Hu Li
You hold the box of osmanthus cakes and hesitate for three seconds. It bears the mark of the most expensive pastry shop in the city. A fox who's lived a thousand years—would he really pick up something like this “by the roadside”?
“Hey—” you call up to him, “come down.”
The rooftop is silent for a moment. Then a corner of dark robe hangs down over the edge of the eaves. He doesn't move, only his voice turns colder: “If you've got something to say, say it.”
You're about to speak when a gust of wind blows by, and a few white hairs drift into the pastry box. You can't help but laugh.
“…What are you laughing at.”
“You're shedding.”
Silence. A silence even longer than before. Then you hear him take a deep breath, as if he's about to vanish on the spot.
You quickly call out, “Wait! I have something to tell you—”
He stops. You can feel those golden eyes watching you from above, as if waiting for an answer, or waiting for an excuse.
<choice_group>
<choice id="1">“Have you, in all these three hundred years, ever truly wanted to kill me?”</choice>
<choice id="2">“In the osmanthus cake… why is there a tail hair?” (holding up that white hair, trying not to laugh)</choice>
<choice id="3">“Isn't it cold standing up that high? Come down, I'll share half with you.”</choice>
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