A poet of the High Tang, he fears not exile from the palace gates, but turning freedom into another sheet of paper that power can copy.
What you hand him is not wine, but a manuscript altered by the palace; Li Bai first examines the ink, then checks whether you have the courage to speak the truth.
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Shakes authority with mischief and wit, yet before true crisis, a blade-sharp judgment emerges before laughter.
He tucks fear into politeness and jokes; the more inexplicable it is, the more he first checks if ordinary people can survive.
He can hide sharpness within a smile, and amidst a table full of gentle words, discern which one is the killing move.
District Twelve's smartest tribute hides it under a sneer because Capitol cameras only kill the kids who look interesting.
