Song Yiran—I believe in you.
It was a cringeworthy thing to say. He didn’t even know if she’d meant it. But somehow, it worked.
He centered himself, trying to grasp the feeling he had when he fought the Revenant. His body had seemed to know what to do and how to do it before his mind did.Instinct.Like that of an animal or anything in the natural world. Pure and unbridled, before the mind could intercept it with doubt.
A soft crimson light shivered from the blade. It was neither solid nor deadly, more like a dribbling afterthought. But it was enough to silence the taunting voice in Yiran’s head. The magic he had displayed wasn’t impressive. But it was something. Big things grew from somethings.
Zizi knocked the sword out of Yiran’s hand, catching it before it fell to the floor. He set the sword aside on the counter with careful reverence.
“How are you able to use Rui’s spiritual weapon?” he demanded.
Yiran rubbed his arm. “What exactly is a spiritual weapon?” He knew some Exorcists carried swords, but he’d never seen Ash with one, and it wasn’t until tonight that he saw one in action.
“Anyone with magic can use common weapons. But spiritual weapons are highly specialized conduits that you can infuse with your own qi,” Zizi said, still looking perplexed. “Your spiritual weapon feels right in your hands, like it’s a part of you. It’s normally a bladed weapon forged from the purest steel, but sometimes it’s something else altogether. The form reflects the practitioner’s character and skill, and once a weapon has been claimed, it’s bound to the individual. No one else can use it—unless...”
He grabbed Yiran’s wrist, turned Yiran’s palm face up, and placed his own hand over it. Yiran sat still as a statue. The peaks and valleys of the other boy’s palm were a treasure map he couldn’t read. But it seemed like Zizi found an answer in his.
“Gods.” Zizi dropped his hand and backed away.
“What’s wrong?”
“If Rui cast the spell I think she did on herself...” Zizi slammed a fist onto the counter. “This is bad.Your qi levels are through the roof—did she touch you when she cast that spell? Did she transfer her spiritualenergy to you?” Zizi clutched his head. “Dammit. She’s going to be so mad at me.”
Yiran hid his relief. For a moment he’d thought Zizi would tell him it was all a farce and that what he had done with Rui’s weapon wasn’t magic. But it was real. Hedidhave magic.
“I was able to kill the Revenant and save our lives because of the spell she cast,” he said. “Why would Rui be mad?”
“If her spiritual energy hasn’t reverted to her by now, it might mean the transfer is somehow permanent. I’m not sure if I know how to fix it.” Zizi cursed again.
Of course. Rui would want her magic back. Who wouldn’t? Except Yiran wasn’t sure if he wanted to give it back. If he had magic, maybe he wouldn’t be sent away. Maybe he’d never have to see the disappointment in his grandfather’s eyes again. No one needed to know the source of his newfound magic.
Would Rui wake up with that haunting emptiness Yiran felt earlier? He pushed a pang of sympathy away. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t his business, and he didn’t intend to make her so. The world he longed for was finally within his grasp. The magic swimming in his veins, the girl lying half-dead in the other room, this boy with extraordinary eyes—they were the key to holding on to it.
But first, he needed to cover up tonight’s mess. He didn’t know much about the Exorcist Guild, but he did know it didn’t take kindly to magic practitioners who flouted the law. He remembered Rui’s reaction when he’d said he wanted to take her to his grandfather and the Guild.
“Rui’s an Exorcist, isn’t she? She could go to the Guild for help. Maybe they’ll know what to do,” Yiran suggested in a helpful manner.
“Rui isn’t one ofthem,” Zizi corrected, looking irked. “She only trains at Xingshan Academy.”
“That’s just semantics. She’s going to be an Exorcist.”
“I don’t want the Guild involved in this.” Zizi’s tone was as sharp as the line of his jaw. “I don’t trust them, and they don’t like people like me.”
Yiran hid a smile. As he suspected, Zizi was part of the underground magic community. The spell had to be his, which meant he couldn’t tell anyone about what had happened because he’d get into trouble. And if the spiritual energy transfer was somehow permanent and could not be reversed...finders keepers.
As if catching on to what Yiran was thinking, Zizi sized him up. “You’re Song Wei’s other grandson, aren’t you?”
Yiran winced, a familiar twitch in his gut. He was always Song Wei’s grandson. Always Ash’s little brother. Never his own person.
“How did you know?”
“You look like a Song, and I’ve heard about an anomaly in the family. You may possess high levels of qi now, but the spirit core you were born with seems sadly ordinary, so I figured you’re the other grandson.”
An anomaly.That was what he was. Yiran smiled, implying he couldn’t care less about what Zizi said. “I’m well aware of my spirit core and its limitations.”
Zizi clucked his tongue. “Are you? See, that’s what I’m not getting. How are you holding on to so much spiritual energy? A person must be born with a naturally strong spirit core to do that, and they’d have to cultivate it in order to do magic. But despite being a weak ass, you’re somehow pulling it off.” He paused, gaze sharpening on Yiran. “I guess my real question is, why didn’t you die during the transfer?”
Why indeed.When Yiran was younger, he found articles in the dodgier sites on the internet that shared stories of people with mediocre cores trying to increase their qi. They always failed. You could strengthen your core through training, make it more resilient, but you couldn’t expand its capacity. Besides, his grandfather’s experiments had made it clear that Yiran couldn’t changewhathe was.
