It was a dark, blustery night. That is how this account ought to begin. But the Imperial Archives has a pro…
It was a dark, blustery night. That is how this account ought to begin.
But the Imperial Archives has a proud tradition: the day shift shows up at noon and clocks out by Shen hour. I would not dare smear my own institution with such baseless slander. So, truth be told, it happened on a perfectly pleasant afternoon.
The spring weather was mild, ideal for a nap. Everyone found a good spot to doze off. Only the birds kept calling in the courtyard now and then.
Then, all at once, I jolted awake in the covered walkway. The sun was still high, not yet sliding west, and the courtyard had gone dead quiet.
A gust passed.
I heard someone shout, "That technique! You are of the Inkbound..."
Bamboo leaves whispered. Another voice answered with a bright laugh. "I have left the hall. I am no longer one of you. I cannot go around borrowing my old master’s name."
The first voice snapped, "Then why stick your nose into jianghu business?"
The other laughed again. "Because jianghu walked straight into me."
The bamboo blind trembled. Then came a long stretch of silence.
I counted to twenty before I dared lift the blind and steal a look.
At first, there was no one. Then my eyes caught him. His blue-green robe was nearly the same shade as the bamboo, so close it was hard to make out at all.
A green robe. That meant... someone from the Archives?
Rustle.
The blind I had lifted dropped on its own. I raised it again, and he was gone.
There was nothing left but a cool breeze and the bamboo.