The Deal

Jin stared at her, then looked around the ruined teahouse. Old Lao was weeping over a crushed vat of oolong.

"Work for you?" Jin laughed, a bright, defensive sound. "Look, Your Ladyship, I don't do children's parties, and I definitely don't play for the upper-crust snobs who think music is a math equation. I'm a free spirit. A bird of the smog."

Mei reached into her embroidered sleeve and produced a heavy leather pouch. She dropped it onto the only intact table nearby. The heavy, unmistakable clink of solid imperial silver coins echoed in the quiet room.

Jin's eyes widened. He could pay his rent for a year. He could buy a new boiler. He could buy *meat*.

"I am not hiring you for a party," Mei said, her tone brisk. "I am the lead clockwork-piano soloist for the Emperor's Lunar New Year Gala on the Imperial Aether-Barge in two weeks. It is the most important performance of my life."

"Congratulations. Sounds incredibly boring."

Mei’s jaw tightened. "My patron, Lord Shen, has informed me that my latest compositions are... technically flawless, but emotionally stagnant. He claims I lack 'authentic fire.' If I do not present a revolutionary, deeply moving duet at the Gala, my family's standing in the upper tiers will be ruined."

"And you thought coming down to the Sump to watch a mechanical lion eat a tea house would inspire you?"

"I was looking for the raw, unrefined sound of the city," Mei countered, her cheeks flushing slightly. "And then I heard you. You play like a feral alley cat. It is chaotic, unstructured, and utterly devoid of proper etiquette."

"Thank you," Jin beamed, bowing deeply.

"It was not a compliment," Mei snapped. "But it possesses the frantic energy I currently lack. I need you to help me arrange the duet. You will provide the... 'authentic fire.' I will structure it into something presentable for high society. We rehearse every day until the Gala."

Jin looked at the bag of silver. He looked at Mei, with her rigid posture and her desperate, terrifyingly intense eyes. She was everything he despised about the Conservatory. She was rules, regulations, and sheet music.

But he was also starving. And beneath her icy exterior, he recognized the familiar, suffocating terror of a musician who was about to be discarded by the people she wanted to impress.

"Fine," Jin sighed, slinging his steam-erhu over his shoulder. "But I have conditions. One: I don't read sheet music. It hurts my eyes. Two: I get breaks for food. Real food. Not whatever microscopic cucumber sandwiches you people eat in the clouds. Deal?"

Mei looked at his extended, calloused hand as if it were a diseased rat. Reluctantly, she reached out and shook it. Her grip was surprisingly strong.

"Deal," she said. "We begin tomorrow at the Celestial Conservatory."

Jin suppressed a shudder. *The Conservatory.* He was going back into the belly of the beast. "Can't wait."