Suddenly, I can barely breathe. He’s in his golden armor and white robes again, the stiff embroidered collar hiding any trace of the pendant around his neck.
My throat tightens as I recall the years between us, howmy broken piece of jade has carried me through some of the hardest moments of my life. How it lent me comfort during the earliest years after the invasion, how it taught me to hunt, which berries to forage, the best ways to grow cabbage…how it told me of the light lotuses, how to harvest them and boil them to sustain my mother’s half a soul…and then, how it told me of the Temple of Dawn and the Immortality Trials as a way to save Ma’s life.
In the days after Bà died and Ma became a hollow husk, I nearly broke. I remember the hope I felt when this pendant began to speak to me. How I held it in order to sleep, and how, in the darkest of times, I knew there was someone there, watching over me.
All along…it was Hào’yáng.
I take in his long, straight brows, the strong, smooth curves of his cheeks. My chest is tight in a way that I cannot describe, a heartache that feels, for the first time, good. Was he always this handsome? Was there ever a time when his ears were too big for his face, his teeth misaligned, his nose crooked?
His eyes open, and before I can do anything, he’s looking back at me, his gaze clear and steady. “Àn’ying,” he says, straightening, the sleep vanishing from his expression and shifting into alarm. “Why are you crying?”
I press a finger to my cheeks. They’re wet.He doesn’t know I know,I realize. He thought I was unconscious in the water; he’s hidden his pendant from me again.
I swallow the words at the tip of my tongue. I feel as if my heart will crack open. “I…”
Hào’yáng reaches out a hand. He’s holding a handkerchief—mysilk handkerchief, I realize, with my half-finished embroidery of dragons on a sunlit sea. “May I?” he asks, and when Inod, he leans forward and dabs my cheeks. His movements are so gentle, I cry harder.
“Àn’ying.” He gives me a helpless look. He’s cupping my face through the silk, his fingers warm and steady. “Forgive me that I wasn’t there—”
“N-no.” I inhale deeply to try to collect myself. “I’m sorry, Hào’yáng. I’m sorry about all those things I said to you. I’m sorry I’m not strong enough to survive here on my own—”
“Àn’ying.” His thumb brushes an involuntary stroke against my cheek as he holds my gaze. “You are the strongest person I know.”
I know it’s not true, that itcan’tbe true—I’m the weakest of the candidates here—but he speaks as though he means it.
I smile back. “I must have an excellent trainer, then.”
His eyes crinkle, and I want to catch this moment between us, store it in my memories like a piece of treasure. Hào’yáng clears his throat, and then he’s drawing back, returning to the formal demeanor of a Temple of Dawn guard. He begins to fold my handkerchief, but something gives him pause. I shiver when he runs a careful finger over the stitchings. The motion feels intimate, and the way he’s studying the half-finished piece stirs heat beneath my skin.
His gaze flicks up. “You never finished this.”
“I’d like to, someday,” I reply. He hands it back to me, the warmth of his palm lingering on the silk. I can’t tear my gaze away from his face, from wanting to collect every detail: the way a few strands of his hair have escaped his cinch and frame his face, the way the lantern light catches against his lashes, the way his guarded, observant eyes can yield to hints of a smile when he thinks no one is watching. I want to knoweverything about him, all that I have missed in the past nine years.
Hào’yáng finishes arranging his sleeve and looks back up expectantly at me. He touches a finger to his cheek and raises an eyebrow. “Something on my face?”
“No,” I say quickly, averting my eyes and grasping at anything to say. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Nearly one day.”
I gape at him. “What happened? The trials—I fell—”
“The Eight Immortals granted you a win,” he replies. “It was on the basis that you were already grievously injured by a demonic beast before the trial began. I saw—the claw marks on your side.”
It suddenly makes sense. I lost. I almost died. Hào’yáng broke the rules by interfering in the trial and saving my life.
“The Eight Immortals are investigating the death of Number Five,” he continues. “They are debating alerting the Jade Emperor’s High Court. Everyone else—your friends included—is safe but confined to the Candidates’ Courtyard until the culprit is caught.” He hesitates. “Forgive me for bringing you to my chambers. Given how you’ve been targeted, I didn’t think…” He clears his throat and gestures toward my body. “Lady Shi’ya changed your clothes.”
I’m suddenly aware that I’m sitting in his bed, dressed in a fresh nightgown, my wounds cleaned and bandaged. My face heats, and I’m glad for the cover of darkness. “Please thank your mother for me,” I stammer.
Hào’yáng nods, then reaches toward a set of rosewood drawers by the bed. He takes out a bundle and sets it next to me. My heart leaps as I hold up my white silk dress, perfectlymended from the gashes the demonic beast made in the fabric. Hào’yáng has also collected all my crescent blades; I run my fingers over each of them and the familiar talismans engraved into the metal. Last of all is a familiar note, sitting atop the pile.
I hold up my father’s words. They glimmer in the starlight.
“I owe you an explanation,” Hào’yáng says, and I look up to see him watching me. He holds out a hand. “How about some tea, and a private showing to one of my favorite views of this realm?”
—
Stepping out onto the open wooden pavilion outside his chambers, I’m met with a breathtaking sight.
