Page 24

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Even in death, Fán’xuān wears a hint of a smile. On the white sands of the Mirror Lake, his hair and robes fanning around him like snow, the first spots of color I see are his vibrant green eyes. They were once the color of willow leaves, of spring shoots; now they are as cold and still as jade. But as my gaze roams down his body, a violent shudder rips through me. He has been torn open. His heart and organs have been devoured, so there is nothing left in his chest but bones and the glistening red of his blood.

My mind blanks. A high-pitched ringing fills my ears as my world narrows to my friend, staring unseeing into skies he will never fly through again.

The sound of footfalls filters through my shock. I turn, blades raised.

It’s Yù’chén. Slowly, he raises a finger to his lips. Points.

Above the beach, within the line of green willows and flowering trees, something moves beneath the canopy. Over the sound of waves, I make out a slurping, tearing noise.

“That,” Yù’chén says quietly, “is the culprit you’re looking for.”

I stare at the hulking shape in the shadows, the sounds of its feasting growing more and more apparent. Its back is turned to us, and it’s too dim for me to make out what it is, but my gut knows; I recognize the movements, the sounds.

It’s the being from the Kingdom of Night that attacked me, killed Number Five, and likely Number One. And now…My throat tightens unbearably as I catch sight of Fán’xuān’s pale hair ruffling in the breeze steps away from me.

Whatever that thing is, I’m going to tear it to pieces.

I raise my blades, but Yù’chén’s hand catches my wrist.

“àn’yīng, listen to me.” His voice is barely audible. “In our current state, the two of us combined could not defeat that creature.”

I thrust Yù’chén’s arms away from me. “That creature didn’t kill your friend,” I reply, and then I’m staggering forward on the sand, toward the tree line. The àn’yīng who started these trials would call me a fool to risk everything in this moment. Yet I think of Fán’xuān, lying behind me on the beach, alone and hollowed out. I think of the way he carried my golden butterfly to me during the Third Trial; the way he loved soaring on an errant breeze and dipping into the ocean. I think of his easy grin, of the excited glint to his jade-colored eyes and how they will never see again. I think of the short, bitter life he had in the halfling show pen and how he deserved so much more.

Yù’chén’s right. We’re in no state to fight this beast.

But I’m not going to do it alone.

Crescent blades gripped in my hand, I raise my jade pendant to my lips. “Hào’yáng,” I whisper into it. “I know you can hear me.” I pause. There will be time to explain later, to confess how I know who he is and sort out this confused mess I have made of my pendant and my guardian behind it. “I have the culprit behind the murders. I need help.”

With that, I let the pendant dangle outside my dress as I approach the murderer.

The slurping sounds it makes grow louder as I near. In the shadows of the canopy, I see its hulking silhouette, the way its back is hunched as it bends over another victim. I can just make out the face of the candidate—a man I recognize—his eyes glassy, his expression blank. I think he is dead.

I hope he is.

Fleet and Shadow are in my hands. I’m pressed against the trunk of a great willow, as silent as a wraith. I have the advantage of stealth and surprise; I won’t be fighting it full-on, as I did the mó back in Xī’lín.

The monster shifts its position, and for a moment, a sliver of sunlight through the trees lances across its face.

My blood goes cold.

I recognize it.

It’s Yán’lù.

—

I must have made some noise, or perhaps drawn too swift a breath. Yán’lù—the monster that is Yán’lù—freezes mid-bite. Slowly, he—it—lifts its head and looks in my direction.

It’s him; there’s no mistaking it, except it’s a horribly grotesque, twisted version of Yán’lù. His face is bloated; in his mouth are row upon row of razor-sharp fangs stained with gore. The whites of his eyes have disappeared, replaced by black that’s tinted a crimson hue. Dark veins spiderweb across his face and down his neck, then encircle his arms—the demon’s ichor that coexists with his mortal blood.

Yán’lù…is part-mó. The realization robs me of breath. Number One, Number Five…that male candidate…Fán’xuān and now another…It was all Yán’lù’s doing. All along.

His eyes lock on me, and his lips widen into that sneer. I step out, but it’s too late; I’ve lost the element of surprise.

Yán’lù’s bloodied mouth curves in triumph. His gaze is cruel and utterly foreign. “I told you,” he rasps, and his voice seems to hold multitudes—sharp and high-pitched while at the same time low and deep—“I never forget. I’m going to ravage your body. I’m going to drink your blood.” His teeth flash. “But I won’t kill you, as I did the others. No, you’re going to suffer until you give me what I want.”

I raise my blades. “I’m going to destroy you,” I say in a low voice.

He throws his head back and roars with laughter. That’s when a shadow falls by my side.

I see Yù’chén against the trunk of the nearest tree. He winces slightly as he draws his blade. Sweat drips from his chin, and he is still pale, his lips without the flush I’m used to. He lowers into a fighting stance.

Yán’lù’s eyes flash as they settle on Yù’chén. “Going to turn against your own kind?” he crows. “Don’t tell me you’ve truly fallen for one of them.”

Yù’chén’s face is broken by the dappled shadows of the canopy. Disgust is etched in his features, mingled with a deep anger. He steadies his sword and bares his teeth, eyes glinting red.

Yán’lù lunges forward. As he does, strands of his hair shoot out, forming sharp bristles aimed at our hearts. I recognize them: it was one of these that numbed my body in the Third Trial.

I dodge one and catch two, but the third swipes against my left shoulder. I feel bursts of excruciating pain where it punctures my skin, followed by the familiar prickling numbness that begins to wind its way down my arm. My blade falls into the grass with a dull thump as I lose control of the muscles in my hand. The poison on Yán’lù’s bristles must paralyze his victims so he can kill them more easily.

I think of Fán’xuān and wonder whether his last moments were like this: frozen and helpless and alone, unable to move or scream as he was devoured.

I may have lost the use of one arm, but I still have another—and I’ll be damned if I don’t get this bastard.

Yù’chén is fighting, but he’s slower than I’ve ever seen him. The wound in his stomach has torn open again, and fresh blood sprays the grass as he moves. His balance is off, each swing heavy as he fends off blow after blow from Yán’lù. The veins in his skin are pronounced, and when he snarls, I catch a flash of sharpened teeth and red-and-black scales beginning to form on his chin.

Yán’lù seems to sense his opponent’s exhaustion. With another triumphant roar, he swipes his hands—which have shifted to claws with talons made to shred flesh—across Yù’chén’s chest. A long lash of his spiked tail catches Yù’chén square in the stomach.

Yù’chén slams into the nearest tree with a horrifying crack . Blood drips down his chin as he drops to his hands and knees. His fingernails have lengthened to claws; scales bloom up the back of his hands.

Yán’lù lifts his hands for the killing blow, and I leap out from behind, Fleet clenched between my teeth, Striker in my right hand. I focus all my spirit energy, all my strength, and all my fury over Fán’xuān into my blow.

But after all this, I am still mortal. And I come up short.

Yán’lù twists. I feel the slice of flesh and crunch of bone and sinew as I bury Striker’s blade in his chest—a hand’s breadth below his heart.

Pain erupts in my midriff. When I look down, one of Yán’lù’s bristles protrudes from it. Already, my chest is going numb with the prickling heat of his poison.

I look up through a blur of tears and twist Striker.

Blood spills from Yán’lù’s lips. He gives a snarl of fury and slams me into the sand. For a moment, a high-pitched ringing fills my ears and my vision pops with sparks of black. When I come to again, Yán’lù stands over me, his spiked tail raised.

That’s when my jade pendant heats against my skin. Its glow reflects in Yán’lù’s eyes as he looks down at it.

I am here, the golden words on its surface declare.

Yán’lù stares at it a moment longer. Slowly, understanding seeps into his features, followed by a vicious delight.

“I’ve found it,” he whispers, and lifts a claw. “I’ve found it!”

I press a hand over the pendant. But Yán’lù laughs even as blood seeps from the wound I’ve inflicted in his chest. Dark magic swirls on his palm, coalescing into a black bristle. It ripples in a sudden wind, then vanishes.

Something whistles through the trees behind Yán’lù. A golden arrow buries itself in his heart. The brute stops laughing. He looks down at his chest, at the protruding arrowhead, as though he can’t quite process what he’s seeing. A dark liquid drips from the gold: blood mixed with ichor that begins to drift up like smoke.

Yán’lù collapses to the ground. His chest stops moving and he falls still, his mouth still open, features frozen in the last of his laughter.

He doesn’t dissipate like the other full mó I’ve killed; rather, his mortal body seems to shrink slightly in size, his muscles deflating until he loses that unnatural bulk. I look away from his pointed teeth, still coated in shreds of flesh.

Five immortals step out from the trees, bowstrings taut, arrows aimed at Yán’lù’s motionless body.

“Dead, Captain,” one of them calls, while another exclaims, “Impossible—it’s a mó halfling!” And a third: “Mó can’t have halflings.”

Warm hands envelop my shoulders, turning me so that I’m looking into a familiar face. Brown eyes as steady as the earth, strong brows currently creased in worry.

“Hào’yáng,” I mumble.

“àn’yīng.” His grip tightens on me, and his eyes rake over my wounds. “What did he do to you?”

“Paralyzed,” I mumble. “His poison…”

Hào’yáng turns to the others. More guards are emerging from the trees or landing on the beach from their wisps of cloud, weapons drawn. Their attention immediately goes to him as he speaks. “I’ll take the candidate to the healing temple,” he begins, and then he catches sight of Yù’chén.

My heart staggers.

Yù’chén is crumpled on the ground beneath a tree. His chest is torn open in four long gashes, his shirt shredded, exposing the veined flesh beneath. Red-and-black scales are rapidly blossoming along his collarbone, shoulders, and arms. Veins spiderweb up his face, and his eyes…they have grown black, with glowing red pupils.

I must make a sound, for Yù’chén’s gaze snaps to me. Taking in how I lean against Hào’yáng’s shoulders and how his arms wrap around me.

Quickly, Yù’chén turns his face away, his hand flying to his neck and clamping down on the scales growing there. His body arcs in a gasp, I feel a dampening of his dark magic…and then the scales slow as they reach his chin.

“What—” One of the immortal guards nearby catches sight of Yù’chén. He takes a startled step back. “Another one here, Captain!”

With his free hand, Hào’yáng draws his weapon. Metal sings as he turns to face Yù’chén and raises his sword over his head—

“No!” The cry tears from me. With the last of my strength, I wrap my arm around Hào’yáng’s waist, holding him back.

Hào’yáng hesitates. “àn’yīng,” he says, “this man—this halfling —is part-mó. He was likely in league with the other one—”

“He wasn’t,” I whisper. “He saved my life.”

Yù’chén watches me from where he lies, one step away from us. His chest rises and falls faintly beneath the shadow of Hào’yáng’s sword. The scales have stopped growing; his face, apart from his eyes, is still human.

He gives me a nearly imperceptible shake of his head. “Don’t,” he says, quietly enough so that only Hào’yáng and I can hear. “I’m not worth it.”

I cling tighter to Hào’yáng, tipping my head so he’s forced to meet my eyes. “Please believe me. It was Yán’lù; he confessed to the other murders right before you came. You saw him eating the candidate’s heart; you saw him hurt me and Yù’chén fight him.”

“Until now, we didn’t believe mó halflings existed, àn’yīng.” Hào’yáng turns an assessing gaze to Yù’chén. “Yet two of them have managed to enter our trials, deceiving our wards with their mortal blood. This cannot be a coincidence.”

I swallow, breathing hard. “Hào’yáng, please. Believe me.”

Hào’yáng hesitates, his gaze searching mine. Then his mouth tightens and he lowers his sword. There is ice in his eyes as he turns to the other guards gathered around us and raises his voice. “At the very least, the Precepts of this temple demand an interrogation in the face of crime. This mó’s life is not mine to take, just as his fate is not mine to decide.”

“Forgive me, Captain, but our duty is to slay any mó we come across,” another guard says.

“He is half-mortal,” Hào’yáng replies. “Our Precepts list no precedent for the children of mó and mortals. This isn’t a matter we can take lightly.” He casts Yù’chén a look. “Take him to the healing temple. Chain him and ensure that he lives. We will take him for interrogation to understand how he is alive, how the demon’s ichor inside him hasn’t killed his mortal flesh, and how he and the other one bypassed our wards. And if he is indeed an enemy, we will torture him for information before executing him.”

“àn’yīng,” Yù’chén begins, but two immortals grab his arms and begin dragging him. He strains toward me against their grip. “àn’yīng—” His voice is cut off as a third guard makes a sharp gesture and silences him with magic.

Hào’yáng steps in front of me. His expression is cold, guarded, but sorrow tinges his eyes, and he is achingly gentle as he picks me up. He is displeased with me, and as I let him carry me away, I cannot help but feel that I have made yet another mistake.