“Rest well, candidate,” he says.
I try not to look back at him as I pass through the moongates.
It’s nearing the middle of the night. The courtyard is deserted; most of the candidates have turned in for an early night, likely still recovering from yesterday’s trial. I fiddle with my jade pendant as I make my way up to my dorm, past the willows and water that are utterly silent at this hour.
“I didn’t take you for the type to romance your way up the ranks, little scorpion.”
The voice shatters my joy. I freeze and look up.
Yù’chén leans against the willow across from my dorm. I’ve been so busy training that I’ve barely seen him in weeks, not since that night in the hot spring. As he straightens and steps out of the shadows, I go very still.
The injured, pale version of him in the hot spring is gone; he stands straight, sculpted shoulders and chest stretching the black fabric of his shift, arms folded, full lips curled in a smirk. His hair is half tied back, though it still has the wild, mussed look. He wears his crimson cloak today, and I can’t help but stare at the way it accents the sharpness to his features, the darkness to his gaze.
I tuck my pendant back into my collar. “I don’t know what you mean. I’ve been busy training.”
My words lack bite, and I can’t stop thinking back to what Hào’yáng told me: that Yù’chén had an alibi at the time of Number One’s death. That he was in the training temple, seen by a number of immortals.
That, all this time, he didn’t deserve the horrid things I thought about him.
“Training,” Yù’chén repeats, arching a brow. He narrows his eyes. “From sunrise to past sunset, in an unknown location, with a captain of the immortal guards.”
As always, his words and the sight of him manage to rouse my temper. “Exactly, and I amverytired, so fuck off,” I snap, stomping up the wooden steps to my room.
“Oh, I’d fuck right off,” he replies easily, “if I weren’t here to bring you news of your sister.”
His words are lightning that jolts through every one of my nerves. My hand freezes, palm on the rosewood of my sliding doors.
“But it seems you’re not interested. So I’ll—”
I whirl around. “Wait.”
He has already turned to leave. He pauses between the swaying branches of the willow, tossing me a glance over his shoulder. “Yes?”
“Tell me.” My voice comes out tight, but I can’t help it. No matter how strong I become, no matter how powerful, with one mention of Méi’zi, he has me in the palm of his hand.
Yù’chén turns to me. With slow, languid steps, he approaches. I retreat until my back is pressed to my door, but he closes in. I suck in a breath, my heartbeat elevating as myfight-or-flight instinct kicks in. I can feel the heat of his body, smell his scent of spice and roses, blood and night, as he leans toward me.
“I heard he almost killed you,” he says softly. “Yán’lù. Tell me if that’s true, Àn’ying.”
I stare at him. “What’s it to you?”
He says nothing. Only watches me, expression unreadable.
“I just want to know the news of my sister,” I continue when he’s been silent for several heartbeats. “Tell me and we’re done here.”
Yù’chén’s jaw tenses, but he draws out a familiar-looking crane feather. It seems to flit between white and black, like two sides of the moon, as he twirls it. He tilts his head. “What do I get in return for releasing the memory in this feather, Àn’ying?”
I swallow. I can’t believe I almost felt sorry for him. Ihatehim, yet I know in this moment that I’m powerless against his demands. I’d overturn kingdoms for my sister. “What do you want?”
“There are many things Iwant,little scorpion.” Yù’chén’s gaze flicks to my lips for a moment, and his eyes darken before he pulls them back to focus on mine. “But it would be most unchivalrous of me to demand them when you’re in this position. So”—his lips curl into a smile—“I’ll settle for you asking me nicely.”
My relief comes with surprise. I have come to expect the worst of Yù’chén. I suppose when your expectations are in the Tenth Circle of Hell, anything can seem like a nice gesture.
With every ounce of self-restraint I have, I force a cordialtone and pinch my lips into a smile. “Could you please, oh please, be so kind as to show me the memory of my sister?”
Yù’chén’s eyes gleam. He draws back. “There,” he says. “Was that so hard?”
I roll my eyes, and he laughs. With one flick of his wrist, the feather dissipates into ash and memory. It settles into a scene: the window of our house, the one that looks into the bedroom I share with Méi’zi. It’s daytime, but the skies are cloudy and a dim gray light filters into the room.
