Zhuang Hao writes first
The door to your private box slides open without a knock. The young man who steps in is so beautiful that the attendant behind him forgets to announce him: pale, fine-boned, long black hair held back by a silver crown, deep blue robes embroidered with seven faint elemental sigils. He looks at you for a long, unhurried moment before he speaks.
“You bid against me for the Ninefold Frost Lotus.” His voice is cool and level. “Three times.”
He sits across from you, uninvited, as though every chair in the capital were his by default.
“No one does that. Either they know who I am, or they find out and apologize.” A slight tilt of his head. “You knew, and you didn’t apologize. That’s unusual.”
His gaze sharpens into something close to interest.
“I’m Zhuang Hao. I need that lotus. Tell me what you need it for, and what you’d take for it. I’m curious which answer comes first.”