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My qīng’gōng skills are so improved the next day that Tán’mù loses her normal sleepy look when she sees me walking on the surface of the pond. It’s only for a few seconds, but Lì’líng even abandons a glutinous rice ball (sesame-paste filling) to fling her arms around me and squeal when I manage it. Fán’xuān is chasing dragonflies as a kite-tailed sparrow, then taking dips into the water and surfacing as a freckled carp. I grin when he finally flops onto land in his human form, feet bare and shock of white hair just peeking out above the long grasses. The sun warms the water and the ground; the fragrance of hibiscus, magnolia, and osmanthus sweetens the air, mingling with the laughter and conversation of the other candidates nearby. In daylight, the events of last night seem like a distant dream, gone with the darkness.

Tán’mù folds her arms. “You’re taking lessons from someone,” she says, picking at a nail. “Is it Number One? Or Yù’chén?”

“No,” I reply, but I’ve never been a good liar.

Tán’mù raises an eyebrow and doesn’t pursue the subject further, but my heartbeat quickens at the thought of Yù’chén, of the rule we’ve broken.

Of the gate in the wards.

I stifle a gasp as the realization jolts through me. Since waking, I’ve been so focused on driving Yù’chén from my mind that I haven’t given thought to that gate. I know nothing about it besides the fact that it’s dangerous, a weakness in the wards the immortals have spent years perfecting. And now, I can’t recall whether Yù’chén closed it.

I climb out of the water, cursing myself for letting my emotions get in the way of logic last night. We’re at the edge of the temple grounds, where one of the celestial rivers winds through mountains and disappears into the sunset. Blossoming cherry trees lean into the waters, their petals and fragrance carried to us by a gentle breeze. In the distance, a phoenix arcs through the clouds like a sunburst.

It’s a beautiful day but one I can no longer enjoy—because suddenly, there is nothing more I want to do than make sure Yù’chén has closed that gate.

“I’ll be back,” I say, and I set off before my friends can ask me where I’m going.

I have no idea where Yù’chén might be at this time of day, but I make for the Celestial Gardens, where most of the candidates train. At this hour it’s blissfully empty, with most candidates taking their dinner breaks. Floating lanterns sway beneath osmanthus trees; fireflies dart between camellia and peony bushes, their sparks drifting against a setting sun that casts the clouds in gold.

I find that I can’t stop thinking back to the ocean at night, how the haunting darkness of the waves seemed to call to me. And I realize it isn’t the ocean I’m thinking of.

You think me incapable of wanting what you and other full humans want.

There was anger in Yù’chén’s tone, but I didn’t miss what it was masking: pain, and disappointment. I recall how he looked at me after I fought áo’yīn, the tender way he draped his cloak over my shoulders. And last night, the gentle way he held me, the warmth of his gaze, the heat of his fingers as his breaths brushed my cheeks.

I squeeze my eyes shut to chase away the memory—and that’s when I nearly trip over something.

My eyes fly open. At first, I don’t see anything. I’m halfway to the gate we left at the wards. Before me runs a river lined with bushes of peonies, orchids, and chrysanthemums. They’re so colorful that I almost don’t notice the body half obscured between them.

It takes me a moment to recognize the face.

It’s Number One. Xiù’chūn. She’s lying in the bushes, a near-serene look on her face. She might have been asleep were it not for the bleeding gash in her chest—one that looks like something tore her heart and lungs straight from her flesh.

The world peels away until all I see is the corpse, the blood pooling on the grass and seeping into the mud, as red as garnets. My mind splits, as if half of me is here and the other half is trapped in that scene from nine years ago, watching the red-lipped demon drink my father’s soul and slurp his blood and organs from him.

I’m not sure how long I stand there before I come back to my senses. I’m alone between the flowering trees, and it is too silent: the absence of cicadas chirping sends an ominous chill up my spine. The sun slants red near the horizon, fast-disappearing, casting the corpse before me in a bloody light.

Looking at her wounds, at the half-devoured flesh and missing organs, certainty settles within me: there is only one type of being that could have done this.

Demon.

My mind flashes to the gate in the wards leading to the mortal realm.

I’m moving by instinct, Shadow and Fleet in my hands, mind open to the currents of energy around me. The blood is still fresh, gleaming and trickling beneath the fading crimson light. Whoever— whatever —did this could still be nearby.

A crackle of footfalls. By the time I pivot, it’s too late.

A hand closes around my wrist, the touch cool and unfamiliar. Wind stirs across the clearing, lifting jade-colored willow leaves into the air. The setting sun catches against pale silk with gold threads as the newcomer brushes past me. With a light tug, he draws me into the thicket of trees.

My back bumps against willow bark, and my blades are up, but the newcomer has already let go and stepped back, moving effortlessly as though he is in a dance.

It’s him—the immortal whose face I dreamt in the sea. He presses his index finger to his lip, then soundlessly draws his sword and lifts his gaze to the skies. He is masking his spirit energy, yet this close, I sense great waves of it rolling off him, just like last time we met on the bridge.

From somewhere far above, voices sound. Flashes of white cut through the dusk, trailing wisps of cloud as they descend.

Immortals.

The guard turns to me and holds out a hand. Without thinking, I take it. I feel a familiar ripple of spirit energy as he lifts his other hand to trace a talisman.

Strange. Immortals don’t usually use the techniques that mortals use to channel spirit energy. When you possess that much power, you can weave magic with a flick of your finger, a passing thought.

The talisman masks our movement. I follow him as he hurries through the Celestial Gardens, his movements fluid and powerful. He slows only when the landscape grows familiar and I begin to recognize the patterns of the trees and flowers.

We come to a stop by a small pavilion overlooking a pond. Sprigs of camellias grow by the water, and farther away, I spot a pair of mandarin ducks resting, their brightly colored feathers reflected on the surface. From a distance drifts the sound of conversation and laughter from the other candidates near the Clear Skies Pavilion. Here, though, we are alone and shielded from view.

The immortal releases my hand; his goes to the hilt of his sword. Everything about him is carved with sharp intent, and he looks at me with a practiced blankness. His eyes, though, are swift and assessing, constantly evaluating our surroundings. “It’s safe here,” he says. His tone is not unkind.

I’m still gripping my blades. I believe him, but I refuse to let go. “Why did you take me away?”

“My priority was to get you out safely.”

I watch him carefully. “Why?”

He blinks slowly, his face betraying nothing. “Lady Shī’yǎ vouched for you that day upon your entry to the temple. It is not only your reputation as a candidate at stake should you become entangled in dangerous affairs.”

Dangerous affairs. “You saw it, too,” I whisper. “Her heart…” Was eaten.

“Yes, I saw it,” he says. “There is something afoot here, but investigating it is my job. Please stay out of it; this has nothing to do with you.”

But what if it does? a small voice whispers in my mind, and the confession is on the tip of my tongue: There is a demon halfling in the Temple of Dawn. We opened a gate in your wards last night.

If I tell him, I risk losing my place in the trials.

I risk losing Mā.

I try not to falter beneath his piercing gaze, as unyielding as sword metal and as cool as ice. A faint wind stirs his robes; the dusk light gilds his features and weaves molten gold into his hair, and as the willows and camellias dance around us, I feel I have stepped into a fairy tale. This immortal’s beauty is as effortless as sunlight dancing on river water.

“Listen to me.” He takes a step closer and fixes his gaze on me. Deep, brown eyes, steady as the earth. “From the moment Lady Shī’yǎ spoke for you in the Hall of Radiant Sun, your fate was pulled into the nexus of ours. The politics of immortals is a long, twisted game, and there are many who would wish to oust her for the slightest misstep. If you wish to thank her, then win. ”

At his words, I swallow, the confessions sinking to the pit of my stomach. Instead, I study his face: the chiseled angles of his jaw, the slim yet strong curves of his cheeks, the symmetry of his lips. Here, this close, the moment in the sea no longer seems like an impossibility.

He is still, studying me, too. The cool austerity of his gaze shifts, and I have the strangest feeling he is searching for something in my eyes. His lips part; he looks as though he means to say more. But then he draws back and begins to turn away. And for some reason, in this clearing lit by the setting sun, beneath the murmuring willows, I feel as though I am dreaming and that I have dreamt this dream before. As though I have more questions I should ask him, but they flit through my mind like dust motes, impossible to catch.

“I’m àn’yīng,” I find myself saying to his retreating back.

From between the willow branches and flowering trees, he glances over his shoulder at me. His eyes soften at the edges. The effect is like watching ice melt over a sunlit river.

“I know,” he says. “I’m Hào’yáng.”

Hào’yáng. Two characters that could mean bright sun, or…

I inhale sharply.

Vast sea.

“Wait,” I begin, but he’s gone already, and I’m alone in a clearing surrounded by water and flowers and the last, warm glow of sunset.

—

It feels surreal to step into the lantern light of the Candidates’ Courtyard and to find Lì’líng, Tán’mù, and Fán’xuān seated at one of the waterside pavilions, enjoying platters of delicacies for dinner. Most candidates have returned from their training, but the sound of conversation around me is a dull roar.

Hào’yáng.

The One of the Vast Sea.

It can’t be a coincidence that he’s helped me twice now, that he is linked to the judge who vouched for me, that I saw him in the ocean that day. Whether it was real or a dream, Bà sent me here to look for him, and I am at the precipice of unraveling one of my father’s secrets.

I fiddle with my jade pendant as I make my way toward where Lì’líng, Tán’mù, and Fán’xuān sit, scanning the faces of the candidates I pass, looking for signs of something off, of anyone missing. With our free schedules, quite a few have not yet returned to our quarters—but it hits me, with the force of a physical blow, who isn’t here.

Yù’chén.

My insides grow cold.

“àn’yīng!” Lì’líng calls, leaping up and waving at me with a radiant smile. The sight of her sends a sharp pang of guilt through my stomach. A candidate was murdered, there is danger within these temple grounds—yet I can’t speak of it without being implicated in the investigation.

I hesitate, and that’s when a loud, reverberating sound fills the night.

Gong…

Light streaks across the skies like a shooting star and a messenger appears, carried by wisps of cloud and shimmering in the pale silks and lamellar of the Temple of Dawn. “All candidates are to report to the Hall of Radiant Sun!” he calls.

The refectory is immediately in an uproar. Chairs scrape, plates clatter, and there’s a commotion as candidates scramble to flee to their chambers and grab their weapons before they head to the Hall of Radiant Sun. They think it’s the announcement of the Second Trial.

I stand, feeling the solid weight of my blades tucked into my dress.

“Come on!” Lì’líng squeals, grabbing my and Tán’mù’s hands. “Come on, Fán’xuān!”

The Hall of Radiant Sun seems to drink in the moon’s fluorescence at night. The golden curving eaves and bejeweled pillars gleam in soft lantern light as we file in. Guards in the identical white-and-gold uniforms line every pillar. I search for Hào’yáng—but he is nowhere to be seen.

Shī’yǎ, too, is conspicuously missing. Only four of the Eight Immortals are present. I study their faces as they recline on their thrones, looking for hints of unease or any emotion at all—but it is like trying to gaze into a bowl of clear water.

Though there is one person I’ve been searching for who is here, and my gaze goes to him like a moth to flame.

Yù’chén leans against a pillar at the very back of the hall, arms folded in an almost indolent manner. As though sensing my gaze, his eyes cut to mine.

I make straight for him, ignoring the way my pulse picks up at the sight of him. He is very still but for the glint of his gaze, his face an indecipherable mask. It isn’t until I’m right in front of him that he speaks.

“Come to make a monster of me again?” His voice is low.

I lean forward until we’re almost touching. My hand slips to his side—and I dig Poison in against a soft dip in his rib cage. He draws a sharp breath and freezes.

“Move or make a sound, and you’re dead,” I whisper.

“Mm. Scorpion that you are,” he murmurs, but to his credit, he stays where he is.

“The gate. Did you close it last night?”

I can’t see his face, can’t make out anything in his voice. “I closed it,” Yù’chén says, “last night. Feel free to go and check if you’re so keen to believe me a liar.”

I lean back slightly, studying his eyes. He looks right back at me, cocking a brow. If he isn’t lying and the gate is closed so that no hellbeasts or mó could have gotten in…that leaves one more possibility.

“Did you kill her?”

I feel the stutter to his breaths, and then warmth against my neck as Yù’chén exhales. “Who?”

“Candidate Number One,” I reply. “She’s dead. I found her in the Celestial Gardens, with her chest ripped open and her heart devoured.”

Yù’chén’s jaw tightens. A few of the candidates glance over at us; he wraps a hand around my waist and tugs me sharply forward so I’m pressed against him in a semblance of an embrace. He dips his head, and I shiver as his lips graze my hair. “And you’ve come to ask me if I killed her, ate her heart, and drank her soul like the wicked demon I am?” he says softly.

I swallow, and his hand tightens against me. I’m the one holding the knife, but he’s the one in control.

“àn’yīng,” he says, drawing back slightly. “Even if I feasted on mortal flesh, do you think me so stupid as to leave a half-eaten body in the middle of these temple grounds?” His hand trails up my spine, and a cruel smile curves his lips. “If I were to have devoured anyone’s heart, it would have been yours, last night in the middle of the ocean, where no one would have known.”

I shove him away. Before I can respond, Jǐng’xiù stands, his bamboo scepter in his hands. The hall goes quiet.

“Candidates.” The announcer’s voice is grave. “As you’re well aware, the Temple of Dawn runs by a set of Precepts made to reflect the ancient Heavenly Order. These Precepts forbid murder on temple grounds.” He pauses to sweep a glance over all of us. “A candidate was found dead on temple grounds. The initial investigation concludes she was murdered.”

A collective gasp rises from the hall. By my side, Yù’chén tenses.

“This matter is still under investigation. In the meantime, security around the grounds will tighten. Once the culprit is found, they will face not only expulsion from the Immortality Trials but also the harshest of punishment allowed under the Heavenly Order.”

My fingers tighten around the hilts of my crescent blades in my sleeves. Her chest was ripped open, I think. Her heart was devoured. There’s a big difference between announcing that a candidate was killed…and that she might have died at the hands of a being from the Kingdom of Night.

The crowd is murmuring. Evidently, most of the candidates have figured out who the victim was; Number One was popular, her presence observed with a mixture of awe and jealousy.

Jǐng’xiù taps his bamboo scepter, and the candidates grow quiet again. “While the death of a candidate outside the trials is a grave matter, it poses no challenge to the integrity of our institution. The Temple of Dawn will continue to run on the power of the Eight Immortals and the hundreds of guards dedicated to its protection. The Immortality Trials will continue.

“Which leads me to my second announcement: tonight, we begin the Second Trial.”