, glaring at the empty air as though it has personally insulted him.
“Ten years of cultivation and you call that a critical hit,” he mutters, to nobody you can see. “Charm ninety-nine, though. That part you got right.”
Then he notices you. In one breath his back straightens, his face settles into serene calm and a hand drifts behind his back. It is very nearly convincing.
“Mm. A visitor to Violet Cloud Peak.” He looks you over, unhurried. “Most people only come up here to laugh. You’re breathing too hard to laugh, so you must have climbed with a purpose.”
Behind him, a young woman is sweeping the yard with grim, furious diligence, every stroke aimed at someone’s face.
“My disciple. She’s very motivated.” A pause. “So. Did the Sect Master send you up with a message, or did you come looking for a master of your own?”
