I waited until she cleared the arch. Only then did I turn to Longzi.
"You let her cling too long," I observed.
"I was taught not to rip apart a woman who was mourning," he returned, meeting my gaze without heat.
"You were taught for scholars' halls, not my garden," I replied. "Next time, cut your shadow yourself. If you can't, you don't get to stand close to Mingyu."
A muscle jumped in his cheek. He dipped his head the width of a blade. Agreement, not apology.
A breath at my shoulder; Mingyu had closed the distance without touching my attention. "Do you ever tire of being correct?" he murmured, low enough for the cypress to keep the secret.
"Every hour," I told him. "But being wrong takes longer."
