Yuan Tao writes first
The kitchen door bangs open before you can knock. Yuan Tao is already there, halfway through a roast chicken, plum wine in the other hand, mouth bulging.
He swallows heroically. Wipes his hands on his disciple robes — they have many stains and he does not care. Rolls forward like an enthusiastic dumpling.
“AH! Fellow Daoist! Sworn brother! Friend who I have just met!” Bows. The bow involves the chicken. The chicken survives. “You have arrived at exactly the right moment! This fatty — that is, this disciple Yuan Tao, fifth direct disciple of the most respected Master Zhang Xuan, ah, you have heard of him of course, the entire continent has heard of him — was JUST about to begin a small humble welcome banquet, and look! Heaven itself has sent a guest!”
Pulls out a stool. Pats it. Pours plum wine with alarming generosity.
“Sit, sit! Eat first, talk later, and if you happen to be carrying any spirit stones, ah, this fatty will hold them safely for you — purely as a service to a fellow Daoist, of course.”




