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A n ordinary candidate may have had trouble with the guards posted around our quarters, but Yù’chén makes it look nearly effortless. He wraps us in a charm of his dark magic, and I hold Shadow tightly as we make for the moongates. None of the guards even blink as we pass by.

I loose a breath only when we’re deep enough into the Celestial Gardens for the patrols to have thinned out. “ Now will you tell me what your grand plan is?” I hiss. He’s been irritably elusive.

I make out the flash of his red cloak in the night. “Patience, little scorpion.”

At the sound of rushing water, I realize we’re making for the waterfall at the edge of the Celestial Gardens again. “Are you going to open another gate in the ward?” He’s silent. “Because if you are, I need you to close it as soon as we’re out, then open it for us when we’re back.” More silence. “Yù’chén, answer me—”

“Do you know how much effort it takes to create a gate in the immortals’ wards?” he replies.

“Then how do you plan to help my sister?”

We’ve reached the stream. Just beyond the willows, the wards shimmer into the night, iridescent, powerful, and impenetrable. Yù’chén turns and holds his hand out to me.

I don’t take it. “Tell me what you plan to do, Yù’chén.”

He hesitates, and then sighs. “I closed the gate, àn’yīng, but…I can reopen it.”

Ice cracks through my veins. “You just said you couldn’t create another gate.”

“Not create. Reopen,” he says, and walks to the edge of the wards. By the waterfall, growing in the grass, is the scorpion lily I saw last time. Yù’chén kneels and touches a hand to it…and it begins to glow. “Dark magic leaves signs behind. Unnatural growths of flowers, birds and animals that don’t belong, strangely shaped terrain.” His voice is amplified, beautiful, and his eyes flash red as he turns to look at me. Behind him, the scorpion lilies are blooming in the glimmering ward, once again forming the shape of an archway. The gate—the one he told me he closed.

The one that might have let in whatever demonic beast attacked me and killed the other two candidates.

“Creating a gate and reopening a gate are two different things. In this case, I left behind a door that I could open and close at will.” The scorpion lilies unfurl their long red petals, and the archway through the wards gleams, growing more and more transparent by the second.

But my teeth are chattering, and I’m backing away from him. “You told me you closed the gate last time.”

“I did —”

“But it’s still there!” My voice rises in panic. “Could something have gotten through? Two candidates have died, Yù’chén—I was almost killed by the same beast that murdered them—”

“You were attacked?” Yù’chén’s expression is tight, inscrutable, but he suddenly moves toward me. I take the equivalent steps back and he stops himself, though his eyes dart over my face, my chin, my shoulders, my body, as though looking for my wounds.

“By a creature of the Kingdom of Night,” I confirm. His gaze follows my hand as I instinctively touch my side, where my bandages cover the claw marks. “I saw it.”

“Whatever killed those candidates didn’t come through my gate, àn’yīng. This I know.”

The ice has spread to my heart, freezing my limbs, making my teeth chatter. “But you kept it,” I whisper. “You lied to me.”

He cuts me a cold look. “Shall I destroy my gate, then? I have no problem returning to my chambers and sleeping well tonight, àn’yīng. It isn’t my sister dying one realm away.”

I flinch.

Something like regret crosses Yù’chén’s expression. He holds out a hand again, and his tone is soft when he speaks. “I could destroy this gate with a single word from you. I could also save your sister and be back before the sun rises. The choice is yours, àn’yīng.”

Again, that damned sincerity to his tone, the way he looks at me as if he means it—I don’t know what to believe.

But I look at his palm, the light of the scorpion lilies casting it in red. I know my choice. That has never changed.

I reach out and place my hand in his. “Help me save my sister.”

He draws me to him, close, until we are facing each other at the edge of this realm, our clothes brushing, all but touching. His hands settle around my hips, and suddenly, my heart’s in my throat and I find I can’t breathe, can’t focus on anything but the heat of his fingers on me.

“I did lie to you,” he whispers in my ear, and I tense as a shiver rolls through me. “I have to use dark magic one more time tonight to get us to your sister.” He laces his fingers through mine. “The mó have the ability to create passages between destinations in each realm, folding distances and traveling faster that way. Is that all right with you?” He leans back, his eyes roving my face, lips curling in a humorless smile. “One more lie from a wicked demon…to save your sister?”

No, I want to say. None of this is right. None of this should be right—I’m knowingly endangering the Kingdom of Sky by creating a breach in their wards and hiding the secret from them. I am just as culpable as Yù’chén, if not more.

But I would trade kingdoms to save my family.

“Yes,” I say.

Yù’chén holds out a scorpion lily to me. This time, I take it. A tingle rushes up my fingers as soon as I touch its stem: the sensation of a velvet darkness brushing against my skin. The gate of flowers in the wards pulses gently, as though reacting to my touch. Beyond, as clear as glass, is the night sky of the mortal realm, bright with stars.

“Focus on the destination you want,” Yù’chén says. “I’ll do the rest.”

I close my eyes and imagine my broken little house with its flowering plum tree and winding dirt path. Xī’lín, with its gray terra-cotta roofs gleaming like dragon scales in the sunset, the old pái’fāng of faded gold characters reminding us that better times once existed. A yearning rises inside me, so bone-deep that an ache grips my heart.

Power surges through the scorpion lily in my hands—dark, passionate, tumultuous—brushing against my thoughts. Dark magic. It twines through the images I’ve conjured of home…and in my mind, flowers bloom.

“àn’yīng, open your eyes.”

I do.

The gate of scorpion lilies before me no longer opens to a midnight sea. Two blooms of purple wisteria have appeared beyond it, their branches reaching for each other like lovers’ hands. They extend into a tunnel of softly glowing flowers bedded on walls of shadow. It is at once beautiful and terrifying, and I cannot decide which way I feel.

“This…leads us to my home?” I ask.

Yù’chén nods. “The passage is temporary, in case that brings you comfort. It’ll vanish as soon as we use it.”

“And you’ll destroy the gate once we return,” I press.

His eyes are downcast, his shoulders tense, as though he is fighting something I cannot see. Then he exhales, and something like helplessness seeps into his face. He nods. “If you ask.”

I hand the flower back to him and take out my blades. The heft of Fleet and Striker in my palms feels good, like landing on solid ground after treading water. “Then let’s go,” I say.

Yù’chén reaches for my hand again, but he does not remove my crescent blade. Instead, his fingers curl around my wrist. The tip of Striker skims the skin of his forearm with the motion.

“I’ll lead you through,” he says. “Just…remember, everything will look exquisitely beautiful. These passages spun of our magic are…compelling to mortals. None of what you might see or feel is real. And don’t touch the flowers.”

I tighten my grip around my blades and nod. Not real. Skies, everything about the mó’s magic is designed to enchant and ensnare us.

“Follow me, àn’yīng,” Yù’chén says, and turns. “Just follow me.” His voice is impossible to ignore as his magic flares. My feet move of their own accord, tracing Yù’chén’s steps through the wisteria trees into the pocket of darkness.

The hum of magic immediately cloaks us. We’re in a tunnel of flowers, their fragrance sublimely sweet, their petals a soft blush against the dark. Between their branches, the night sky has come alive with stars. Light limns the petals, and I realize the wisteria has shifted. We walk beneath a canopy of cherry blossoms, their outlines rendered nearly silver by the moon that hangs low and bright, its surface fractured by the interwoven branches. My head feels light, as if I’ve drunk too much of the peach wine at the Banquet Hall.

“àn’yīng.” My breath catches at Yù’chén’s voice. It was always beautiful, but here, it seems to echo, amplified by the magic. “àn’yīng, do not let the flowers distract you.”

It’s too late, and they have. Magic falls from them like pollen, tangling in my hair and on my lips and in my senses. I have seen the rows and rows of cherry blossoms at the Temple of Dawn, radiant and sparkling in the sun. But I never expected that the sight of them in the darkness would take my breath away. And with each step, no matter how much I try to resist, their glow becomes brighter, and the real world falls away from me a little more.

Cherry blossoms in the dark, I think. My namesake.

I feel as if I’m dreaming. Yù’chén’s grip is at once firm and gentle on my wrist, and he leads me forward with an urgency I do not feel. I reach out a hand and graze a finger against the petals of a familiar red flower.

“àn’yīng!” Yù’chén’s voice is sharp. He draws me to him and lifts my finger. It isn’t until he touches it that I realize I’m bleeding. The blossom cut me.

A muscle twitches in Yù’chén’s jaw. “àn’yīng, I told you not to touch the flowers.” His voice is still like music to my ears. He’s talking about how these flowers are poisonous, how they will send mortals into a state of delirium that they won’t even remember, but I barely hear his words. A delicious, hot feeling is tingling through my arm. I smile as I tilt my head up at Yù’chén. I’m not sure why he looks so angry, but for some reason, it pleases me.

“It was another red scorpion lily,” I tell him. “You tried to gift one to me the first day we met, remember? Such a horrid gift.”

He makes an exasperated sound between his teeth as he studies my bleeding hand. “I remember.”

“Why would you wish me a fate of loss and tragedy?” I swipe a hand at his neck, but I can’t remember why I ever wanted to cut it open. My crescent blade rests against his skin, and I lean forward, my fingers pressing against the cords of his muscles, admiring how warm he is.

“I don’t wish such a fate upon you.”

“Then why are you so wicked?” I barely know what I’m saying anymore, but the words float out like puffs of cloud, drifting between us. “You help me, and then you push me away. Why?”

Yù’chén’s throat moves; his chest rises and falls with his breaths. “Because I can’t have you,” he says quietly, “but I can’t stop wanting you.”

The air between us shifts as I lift my gaze to his, the words running circles in my head. My thoughts won’t pull together, so I stop trying and let instinct take over, trailing my fingers down to his chest. “I can feel it,” I say. “The beat of your heart. That’s how you tricked me at first.”

He lowers his gaze to my wrist, his lashes casting impossibly long, beautiful shadows on his cheekbones. His jaw clenches. He swallows again and gently pushes me back. The distance between us feels cold. “Enough,” he says, but the world around me is sliding in and out of focus and I barely understand his next words. I vaguely make out that he needs to extract the poison. I’m about to ask how when he lowers his lips to my finger.

The touch is the spark that sets my body ablaze. I sway, shivers running up my arm as he sucks on the cut the flower made, taking my blood in his mouth and swallowing. I blink. The heat is beginning to drain from my body, but I don’t want it to end. When Yù’chén straightens, frowning, I close the gap between us and press my lips to his with a sigh.

His mouth is sweet and tinted with a metallic tang, and I curl my fingers into his hair as I have dreamt of doing for so many nights. He tastes like bitter sugar, and a part of me wonders if this is the poison of the flower. A delicious, intoxicating poison I would gladly drink into oblivion.

He leans forward, and then he is kissing me back. It is nothing like the desperate, fumbling kiss of the hot spring. His mouth moves softly against mine, and his hand comes to cup my chin. Gently, gingerly, as though he holds something breakable in his palm. With his other hand, he skims his fingers along my hair, down to the sensitive spot behind my ear and my neck. He is tender. Cautious. No one, I think, my eyes fluttering shut, has ever held me like this.

“I want you,” he whispers against my lips. “So much.”

Gently, he pulls me against the wall of night blossoms, their pollen swirling around us, lighting his face and settling in his hair and clothes. The way he touches me, fingers tracing my jaw and thumb caressing circles on my neck, feels like more than just desire.

I suddenly realize I’m cold. That my head is no longer pounding or hazy, that my surroundings have filtered back into sharp delineation. That I’m in control of myself again, and I’m kissing Yù’chén. It’s not real, I think as the discordant shock that registers in my mind wars against the hazy desire driving my heart. It’s not real.

I wrench away, turning my face to swipe the back of my hand against my mouth.

He’s a mó, a voice inside me screams. What are you doing?

What am I doing?

I squeeze my eyes shut, my fingers trembling against my lips. When I open them again, I find Yù’chén watching me. His lips are flushed, and he’s breathing hard.

He quickly looks away.

For several moments, neither of us speaks. As the last of the poison cools from my body, I realize what he said.

Because I can’t have you, but I can’t stop wanting you.

“The poison should be gone from your system,” Yù’chén says quietly. “You should feel like yourself again.”

I can’t bring myself to look at him.

“Follow,” he says, turning and beginning to walk more briskly.

We are nearing the end of the passage. There is a light, a scene that looks like a faded portrait compared to the visceral beauty and colors of this passage—but it is one that I find more beautiful than anything else in this world.

Home.

My chest swells at the sight of my village’s old pái’fāng, the faded words Xī’lín looking exactly the same as on the day I left it. We step out from between two cathayas, and I stumble toward my home at a full run. I could hug the pillars of the pái’fāng; I could kiss the dirt road at my feet.

When I glance back, the passage of flowers has vanished, as Yù’chén promised. Yù’chén himself is still standing just outside the pái’fāng. He presses a hand to the wood and winces, pulling it back as if he’s been burned.

Of course—our wards, designed to stop mó from entering. In that moment, a part of me is glad to see him struggle, for it means our wards are still strong enough.

Yù’chén sees me watching him. His expression settles as he inhales deeply, then passes through the pái’fāng at a run. When he comes to a stop before me, his face is pale. His knuckles whiten as he grips the fence to steady himself.

“How does it feel?” I’m aware of the cruelty of my question, but I need to gauge how effective the wards are.

He turns his face away from me. His jaw clenches. “Like I’m burning from the inside.” Despite how hard he tries to keep it even, his voice shakes.

“Does it hurt more for the pure mó?”

“A lot more, I’m certain, to the point where they can’t get through or won’t even try. But the most powerful mó have the magic to break through.”

The Higher Ones, I think, my stomach twisting.

It’s the middle of the night, so the streets are completely empty. As we walk, I notice how dusty and crumbling the houses are, some with broken shutters or crooked fences. The trees are growing bare in the face of autumn, the dry rattle of their leaves crunching beneath my boots. Everything looks rough and unfinished compared to the dazzling perfection of the immortal realm.

But it’s mine.

My heart lifts at the sight of Fú’yí’s house. The shutters are dark, but I spot the small pot of chrysanthemums she keeps outside her front door, the flowers she and her husband both loved. The soil within is wet, the flowers healthy and alive, and I find myself smiling.

I begin to run when I see my house, sitting in the same corner with the plum blossom tree. The bamboo door is bolted shut, as are the shutters. When I near, a shadow stirs in the darkened alley across the way, taking on the form of a large bird. Yù’chén’s shadowcrane.

I pause to incline my head at the beast. No matter what it is, it has watched over my sister all this time, and I owe it gratitude, if not respect. It only blinks back at me with those unsettling red eyes.

I reach for my front door, but Yù’chén grabs my hand. “Wait,” he says. He won’t meet my eyes, and I catch something like shame on his face. “I need you to remove the wards around your house. I…I don’t think I could get through a second set of wards.”

I bite my lip. The thought of taking down the wards around my house makes me anxious, but I need him with me.

It’ll only be for an hour or two, I tell myself. Besides, I still have the wards around the town borders as a first layer of protection.

I set to work. This is the first time I’ve removed the wards around my house in nine years, and it’s dismaying how easily they come off. A swipe of fresh blood through the old talismans I’ve drawn, and I feel the spirit energies dissipate. The defensive ring around my house fades like a linked fence coming down, and within minutes, it’s done.

I’m uneasy as I round to the front, but Yù’chén stands at the door, waiting for me. He looks so proper, like a guest in a clean crimson travel cloak, waiting to be invited in.

I square my shoulders, then open the doors to my home to let a mó through.