Page 20

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When I wake, it is night. I am on a bed of soft silks, in a chamber lit with a silvery glow. The wooden shutters are open, letting in a warm, fragrant breeze and yielding a perfect view of the night sky between the branches of a great osmanthus tree. Moonlight spills in, pooling on the rosewood floors.

I am alive.

I flex my fingers and wriggle my toes. The pain in my side is gone…from the life energy Hào’yáng breathed into me beneath the ocean.

I turn my head, and he is there by my bedside. He’s asleep, cheek resting against the golden cuffs on his wrists, lashes fluttering as he dreams. Like this, he looks so young.

My guardian in the jade.

Suddenly, I can barely breathe. He’s in his golden armor and white robes again, the stiff embroidered collar hiding any trace of the pendant around his neck.

My throat tightens as I recall the years between us, how my broken piece of jade has carried me through some of the hardest moments of my life. How it lent me comfort during the earliest years after the invasion, how it taught me to hunt, which berries to forage, the best ways to grow cabbage…how it told me of the light lotuses, how to harvest them and boil them to sustain my mother’s half a soul…and then, how it told me of the Temple of Dawn and the Immortality Trials as a way to save Mā’s life.

In the days after Bà died and Mā became a hollow husk, I nearly broke. I remember the hope I felt when this pendant began to speak to me. How I held it in order to sleep, and how, in the darkest of times, I knew there was someone there, watching over me.

All along…it was Hào’yáng.

I take in his long, straight brows, the strong, smooth curves of his cheeks. My chest is tight in a way that I cannot describe, a heartache that feels, for the first time, good. Was he always this handsome? Was there ever a time when his ears were too big for his face, his teeth misaligned, his nose crooked?

His eyes open, and before I can do anything, he’s looking back at me, his gaze clear and steady. “àn’yīng,” he says, straightening, the sleep vanishing from his expression and shifting into alarm. “Why are you crying?”

I press a finger to my cheeks. They’re wet. He doesn’t know I know, I realize. He thought I was unconscious in the water; he’s hidden his pendant from me again.

I swallow the words at the tip of my tongue. I feel as if my heart will crack open. “I…”

Hào’yáng reaches out a hand. He’s holding a handkerchief— my silk handkerchief, I realize, with my half-finished embroidery of dragons on a sunlit sea. “May I?” he asks, and when I nod, he leans forward and dabs my cheeks. His movements are so gentle, I cry harder.

“àn’yīng.” He gives me a helpless look. He’s cupping my face through the silk, his fingers warm and steady. “Forgive me that I wasn’t there—”

“N-no.” I inhale deeply to try to collect myself. “I’m sorry, Hào’yáng. I’m sorry about all those things I said to you. I’m sorry I’m not strong enough to survive here on my own—”

“àn’yīng.” His thumb brushes an involuntary stroke against my cheek as he holds my gaze. “You are the strongest person I know.”

I know it’s not true, that it can’t be true—I’m the weakest of the candidates here—but he speaks as though he means it.

I smile back. “I must have an excellent trainer, then.”

His eyes crinkle, and I want to catch this moment between us, store it in my memories like a piece of treasure. Hào’yáng clears his throat, and then he’s drawing back, returning to the formal demeanor of a Temple of Dawn guard. He begins to fold my handkerchief, but something gives him pause. I shiver when he runs a careful finger over the stitchings. The motion feels intimate, and the way he’s studying the half-finished piece stirs heat beneath my skin.

His gaze flicks up. “You never finished this.”

“I’d like to, someday,” I reply. He hands it back to me, the warmth of his palm lingering on the silk. I can’t tear my gaze away from his face, from wanting to collect every detail: the way a few strands of his hair have escaped his cinch and frame his face, the way the lantern light catches against his lashes, the way his guarded, observant eyes can yield to hints of a smile when he thinks no one is watching. I want to know everything about him, all that I have missed in the past nine years.

Hào’yáng finishes arranging his sleeve and looks back up expectantly at me. He touches a finger to his cheek and raises an eyebrow. “Something on my face?”

“No,” I say quickly, averting my eyes and grasping at anything to say. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Nearly one day.”

I gape at him. “What happened? The trials—I fell—”

“The Eight Immortals granted you a win,” he replies. “It was on the basis that you were already grievously injured by a demonic beast before the trial began. I saw—the claw marks on your side.”

It suddenly makes sense. I lost. I almost died. Hào’yáng broke the rules by interfering in the trial and saving my life.

“The Eight Immortals are investigating the death of Number Five,” he continues. “They are debating alerting the Jade Emperor’s High Court. Everyone else—your friends included—is safe but confined to the Candidates’ Courtyard until the culprit is caught.” He hesitates. “Forgive me for bringing you to my chambers. Given how you’ve been targeted, I didn’t think…” He clears his throat and gestures toward my body. “Lady Shī’yǎ changed your clothes.”

I’m suddenly aware that I’m sitting in his bed, dressed in a fresh nightgown, my wounds cleaned and bandaged. My face heats, and I’m glad for the cover of darkness. “Please thank your mother for me,” I stammer.

Hào’yáng nods, then reaches toward a set of rosewood drawers by the bed. He takes out a bundle and sets it next to me. My heart leaps as I hold up my white silk dress, perfectly mended from the gashes the demonic beast made in the fabric. Hào’yáng has also collected all my crescent blades; I run my fingers over each of them and the familiar talismans engraved into the metal. Last of all is a familiar note, sitting atop the pile.

I hold up my father’s words. They glimmer in the starlight.

“I owe you an explanation,” Hào’yáng says, and I look up to see him watching me. He holds out a hand. “How about some tea, and a private showing to one of my favorite views of this realm?”

—

Stepping out onto the open wooden pavilion outside his chambers, I’m met with a breathtaking sight.

The guards’ houses are built into the cliffs overlooking a river that reflects the stars. Its waters glitter as though threaded with silver, and lotuses drift on its surface, white and pure, illuminated every so often by the darting glow of fireflies. Clouds coil around the mountains, plumes drifting over houses with curving tiled roofs and gardens of osmanthus, willows, and waterfalls.

“That’s the River of Serene Starlight.” Hào’yáng comes to lean against the railing next to me. He hands me a cup of chrysanthemum tea. “And there’s the Hall of Radiant Sun. Beautiful, isn’t it, from a distance?”

Sure enough, through the clouds rise the familiar golden roofs and marble columns. A marble bridge extends from it toward us, mirroring the bridge that leads to the Candidates’ Courtyard. This one, though, is inlaid with golden engravings of sun and clouds, phoenixes and dragons…and the gods.

While we mortals might worship the immortals, the immortals pray to the gods: forces of nature that rule the realms, above even the immortal Jade Emperor himself. They are so ancient that they have long dissipated into the spirit energy of our world, into the myth that is the Heavens, taking form as wind and thunder, rain and oceans, sun and moon and stars.

I ask, “How was it? Growing up in the Kingdom of Sky as a mortal?”

Hào’yáng considers my question, his eyes reflecting the River of Serene Starlight. “It was lonely,” he says at last. “I was educated with the immortal children, but they never saw me as one of them. So I trained harder and longer because I knew I couldn’t be as good as them—I had to be better.”

I study his profile in the moonlight, imagining him as a boy, thoughtful and solemn, brush poised as he writes back to the girl in the jade. Did he think of me as often as I thought of him?

“Did you ever go back to the Kingdom of Rivers?” I ask.

“I couldn’t,” he says quietly. “The immortals would not have allowed me back into their realm had I left. It killed me inside every day, knowing I was safe and comfortable here while others like me suffered.”

I think back to his apologies, to the guilt and pain in his eyes when he saw me hurt. I think I understand a little, now, of why he wished to protect me.

“àn’yīng.” Hào’yáng is looking at me, his gaze suddenly as sharp as steel. “What if I told you there is a way to fight for it?”

I search his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“When the Kingdom of Night defied the Heavenly Order and began the war against the Kingdom of Rivers, the Kingdom of Sky turned its back rather than interfere and risk its own safety. What if I told you there is a small group of immortals who wish to join the fight?”

A memory surfaces: Fú’yí’s face, fiery in the sunset. You let them know we are still alive. You show them how strong you are. And when you have learned the arts, just as your father did, you come back and win this war against the Kingdom of Night.

Bà’s note is pressed to my bodice. I feel his words as though they’re seared into my flesh. I chose to train you for a reason.

The jade pendant he gifted me…leading me here, to Hào’yáng. To this moment.

“Does this have to do with my father?” I ask.

“It has everything to do with your father,” Hào’yáng replies. “He left a path for us to fight back. He was the seed of our rebellion.”

“Yes.” The answer falls from my lips before I can think. My heart has known it all along, even if my mind has not until this very moment. “Yes, if there’s a way…of course I’ll fight, Hào’yáng. Yes. ”

He looses a breath. There is something of relief, of gratitude, on his face as he leans forward, his mouth curving in a smile that makes me want to hold on to this moment forever. “Then I’ll arrange a meeting with Lady Shī’yǎ. She’ll fill you in on the rebellion we’ve been planning, our next steps.” It’s the first time I’ve seen him so passionate, as if, piece by piece, the cool, restrained warrior’s armor is falling away. “She taught me everything I know, àn’yīng. You’ll like her.”

“Who else is involved?” I ask.

“Immortals from all positions and factions, including two members of the Jade Emperor’s High Court. We have three members, Lady Shī’yǎ included, who are highly ranked and command their own armies.” Hào’yáng meets my gaze. “Forgive me, that I’ve had to be elusive. This rebellion is a secret those of us involved must guard more carefully than our own lives. There are spies everywhere, eyes sent by other political factions across the Kingdom of Sky. By those who wish to stop us.”

“Hào’yáng,” I say. “I think Yán’lù might be one of them.” Quickly, I explain how he has asked me twice who was watching over me.

Hào’yáng nods. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you, so I wouldn’t have to put you in danger. I can’t break any more rules without the rest of the Eight suspecting something. àn’yīng, promise me you’ll be careful. Focus on the trials for now.”

—

Hào’yáng escorts me back to the Candidates’ Courtyard. The change that has occurred within a single day is startling: we run into several immortal patrols in the vicinity, and guards line the moongates leading inside.

“She was with the Eight for questioning related to the trials,” Hào’yáng tells the immortals as we draw up to the entrance. I glance at him, thrown by how smooth the lie sounds, but his face betrays nothing. His usual cool, distant demeanor has returned, his hands drawn behind his waist, his shoulders thrown back.

“Captain,” the guards say, inclining their heads to let us pass.

I glance up sharply at Hào’yáng, surprise widening my eyes. Captain? I want to ask, and as though he hears my thought, he flicks a glance at me, the corners of his eyes curving up, a hint of warmth and cunning in them. How does a mortal become a captain of immortal guards?

Hào’yáng keeps a courteous distance as he inclines his head to me—but I don’t miss the way his lips curl when he meets my gaze again, as though we share a private joke.

“Rest well, candidate,” he says.

I try not to look back at him as I pass through the moongates.

It’s nearing the middle of the night. The courtyard is deserted; most of the candidates have turned in for an early night, likely still recovering from yesterday’s trial. I fiddle with my jade pendant as I make my way up to my dorm, past the willows and water that are utterly silent at this hour.

“I didn’t take you for the type to romance your way up the ranks, little scorpion.”

The voice shatters my joy. I freeze and look up.

Yù’chén leans against the willow across from my dorm. I’ve been so busy training that I’ve barely seen him in weeks, not since that night in the hot spring. As he straightens and steps out of the shadows, I go very still.

The injured, pale version of him in the hot spring is gone; he stands straight, sculpted shoulders and chest stretching the black fabric of his shift, arms folded, full lips curled in a smirk. His hair is half tied back, though it still has the wild, mussed look. He wears his crimson cloak today, and I can’t help but stare at the way it accents the sharpness to his features, the darkness to his gaze.

I tuck my pendant back into my collar. “I don’t know what you mean. I’ve been busy training.”

My words lack bite, and I can’t stop thinking back to what Hào’yáng told me: that Yù’chén had an alibi at the time of Number One’s death. That he was in the training temple, seen by a number of immortals.

That, all this time, he didn’t deserve the horrid things I thought about him.

“Training,” Yù’chén repeats, arching a brow. He narrows his eyes. “From sunrise to past sunset, in an unknown location, with a captain of the immortal guards.”

As always, his words and the sight of him manage to rouse my temper. “Exactly, and I am very tired, so fuck off,” I snap, stomping up the wooden steps to my room.

“Oh, I’d fuck right off,” he replies easily, “if I weren’t here to bring you news of your sister.”

His words are lightning that jolts through every one of my nerves. My hand freezes, palm on the rosewood of my sliding doors.

“But it seems you’re not interested. So I’ll—”

I whirl around. “Wait.”

He has already turned to leave. He pauses between the swaying branches of the willow, tossing me a glance over his shoulder. “Yes?”

“Tell me.” My voice comes out tight, but I can’t help it. No matter how strong I become, no matter how powerful, with one mention of Méi’zi, he has me in the palm of his hand.

Yù’chén turns to me. With slow, languid steps, he approaches. I retreat until my back is pressed to my door, but he closes in. I suck in a breath, my heartbeat elevating as my fight-or-flight instinct kicks in. I can feel the heat of his body, smell his scent of spice and roses, blood and night, as he leans toward me.

“I heard he almost killed you,” he says softly. “Yán’lù. Tell me if that’s true, àn’yīng.”

I stare at him. “What’s it to you?”

He says nothing. Only watches me, expression unreadable.

“I just want to know the news of my sister,” I continue when he’s been silent for several heartbeats. “Tell me and we’re done here.”

Yù’chén’s jaw tenses, but he draws out a familiar-looking crane feather. It seems to flit between white and black, like two sides of the moon, as he twirls it. He tilts his head. “What do I get in return for releasing the memory in this feather, àn’yīng?”

I swallow. I can’t believe I almost felt sorry for him. I hate him, yet I know in this moment that I’m powerless against his demands. I’d overturn kingdoms for my sister. “What do you want?”

“There are many things I want, little scorpion.” Yù’chén’s gaze flicks to my lips for a moment, and his eyes darken before he pulls them back to focus on mine. “But it would be most unchivalrous of me to demand them when you’re in this position. So”—his lips curl into a smile—“I’ll settle for you asking me nicely.”

My relief comes with surprise. I have come to expect the worst of Yù’chén. I suppose when your expectations are in the Tenth Circle of Hell, anything can seem like a nice gesture.

With every ounce of self-restraint I have, I force a cordial tone and pinch my lips into a smile. “Could you please, oh please, be so kind as to show me the memory of my sister?”

Yù’chén’s eyes gleam. He draws back. “There,” he says. “Was that so hard?”

I roll my eyes, and he laughs. With one flick of his wrist, the feather dissipates into ash and memory. It settles into a scene: the window of our house, the one that looks into the bedroom I share with Méi’zi. It’s daytime, but the skies are cloudy and a dim gray light filters into the room.

Méi’zi lies on the bed. Even from here, I can make out the unnatural flush to her cheeks, the sweat glistening on her face, the way she’s curled in the fetal position, clutching her belly. She’s trembling, and as I watch, her body convulses with a cough.

She’s sick—dangerously so.

The world tilts around me. I turn, but I’m shaking, this one scene undoing all the walls I have built up within me.

“I have to help her.” The words break from my lips as I try to focus my thoughts. There has to be some medicine here, in this realm bursting with magic, that I can take back to her.

But I can’t do it alone.

Hào’yáng. My hand flies to my jade pendant. Hào’yáng will help me—I know he will.

Yet as I consider, I realize what I would be asking of him. The immortals would not have allowed me back into their realm had I left. More disastrously, he is one of the organizers of a potential rebellion—and he is Shī’yǎ’s son, as well as a captain of the immortal guard. If he’s caught sneaking into the mortal realm…I don’t want to think of the consequences. He has already broken too many rules for me.

“àn’yīng.”

I blink, pulled from my frantic trail of thoughts. Yù’chén is watching me. His eyes are dim, the slightest crease to his brows. He’s no longer smiling.

“Ask me,” he says quietly.

I stare at him, my heart pounding. “Why would I do that?”

“Because I can.”

There it is again, that raw sincerity to his voice, the quietly spoken words so at odds with his usual smirking nonchalance. At this point, I do not know which is real and which is the lie—or whether both are simply masks.

“Why do you do this?” I snap. “You help me, and then you push me away. Is this…Do you derive some sick pleasure out of it? Is it funny to you, watching me beg you to help me save my sister’s life?”

He closes his eyes briefly. “No,” he says.

I’m silent for a moment, trying to understand if this is another of his games.

So what if it is? a voice whispers inside me. Two can play at it. From the very start, our alliance has been transactional; I simply need to view this as another trade.

I need to save Méi’zi. I need to protect Hào’yáng. Yù’chén is my only choice.

I exhale sharply. “Can you help her?” I ask.

Slowly, he nods.

“How? With your dark magic?”

He says nothing, but his mouth tightens slightly.

“What do you want this time? More of my life energy?”

“No.”

“Well, then, what?”

Yù’chén pushes off the door and turns away, running a hand through his hair. “Nothing that you can give me.”

Again, I’m unsure how to respond. “I don’t have the time or energy to play games with you over my sister’s life,” I say.

“I’m not.” His jaw clenches. “My shadowcrane alerted me to her illness. I came to tell you as soon as I found out.”

I arch an eyebrow. “So you’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart?”

He looks away. “Is that so hard to believe?”

I sigh. “Just tell me what you want in exchange for your help.”

He tips his face to the moonlight. His eyes and lips are as red as his cloak. “All right.” Yù’chén exhales, and his throat moves as he swallows. “I want you to stop looking at me as if you’re afraid, or suspicious, or disgusted. As if you’re thinking of what I am instead of who I am.” His voice turns raw as he faces me. “I want you to look at me and see me. Can you do that, àn’yīng?”

“I…” I want to say Yes, I can, anything to get him to take me to Méi’zi and get the infection out of her body as soon as possible.

But the truth is, I will never see him the way I see Hào’yáng, or Lì’líng or my other friends, or the rest of the candidates and immortals here. Yù’chén holds, within him, half of the type of being that has ravaged my realm and brought the Ten Hells upon my people. They have destroyed my family and my life.

And yet. He has defied my expectations in every way. Despite the front of cruelty he puts up, he has never hurt me, only helped me.

I try to think of the Yù’chén who showed me the midnight sea. Who taught me to walk on water and dance on waves beneath the moon.

So I swallow and give him what I can. Half of a promise: “I can try.”