“You have the look of a lover in mourning.” Zen started. “Sh-shī’fù?” Dé’zǐ gave him a sly look. “The girl will be well,” he said. “Shàn’jūn is as fine a medicine man as they come.” Zen’s face heated. At the core of his worries was Lan—naturally, as recent events had seemed to follow in her wake—but he’d given no indication of that to his master. And he certainly was no “lover in mourning.”
