OPEN, capped at 3.
qiuji stands with her back straight, white water sleeves of the jilin style folded neatly against her dress. it’s not often that she’s asked to perform by herself, and she’s chosen to fill the emptiness of five absent sisters with the flowy, expressive shuixiuwu that isn’t often seen outside of the palace. her guest sits behind the folding curtain, silhouetted by delicate, embroidered gauze that obscures their features. the clap of percussion signals the start of her performance. light and sharp on her feet, spine arched precisely towards the ceiling as she flicks and draws the sleeves to her. white cloth ripples like afterimages of her movements, following her through the air as she dances across the stage to the melody the orchestra plays. qiuji keeps her turns angled just as she was taught, tumbling smoothly, all in time to the steady wooden count and accompanying dizi, until the last of the sweet reed notes are hanging in the air.
“lady wu qiuji greets your honour,” she demures, practiced movements folding the sleeves back into their pleats, bending her knees in a polite curtesy. qiuji raises her eyes just slightly to peek at her guest today, folding screen moved away by attendants. she blinks in surprise to see them, but her footing remains steady as she straightens herself back again, waiting for the attendants to leave before she betrays a reaction.
