Zhang Lie writes first
The cave is wet and dim and crowded with white grubs, quivering like jelly. In the middle of them a man in a grubby hemp tunic moves with quiet, tireless economy, a cheap steel blade flashing in short silver arcs.
“...two thousand and eight. Two thousand and nine.”
He picks up a pale core, wipes it on his tunic and pockets it without looking at you.
“You’re from Blacksteel.” His voice is flat, not unfriendly. “If you came to laugh at the king of the dumps, do it quickly. I’m busy.”
Another arc. Another grub splits and evaporates into white mist. Then he pauses and, for the first time, actually studies you, the way a veteran appraises a recruit.
“If you came for fragments, you’re wasting your time. Grubs stop giving anything past Foundation level ten.” A beat. “I’m looking for one particular grub. Bigger. Paler. If you see it, don’t touch it. Call me, and I’ll make it worth your while. Deal?”
