I cast an envious glance at where the shapeshifter Fán’xuan, in the form of a giant carp, circles just beneath the surface of the water. I know that most of the candidates here have likely had more training resources than I. The Second Trial could start at any moment, and being able to walk on water could save my life.
But try as I might, something isn’t working.
We’re in the Celestial Gardens today, practicing by a stream that winds to the very edge of the grounds before plunging off into the skies. Fán’xuan seems to be enjoying himself, swimming downstream and plunging off the edge of the waterfall before resurfacing as an enormous crane. Tán’mù still looks as though she hasn’t slept, though her throwing stars meet every single target.
Most of the other candidates give us a wide berth; no one wants to associate with a group of yao’jing. I don’t blame them; we all grew up on the same stories of how the yao’jing steal mortal babies from their cradles and drink their blood.
But I discover that these stories are just that. Lì’líng shows a fondness for chicken dishes, Fán’xuan will pour entire platters of food down his throat, and though I’m not sure what Tán’mù is, the one thing that unites them all…is howhumanthey are. And how easily I interact with them. So far, they’ve been careful not to reveal much of their backstories to me, and I’m fine with that. We’re not here to become friends, after all.
“Try it again,” Lì’líng says encouragingly. In the daytime, she looks bright-eyed and energized, her cheeks round and her lips as red as cherries and prone to laughter. She crouches by a growth of orchids, their yellow petals bright against her white robes. She has twined a flower into her hair, and I can’t help but think of how lovely it looks with her amber eyes. “Remember, find therhythmof the water’s spirit energy, which will always be moving, and point yours so that it flows in the opposite—” She pauses, her nose twitching in the exact manner of a small fox. “Is that soy chicken?”
I bite down a smile as I look back at the water. The currents flow so fast, it seemsimpossibleto pinpoint any form of energy and be able to…walk on the surface. There’s a reason the practitioners in the storybooks take entire lifetimes to cultivate these types of abilities.
I draw a deep breath, focusing in on the energies flowing in the water. It is complete chaos, attempting to catch any of them; they slip in and out of my grasp, a tumultuous mess.
I summon what I can of my spirit energy, channeling it to the soles of my feet. I take a step forward—and plunge face-first into the water.
I hear snickering around me when I come up for air, coughing and spitting water.
“Walk it off, walk it off,” Tán’mù says. She glances at Lì’líng, who looks crestfallen. By her side, the yellow orchids seem to droop their heads. “Maybe we try archery instead.”
I catch movement across the clearing. Beneath a copse of golden ginkgos is a familiar figure. Watching me.
Yù’chén covers his mouth with a hand, but I can see the traces of laughter on his face. He’s in his crimson cloak, cinched at the waist for easier movement. His sword is strapped to his hip, and on his other shoulder hangs a siyah-horn bow.
He straightens and tips his chin at me, smirking as though to say,Watch me.
Effortlessly, he takes off at a run and leaps into the air, too high, too light, and too graceful. His cloak trails bright red, stirring petals into the air. Between one blink and another, his bow is in his hand and his arrow nocked. He takes aim and fires—one, two, three times.
He alights before the wooden target. Three perfect bull’s-eyes. The last arrow splits the first.
Yù’chén dips into a bow as the crowd watching breaks into scattered applause. When he rises, he catches my gaze and arches an eyebrow.
I fist Striker and turn away. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a group of girls approach him.
My thoughts have drifted to him more often than I would’ve liked over the past few days: I’m filled with a gnawing dreadthat I’ve made the wrong choice by not reporting him to the immortals. But reporting him could endanger my own standing in the trials.
I can’t think of protecting kingdoms when I can’t even save my own mother.
At night, though my body is sore and my every last nerve is fried from training, I work on a secret of mine.
I’m sewing a pair of gloves for Méi’zi. It’s a way we communicated with each other growing up: leaving little gifts under each other’s pillows, from socks to scarves to hats. When our kingdom fell and I gave up my needles for my blades, Méi’zi continued this tradition. Throughout the years, her gifts have become more and more elaborate, her stitches coming in neater and tighter and her patterns blooming in ways I could never have imagined. My sister makes magic when she sews.
But there is something to the sewing kit I was gifted that feels like magic, too. I have studied the threads beneath the lantern light, marveling at the way they seemed to vanish at certain angles. They are finer than any silks I’ve encountered in the mortal realm, and the way they blend into fabric makes me suspect that they were not made by human hands. In the myths and journals of mortal practitioners, there is a type of cloth woven by the song of the fish-tailed sea spirits in the ocean’s depths. The fabric is said to ripple like water, and clothes spun of sea silk are meant to feel like clouds.
The only person in the realms who knows my love for sewing is my guardian in the jade. Though I’d hoped for the sewing kit to be a gift from them—a secret signal of sorts between us—my pendant has remained silent since my arrival.
My gloves are almost complete. My skills are rusty, but I’ve sewn a golden-roofed palace on clouds and a tinyfigurine in a white dress: me. I thought of giving embroidered-me a wide smile to show my victory but decided to go with a scowl. More realistic that way.
Méi’zi will recognize my stitches and the message within: that I’ve reached the Kingdom of Sky safely.
Now I just need to figure out a way to send it to her. I know a talisman—similar to the one on Heart—that practitioners use on messenger doves to help them reach the intended recipient. The problem is, no matter how skilled a messenger dove, it can’t cross realms or wards.
No one may enter, and no one may leave.I’ve thought through the Eight Immortals’ warning, and I wonder if there is a loophole.No onedoes not meannothing.If an animal or inanimate object can cross the wards, can’t I conjure a talisman to guide the gloves to Méi’zi?
I decide to test this theory at the end of the week.
I wait until the others are asleep. It’s a waning moon, the night perfectly cloaked in clouds when I slip out of my chambers. The courtyard dances with shadows and the rustle of wind that howls mournfully through the mountains beyond this temple.
