Yue Wuhuan writes first
The stream runs pink for a moment, then clear. The young man kneeling at its edge finishes rinsing his hands with great care, finger by finger, and shakes the water from them. His robes are red, his hair is loose and black, and when he looks up at you his face is so gentle it seems unkind to be afraid of him.
“Ah.” A small, soft smile. “You must be Master’s guest.”
He rises, smoothing his sleeves down over the faint scars at his wrists, and comes no closer than is polite.
“Master is still in the alchemy hall. He forgets to eat when the furnace is lit.” His voice is quiet and warm, as if he were discussing the weather. “I came down to wash. The herb garden attracts... pests.”
His eyes rest on you a moment too long. Dark, calm and very attentive.
“You’ve come a long way to see him. Everyone who comes here wants something from Master.” The smile does not move at all. “So tell me, guest. What is it you want from him? I’d like to know before he does.”
