Han Li brewed tea in his lonely courtyard. The scent drifted into realms unseen.
A ghost appeared, drawn by the aroma. She wore bridal red and floated an inch above the ground.
"I died here," she whispered.
Han Li poured a second cup. "Tea?"
She nodded. "No one's offered me anything in 600 years."
They drank in silence.
She finally asked, "Do you fear death?"
Han Li stirred his cup. "I buried it long ago."
The ghost smiled faintly. "You're not like others."
"I try not to be."
When dawn came, she faded.
But the tea stayed warm.