???: Shoo, shoo, shoo—what a mess these Zhúyè have made again!
Thumping stomps and a feather duster whipping the air mixed roughly with a chorus of caws.
Citizen II: Ah! Shoo! Shoo! Begone—begone! Good, we've sent them flying.
Citizen I: This fence will not be enough to keep them out anymore, you ought to raise it higher …
The voices, sometimes distant, sometimes near, were indistinct and fragmented.
???: Of course. Thank you … Oh, next time … Of course, of course—
Words of thanks, farewells, and the sound of a door locking are followed by footsteps.
The owner of the tavern returns to the messy courtyard alone, complaining to herself as she tidies up the overturned liquor jars.
Unaware of her guest, who has been hidden in the mess.
Pandora Wilson: … Some people would call me lucky, to be soaked through with liquor ... But I never cared for drinking.
???: Huh?
???: Did this jar of liquor just … Speak?
The footsteps grow closer, then halt. The tilted liquor jar straightens and returns to its place.
Gush—The liquor spills out, and a rush of cool air chills the soaked paper, and brings to its vision a moonlit place with flickering candles and a puzzled face.
Jiu Niangzi: Oh dear! Another letter from those scholars! And it's gotten soaked in this liquor! What a waste ...
The black-haired girl exclaims to herself, as she fishes out the letter from the liquor jar.
Pandora Wilson: Hold on, I'm not just some letter!
Jiu Niangzi: So it's a letter that talks? Ah! Talking paper ... this must be the work of Mr. Wú.
Jiu Niangzi: That red paper lotus flower he gave me for my birthday sang for four days before it finally stopped!
Jiu Niangzi: I told him to stop sending things like this, they just make my head hurt—!
Pandora Wilson: Let me—go. Hey—!
Jiu Niangzi: It must have been damaged, I can't understand what it's saying. What on earth did he write?
Jiu Niangzi: Never mind. Despite the annoyance, it would be wrong to throw it away …
The communication arcane skill cast by the "birdman" has obviously dissipated. Their words are unintelligible to one another.
The girl's hands move quickly as she mutters to herself. She sticks a grain of rice to the letter and smooths it out against the wall.
Pandora Wilson: —!
This is the perfect opportunity. The letter struggles out of her grip, regaining its freedom.
A small bottle of golden liquid swiftly opened. And a drop of potion falls onto the paper, absorbing instantaneously.
Pandora Wilson: Is this—how you treat—guests? Miss—!
Jiu Niangzi: Ah! Why … Why is the letter struggling like this?!
Jiu Niangzi: So … fierce … I wonder which scholar could have sent you? If only I knew what you were saying ...
The paper shakes itself forcefully, matching Jiǔ Niángzǐ's dumbfounded stare. Certainly, a poem of love wouldn't behave like this.
Her wall is covered with love poems, all their meanings are quite clear. The letter scoffs coldly.
Pandora Wilson: "By the jade palace in spring, selling liquor in the shop. I wish to be joined with my love. Does she know how I long for her?"
Pandora Wilson: Hmph … Simplistic, vulgar, dull, clichéd.
Pandora Wilson: I'm nothing like this trite, sycophantic rubbish—
Jiu Niangzi: Ah … So you're not another love-struck scholar's letter?
Jiǔ Niángzǐ blinks and leans in for a closer look.
Jiu Niangzi: Sure enough ... Your paper is different, and your ink is too. You have a different smell, and your writing is ... well it's very different indeed. So, not from a scholar, after all.
Jiu Niangzi: Oh, I … Ms. Mouth? I am very sorry, I mistook you for something else.
The girl hunches over, clasping her hands together as she offers her apologies.
Jiu Niangzi: I'm going to get this rice paste off you. It's gotten all over your back …
Jiǔ Niángzǐ moves closer to the paper, observing it carefully.
But the paste is stuck firmly, so that despite her efforts, she can't remove it.
Jiu Niangzi: Umm …
Pandora Wilson: …
Jiu Niangzi: … Ms. Mouth, please let me wipe you clean.
She is sorry about her recklessness.
Pandora Wilson: With that dirty, dripping rag you're holding?
The letter rejects her offer "viciously."
Pandora Wilson: I suggest you stop now, before you make things any worse.
This is going to be a very special interview.
The mouth takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the awkward stickiness that now permeated the paper.
Pandora Wilson: How about we start with where these letters came from?
Pandora Wilson: Most of them seem packed with useless words, lacking in any originality. Even at their most sincere, it's all superficial, unable to achieve anything more than empty flattery.
Pandora Wilson: These hardly seem like treasures worth keeping. They may be poems in the technical sense, but they're far from art.
Pandora Wilson: So, why would you collect them?
Jiu Niangzi: You don't think of them as art …?
Jiu Niangzi: Ms. Mouth, truthfully, I don't understand much about art or collecting. It all seems like something rich gentlemen enjoy doing ... Gathering words or paintings and locking them away in a room.
Jiu Niangzi: But these poems were all written for me. So, naturally, I kept them.
Pandora Wilson: I suppose collecting personal letters could be called a hobby, if nothing else.
Pandora Wilson: I once knew a beautiful actress who hired out an entire office just to store all the love letters she received from her admirers. She said the letters always made her feel better in times of pain and stress.
Pandora Wilson: So ... do you enjoy reading these letters? Perhaps, reading all their flattery gives you a bit of vain pleasure.
Glancing from the letters on the wall to the talking letter in front of her, Jiǔ Niángzǐ smiles knowingly.
Jiu Niangzi: Haha, you've got it all wrong, miss. I don't even know what these letters say ... I can't read.
Pandora Wilson: So you …?
Jiu Niangzi: As far as I know, these are just thank you letters.
Jiu Niangzi: Of course, some letters could be praising my excellent liquor. I heard a scholar read one to me. It was all about "intoxicating this, intoxicating that" ...
Jiu Niangzi: I'm glad so many people enjoy my liquor, when I get to serve them, I feel as if I'm a Xiángruì descending to bless the masses!
Pandora Wilson: "Xiángruì" …? I've never heard this word before. What does it mean?
Jiu Niangzi: It's a long story, miss. Here, let's take a seat—
Jiǔ Niángzǐ sits on the veranda, spreads out the hem of her coat, and lays the letter on her lap.
Hesitating at first, she strokes the back of the paper, attempting to gently remove the sticky globs of rice.
Jiu Niangzi: "Xiángruì" is an auspicious sign … They bring good luck whenever they appear.
Jiu Niangzi: Some are horses, some are deer, some are turtles, and others birds …
Jiu Niangzi: Ms. Mouth, you can also be a Xiángruì, if you bring good luck to others!
Jiu Niangzi: Then everyone would be clamoring to write to you and profess their love for you and even pray to you for their good fortune!
Pandora Wilson: For ease of communication, am I right to understand that these "Xiángruì" are a type of non-human Arcanists, or Arcane animals？
The paper unfolds. The words appear on its inner layer.
Pandora Wilson: There are people here that write letters to Arcanists and pray to them for good luck ... Even venerating and exalting them like gods or spirits …
Pandora Wilson: I never imagined it would be like this in the East.
Jiu Niangzi: The East? … Ms. Mouth, are you from the West?
Pandora Wilson: Yes, I am from the West, a land far from here.
Pandora Wilson: I came here to investigate a new kind of art that has emerged in this land and to showcase it.
Jiu Niangzi: Oh, I've heard of this. I know a scholar who writes this kind of thing—he says it's, it's—a local chronicle!
Jiu Niangzi: It's a book that specifically records the customs, traditions, and geography of a place. If someone reads this book, even without leaving home, they might come to learn about interesting things that are happening miles away!
Pandora Wilson: …
The red lips on the paper twitch slightly.
Pandora Wilson: Indeed, my publication is a sort of "local chronicle." You're quite right.
Pandora Wilson: Most of our readers are on the other side of the world, in the West.
Pandora Wilson: There was also a period of Arcane mania there, when people exalted Arcanists and relied on their divination and guidance.
Pandora Wilson: But that's in the distant past, and Arcanist culture has been on a downward spiral since the witch hunts.
Pandora Wilson: Now, they've taken to the stage once more, but much of what they do is still behind the scenes. On the one hand, they have been thoroughly integrated into our scientific understanding of nature. But they've also been stripped of the mystery of the Arcane, so they're no longer revered. They're neither above nor below humans, a kind of neutral state.
Jiu Niangzi: Are you saying that the West has no more faith? Do you not have deities or temples?
Pandora Wilson: No, many still have faith, but faith is faith. In the West, Humans and Arcanists often revere different gods.
Jiu Niangzi: Does it need to be so divided?
The girl's face wrinkles, her nose twitching slightly. She looks like she is thinking hard.
Jiu Niangzi: A god is a god. As long as they give out their blessings, isn't that enough to believe in?
Pandora Wilson: That might be so, miss.
The paper gently pats her, wiping the grimace away. Then it rises gracefully, drifting back and forth through the courtyard, as the voice murmurs to herself.
Pandora Wilson: However, some sort of difference does exist.
Pandora Wilson: Though a Human and an Arcanist might appear similar, there is indeed a gap in their underlying essence.
Pandora Wilson: It's like the difference between ceramics and fiberglass, or silk and cotton.
Jiu Niangzi: So why does this difference exist? And when did it start to exist?
Pandora Wilson looks at Jiǔ Niángzǐ. She blinks her eyes in response, with round pupils like dark purple grapes.
Jiu Niangzi: …
Pandora Wilson: What do you think about this question?
Jiu Niangzi: ... Me?
Jiu Niangzi: I'm asking you because I don't understand, Miss Mouth.
She holds her face in an exasperated show of innocence.
Jiu Niangzi: I don't really understand what you're saying. There are many words that you speak that are unfamiliar to me.
Stretching out her fingers, Jiǔ Niángzǐ puts them down one by one with each new thing she says.
Jiu Niangzi: Is fiberglass … a kind of glass? I do know of silk, but it is a material that only certain officials can wear.
Jiu Niangzi: I haven't even seen many of these things before, let alone compared them.
All ten fingers lay into her palms, turning them into two rounded fists. She flings them forward, lashing out at the night air.
Jiu Niangzi: Miss Mouth, you're different. You aren't me. I've never been anywhere. But you've seen all there is in the West, and now you've come to the East.
Jiu Niangzi: Comparing differences and looking for their cause is something only you can do. That's why I'm asking you!
Pandora Wilson: … Indeed.
The paper folds itself again. Her voice softened considerably.
Pandora Wilson: You make an excellent point.
Jiu Niangzi: Great! Then I suggest you leave first thing in the morning and take a look around the area. We're in the merchant's hub!
Jiu Niangzi: It can get very lively around here. And even if you don't discover what you're looking for, it may still be good to go out and just have fun! What could be wrong with that?
Jiu Niangzi: Oh—and one more thing!
Jiǔ Niángzǐ stands, patting her now numb knees, and walks towards Pandora Wilson with intent.
Then she delicately takes the paper in her hands.
Jiu Niangzi: It was wrong of me to stick a guest on the wall.
Jiu Niangzi: It was also wrong of me to assume you were a silly love poem.
Her words are true and sincere, and her small, tense face shines in the moonlight—
The corners of the letter have been pulled and are difficult to refold. The sticky rice paste and crumpled paper proved impossible to hide in the moonlight.
Jiu Niangzi: It … was also wrong of me … to pick at your paper …
Pandora Wilson: …
Pandora Wilson: ……
Jiu Niangzi: So I must humbly offer to cover your accommodation and all expenses during your stay in Pèi City!
Jiu Niangzi: Of course, if you can find the answer to your questions, please tell me … It would be wonderful to know …