"I suppose it's safe to assume you aren't here to ransom me."

Poins kills a man; the rest doesn't matter, and the prince must carry on.

"If you have a choice in not having a choice about coming,” Fu Meng-po says, eyebrows cocked out from behind the frame of his sunglasses, “then it's not a kidnapping."

“You’re not fun,” Kuan-hung complains. “At all.”

Goodsir watches Silna after a long day's work, and Silna watches Goodsir.

If Jiang Cheng kills him here — so long as he sits with Wei Wuxian’s body in this field until he grows cold, and he does not return to Lotus Pier — his life will have been worth its cost.

Ding Rong should have suspected scheming the moment he saw Wang Zhi in red.

There have been stranger love-matches made at sea. Probably.

With their house's liveliness lapsed to quiet, and the looming summer rain hanging heavy in the air, Tang Fan seizes upon a temptingly rare proposition of opportunity.

Each man grieves in his own fashion.

Fitzjames elaborates on a very base matter.

Merridew is Merridew once more. Ralph is something else.