I can’t move, can’t speak. My heart slams against my chest, and I can’t stop the tremor that goes through my body.I will not be prey,I think, a desperate prayer, a litany. My blades slide into my palms.I will not be prey.
Yù’chén draws back. The red in his eyes is fading, transforming back to an impenetrable black. He looks down at my blades, breathing hard. It’s a few moments before he speaks again. “My shadowcrane will inform me when she reaches your sister,” he says roughly.
I nod, though I’m trying to stop my teeth from chattering. The hard grooves of my crescent blades dig into my palms, grounding me. “Take me back,” I whisper. “Please.”
In spite of his anger, he is gentle as he draws me close and calls on his wind again. I hold tightly to him, uncertain whether it is fear or something else that makes my pulse race and my breathing tight.
As soon as we land back in the Celestial Gardens, I push away from him. I hear him call after me, but I don’t stop as Imake my way toward the Candidates’ Courtyard. He follows me in silence, through the moongates and across the open-air hallways, until we approach the steps that lead to my door. The spirit energy of my talismans rush over me as I cross the threshold, and for the first time, my breathing steadies.
“Àn’ying.” Yù’chén’s voice is quiet behind me. “I—”
“Yù’chén,” I say, spinning around. He’s stopped beneath the old willow tree that leans over the pond. Overhead, clouds race over the moon, and I can barely make out his expression. “Don’t help me again.”
He lifts his gaze to mine, darker than the night. His lips part, but I don’t let him speak.
“I don’t want to think of you as anything more than a monster,” I finish. Then I enter my chamber and slide the doors shut behind me, leaving him standing outside in the shadows.
13
My qing’gong skills are so improved the next day that Tán’mù loses her normal sleepy look when she sees me walking on the surface of the pond. It’s only for a few seconds, but Lì’líng even abandons a glutinous rice ball (sesame-paste filling) to fling her arms around me and squeal when I manage it. Fán’xuan is chasing dragonflies as a kite-tailed sparrow, then taking dips into the water and surfacing as a freckled carp. I grin when he finally flops onto land in his human form, feet bare and shock of white hair just peeking out above the long grasses. The sun warms the water and the ground; the fragrance of hibiscus, magnolia, and osmanthus sweetens the air, mingling with the laughter and conversation of the other candidates nearby. In daylight, the events of last night seem like a distant dream, gone with the darkness.
Tán’mù folds her arms. “You’re taking lessons from someone,” she says, picking at a nail. “Is it Number One? Or Yù’chén?”
“No,” I reply, but I’ve never been a good liar.
Tán’mù raises an eyebrow and doesn’t pursue the subject further, but my heartbeat quickens at the thought of Yù’chén, of the rule we’ve broken.
Of the gate in the wards.
I stifle a gasp as the realization jolts through me. Since waking, I’ve been so focused on driving Yù’chén from my mind that I haven’t given thought to that gate. I know nothing about it besides the fact that it’s dangerous, a weakness in the wards the immortals have spent years perfecting. And now, I can’t recall whether Yù’chén closed it.
I climb out of the water, cursing myself for letting my emotions get in the way of logic last night. We’re at the edge of the temple grounds, where one of the celestial rivers winds through mountains and disappears into the sunset. Blossoming cherry trees lean into the waters, their petals and fragrance carried to us by a gentle breeze. In the distance, a phoenix arcs through the clouds like a sunburst.
It’s a beautiful day but one I can no longer enjoy—because suddenly, there is nothing more I want to do than make sure Yù’chén has closed that gate.
“I’ll be back,” I say, and I set off before my friends can ask me where I’m going.
I have no idea where Yù’chén might be at this time of day, but I make for the Celestial Gardens, where most of the candidates train. At this hour it’s blissfully empty, with most candidates taking their dinner breaks. Floating lanterns sway beneath osmanthus trees; fireflies dart between camellia and peony bushes, their sparks drifting against a setting sun that casts the clouds in gold.
I find that I can’t stop thinking back to the ocean at night, how the haunting darkness of the waves seemed to call to me. And I realize it isn’t the ocean I’m thinking of.
You think me incapable of wanting what you and other full humans want.
There was anger in Yù’chén’s tone, but I didn’t miss what it was masking: pain, and disappointment. I recall how he looked at me after I fought Áo’yin, the tender way he draped his cloak over my shoulders. And last night, the gentle way he held me, the warmth of his gaze, the heat of his fingers as his breaths brushed my cheeks.
I squeeze my eyes shut to chase away the memory—and that’s when I nearly trip over something.
My eyes fly open. At first, I don’t see anything. I’m halfway to the gate we left at the wards. Before me runs a river lined with bushes of peonies, orchids, and chrysanthemums. They’re so colorful that I almost don’t notice the body half obscured between them.
It takes me a moment to recognize the face.
It’s Number One. Xiù’chun. She’s lying in the bushes, a near-serene look on her face. She might have been asleep were it not for the bleeding gash in her chest—one that looks like something tore her heart and lungs straight from her flesh.
The world peels away until all I see is the corpse, the blood pooling on the grass and seeping into the mud, as red as garnets. My mind splits, as if half of me is here and the other half is trapped in that scene from nine years ago, watching the red-lipped demon drink my father’s soul and slurp his blood and organs from him.
I’m not sure how long I stand there before I come back to my senses. I’m alone between the flowering trees, and it is too silent: the absence of cicadas chirping sends an ominous chill up my spine. The sun slants red near the horizon, fast-disappearing, casting the corpse before me in a bloody light.
Looking at her wounds, at the half-devoured flesh and missing organs, certainty settles within me: there is only one type of being that could have done this.
