Three Sentence Ficathon

Minglan sits across from Lin Qinshuang at the farmhouse, watching her once-proud figure in the low light, now laying collapsed across the luohan couch. For so long, Lin-xiaoniang has been a towering presence in her life, one that cast long shadows over everything she did, from her lessons with Molan to her mother’s death in childhood.

Minglan unrolls the scroll Molan gave her when she moved into her new courtyard, to rub it in her face that her mother is dead and Molan’s a favored concubine. Look, she almost says, but holds herself back, Look at the seeds that you have sown. Look at how they have grown.