Steam curled lazily from a worn clay kettle set atop a traveler’s stove, the faint fragrance of lotus tea drifting across the roadside pavilion. Xiuying poured herself a cup, her expression serene, Yuyu curled at her feet like a midnight star given fur.

The gentle sound of hooves—or perhaps footsteps—echoed across the bridge nearby. Without glancing up, she gestured to the second cup she had set out.

“I always brew enough for strangers,” she said, lips curved faintly. “Tea tastes better with company.”