I tighten my grip on my dagger. Instantly, Yù’chén’s hands snap back around my wrists. The motion is swift, subtle, but his grip is like iron.
“Don’t,” he murmurs. Slowly, he bends my arms to wrap around his waist, drawing me forward so I have no choice but to lean close to his chest. At the front of the hall, Jing’xiù is now giving instructions about our rooms, our schedules, our meals, and the rules of the temple. “You don’t want to give them any reason to disqualify you.”
I hiss at Yù’chén, “I think they’d appreciate it if I tell them that you—”
“That I what?” He lifts an eyebrow.
I open and close my mouth several times. “Enchanted me,” I say at last.
He looks pleased. “Did I?”
“You—” I clench my teeth as several of the candidates nearby glance our way in annoyance.
I angle my dagger at his ribs, and his grip tightens on my wrist as his smile widens. In this bizarre silent struggle, we turn to listen to Jing’xiù’s instructions.
“…welcome to attend the Trial Banquet tonight. You willfind your Candidates’ Courtyard room assignments on your invitations,” the immortal says cheerfully.
“Are we free to come and go as we please?” hollers one candidate at the front. “I’ve got a sweetheart out in the Southern Province!”
This earns him some laughter, and even a few smiles from the Eight Immortals themselves.
Jing’xiù chuckles along with the group. “No,” he says pleasantly. The candidate with the sweetheart stops grinning. “The wards protecting the Kingdom of Sky are impenetrable. You were granted entry through our wards today by measure of your mortal blood and mortal hearts, but by the twelfth gong, the wards once again sealed off our realm. No one may enter, and no one may leave. And might I remind you that anyone caught cheating, stealing, or exhibiting any other unsavory behavior under the principles of the Heavenly Order…will regret havingevercrossed into this realm.”
His words are met by silence. No one is smiling anymore.
Jing’xiù throws back his head and laughs. “Oh, you all look soseriousfor a group of mortals who have just passed the First Trial!” He spreads his arms. “Congratulations, candidates. Welcome to the Temple of Dawn.”
Yù’chén releases me just as the speech ends. A ruckus arises in the hall as the air ripples with spirit energy. When I look down, my invitation scroll has morphed into a glowing, molten-gold bracelet that twines over my left wrist. At its center is an inlaid mother-of-pearl engraving of a tiny sun over a swirling white cloud—the symbol of the Kingdom of Sky—and a number. It is one that does nothing to improve my mood.
Forty-four.A cursed number: four is the homonym for death.
Yù’chén is studying his own wrist. The number on his gold bracelet flashes: two.
These are not arbitrary numbers; they’re the order in which we arrived. I, dead last, the forty-fourth candidate of these trials.
And Yù’chén, second—only because I slowed him down.
A knot hardens in my throat as I remember the Immortal Steps, him reaching for me, eyes wide and lips parted as though in genuine fear.
“You,” I grit out, “are a very good liar.”
Yù’chén turns to me, not quite meeting my gaze. “If I were, you would not have suspected me,” he replies.
It’s an admission of what happened out on Heavens’ Gates, by the Immortals’ Steps. Of the dark magic he used.
I flash my blades at him. “Follow” is all I say as I whip around and begin walking down the hall, merging into the rest of the crowd as they stream toward the Candidates’ Courtyard. I’m keenly aware of the Eight Immortals’ eyes on me, of the guards watching me as I pass them.
Yù’chén gives a low chuckle as he falls into step behind me.
The Hall of Radiant Sun opens to a veranda of billowing gauze drapes and high marble pillars that catch the rays of the setting sun. On either side, glittering waterways fall into mist and nothingness below. All around us, as far as the eye can see, are rolling clouds painted in the last rosy corals of sunset.
Méi’zi would have loved it.
The voices and footsteps have faded. The candidates have gone far ahead, mere silhouettes between the translucent gauze drapes.
I slow to a stop and glance behind me. Yù’chén stands several paces away, making no move to approach. An errant breeze sets the drapes around us aflutter. I glimpse his crimson cloak, his untamed black hair, and a corner of his soft lips and strong jaw.
I don’t know how he did it, but I do know that there is something terribly wrong with him. Mortals shouldn’t be able to command other mortals as mó do. In the context of this trial, it gives him a horrifying advantage over the rest of us.
