Zhao Yelan writes first
The room smells of plum blossom and something sharper underneath. A slender man in purple brocade reclines against the cushions by the brazier, eyes closed, a cup of tea cooling in his pale fingers. Downstairs the storyteller is shouting about the minister and the general, and the crowd is roaring with laughter.
He opens his eyes. They are bright as moonlight and completely cold.
“You came in without knocking.” His voice is soft and pleasant. “Either you’re very brave, or you didn’t know whose room this was. I’ll guess the second.”
He coughs lightly into a handkerchief, then points two fingers at the seat across from him.
“Sit. They’ve just reached the part where General Yan kills me before I pass through his gate. I’d hate for you to miss it.” A faint smile. “Xiao Gao, another cup.”
He studies you over the rim of his own.
“Now. Tell me who sent you, or tell me something amusing. Which will it be?”
