I tense, but Red laughs again. “Can’t even do your own dirty work?”
The brute—Yán’lù—spits in the grass. “Stand down,” he bellows at the lackey, and turns to Red. There’s something assessing in his gaze, something I don’t understand as he growls, “I didn’t want to fight you.”
“Worry not,” Red says breezily. “It won’t be a fight.”
Yán’lù snarls a curse. Faster than I anticipated, he pounces, his saber swinging with the force to take down a tree.
Red easily sidesteps the blow—and the next, and the next. There is an exquisite grace to the way he moves, as if each step is effortless for him. He hasn’t even drawn his sword; a smile dangles at the edges of his lips as though this is all a child’s game for him. His crimson cloak and the bursts of spirit energies between him and Yán’lù whip up fallen petals and dust around them, and in the elegance of his steps, he is impossiblybeautiful.
As though he hears my thoughts, his eyes flick to me and he cocks his head, flashing me a lazy grin. My cheeks heat, and I’m suddenly furious at myself and my traitorous, fluttering heart.The most beautiful things are the most dangerous.I have known this since I opened the door to the lovely red-lipped woman that sunlit morning nine years ago. It is carved into my heart, along with the death of my father and the loss of my mother.
Now my idiocy costs me again.
I notice, a half beat too late, that Yán’lù has turned tome.He is panting, his expression beyond furious, and I know he is looking for an easy target to kill and save face in front of his lackeys as he swings my way.
My crescent blades are up, but I no longer have Shield, andI’m not powerful enough to block against a proper weapon. No one has ever taught me to spar with a real sword.
The first blow throws me off balance. I feel Yán’lù’s strength rattle my teeth as I stumble back.
I lift my head, panting. Panic grips my chest. I know that when the next swing comes, I’m dead.
Except it doesn’t.
Instead, there is a flash of crimson before my eyes. I hear a screech of metal against metal. An incredible gust of power ripples through the clearing, rustling the grass and bamboo all around us.
Red stands before me, his cloak settling with the falling leaves and dust. He holds a sword, long and straight. In the darkness of night, it catches the dusty moonlight filtering through the clouds, glinting as if it is made of molten silver.
Molten silver, with a streak of fresh blood at its edge.
Yán’lù has leapt back to the edges of the clearing. When he swipes his hand at his midriff, I see dark red glistening against his fingers.
“Touch her and I’ll show you how it feels to actually have aim.”
Red’s tone has completely changed. It is cold, with an edge of cruelty, stripped of any earlier nonchalance or playfulness.
Yán’lù spits, but he knows defeat when he sees it. He raises his saber and points at both of us. “Even if you reach the Kingdom of Sky, you’redead,both of you,” he growls. “The Temple of Dawn tournament starts now, as soon as we step beyond Gods’ Fingers into the Way of Ghosts. And I’ll be watching your every move.” He gestures at his group of lackeys. “Let’s go.”
They back into the trees and vanish into the shadows.
Red turns to me, sheathing his sword in one smooth stroke. He looks unbothered, his hair slightly mussed from the fight in a way that strangely suits him.
“Why did you do that?” I demand. I can’t make out his expression beneath the shifting clouds, but I do not lower my own blades. “Why did you save my life?”
“Out of the kindness of my heart.” He approaches me, stopping two steps away, as though he knows the measure of my discomfort. “Would that be so hard to believe?”
“Yes.”
He laughs without abandon. Then he holds out his hand and unfurls his fingers. In his palm is Arrow, the crescent blade I used to deflect Yán’lù’s first attack.
“For whatever reasons the Heavens or fates have conspired, our paths crossed,” he says. “You saved my life, and I mislike owing debts. In the churn of lives and destinies, all things happen for a reason, don’t you think?” He holds the blade out to me. An offering, but not without my yielding a step.
“Our paths crossed because I thought you were a mó and tried to kill you,” I say flatly. “I hardly think that deserving of any grand notions of fate or destiny.”
He regards me with amusement. “Even the unlikeliest circumstances are a matter of fate. Today, the stars and skies preordained me the gift of a charming maiden who tries to stab me and bite off my neck. Skies, I must have upset you greatly in a past life.”
“Mortals don’t reincarnate.”
“Mm. All the better that you met me before those brutes found you, then, no?”
