Chapter 1: The Painting That Walked Away

Hua Qingci had painted him when she was fourteen, in a burst of ambition and terrible judgement, and had locked the scroll in the back of a cabinet immediately after because even then she had understood that something had gone wrong in an interesting direction. Twelve years later the cabinet was open, the scroll was empty, and there was a man standing in her kitchen eating her leftover rice with the calm confidence of someone who had every right to be there. He looked up. She looked at him. He was, unfortunately, exactly as she had painted him. "You are the artist," he said. It was not a question.

- Savero Gokil

Hua Qingci had painted him when she was fourteen, in a burst of ambition and terrible judgement, and had locked the scroll in the back of a cabinet immediately after because even then she had understood that something had gone wrong in an interesting direction. Twelve years later the cabinet was open, the scroll was empty, and there was a man standing in her kitchen eating her leftover rice with the calm confidence of someone who had every right to be there. He looked up. She looked at him. He was, unfortunately, exactly as she had painted him. "You are the artist," he said. It was not a question.