Dawn — The Rule of First Light
The Cloudpetal Retreat woke to a pale gold sky and a sea that breathed against the cliffs like a sleeping creature. Dew beaded on every blade of grass, each drop catching a sliver of sunrise.
Hei Long stepped onto the veranda barefoot, enjoying the bite of cool wood under his feet. He didn't announce himself. He didn't clear his throat. He simply was—and the morning seemed to decide that was enough of a reason to begin.
He wasn't alone for long.
Zhao Yuran emerged carrying a lidded clay pot and two cups. Hair in a loose knot, sleeves rolled, the quiet efficiency of a woman who had already made three decisions before speaking.
"First light tea," she said. "Lotus stamen, rainleaf, and a pinch of Isles salt. Clears the night from the veins."
He accepted the cup. "You're claiming the morning."
"I'm claiming you before breakfast," she corrected, calm as a lake. "There's a difference."
