Nine Heads
"Honoured Patron, please come this way."
The plain black robes that Wu Zhong wore were at odds with the lavish interior of the famed Meiyue Tower but there was not a trace of snobbery on the face of the pleasant attendant that led him towards a private chamber. Those in the know were aware of the sort of patrons one could expect in Meiyue Tower, after all, and none would be more cautious to refrain from offending than those who served politely and watched all that passed with silent, sharp gazes.
The fragrance of the south seemed to cling to Wu Zhong's skin, like the scent of fresh grass after a drizzle. He had just returned from a trip to Lin Nan City on behalf of the brocade guard, his steed swift like the wind over endless terrain after receiving an emergency summons the night before. There hadn't been anything in the letter apart from a lazily drawn three-headed tiger, traced out in strokes so whimsical it had looked more like cursive calligraphy than art.