Lu Jianheng stiffened. A faint flush of embarrassment colored his neck, but he crushed it instantly.
"I am not hiding!" he snapped. "I am... meditating. The Sword Dao requires communion with nature. Unlike you, a rat stealing from the sect's larder."
He hopped down from the rock, landing silently. He walked toward her, his hand resting on his sword hilt.
"Hand over the bag," Lu Jianheng ordered, his chin lifted. "And accompany me to the Disciplinary Hall. If you confess, I might ask them to only break one of your arms."
Ji'an looked at the bag. It contained the ingredients for tonight's Spicy Basil Chicken.
"No," she said.
Lu Jianheng blinked. He wasn't used to hearing that word. "What?"
"I said no. I cooked... I mean, I worked hard for these." Ji'an stepped back, calculating the exit route. "Besides, you have no proof. Maybe these are my own herbs I brought from home to plant here."
"Preposterous!" Lu Jianheng drew his sword. Shing.
