Nikai bowed and retreated from the room.
He ran down the hallway and ported through several doors as quickly as he could. Back in the Fourth Court and safe from the eyes and ears of the Tenth, Nikai sat in silence at his desk, thinking about what Ten had said.
... let me make the deals I need to...
Who else was Ten making deals with? He must be hatching his own plans and excluding Nikai. But this was Nikai’s search too, and he refused to be left out. He made a quick call to a trusted friend at a different department who owed him a favor.
“I need you to get me access to the logs of anyone leaving the underworld and returning from the human realm—and for both our sakes, be discreet.”
21
Yiran
Yiran was bone-tired after two full weeks at Xingshan Academy. He’d been studying and training like his life depended on it. Which, he supposed, it did.
Days were capped with remedial lessons, late dinners, and little sleep, while weekends were focused on physical training. For someone who had spent his life coasting through everything, this was a sea change. Plus, he had no social life to speak of anymore, and the list of unanswered messages from his friends grew longer and longer. At least his spirit core remained stable. The only pressing problem in that regard was his lack of a spiritual weapon. Without one, Yiran felt like a fraud. It reminded him he was only here because of Rui.
He was trying to focus on what Teshin was saying now. The two of them had been huddled in the armory for hours, going back and forth between the spiritual weapons on display.
“—it doesn’t make sense.” Teshin ran one hand through their mohawk and another hand across the selection of weapons displayed on the touch screen. Their hair became loose and fluffy, making them look less stern. A string of metal rings hung from their belt. An accessory or a weapon? Knowing Teshin, it was both.
“Sorry, I zoned out for a while. Ash made me do a bunch of drills this morning,” Yiran said, stifling a yawn. His grandfather hadn’t contacted him, but his chirpy jerk of a half brother popped by often enough. “What doesn’t make sense?”
“You. You don’t make sense.”
Yiran stilled. Had Teshin discovered the questionable origins of his magic?
But Teshin was rubbing their eyes wearily, looking like they’d gotten up before dawn to run ten miles too.
“We’ve tried the swords and sabers, the crossbows and other ranged weapons, even unusual options like the bladed fan and the umbrella,” Teshin said. “Heck, we even tried butterfly knives today. Sorry about that one, should’ve known you’d hurt yourself. It takes a lot of skill to use one of those.”
Yiran relaxed. His secret was safe. “Don’t worry about it. I haven’t had this much fun in a while.” He wriggled his bandaged fingers. He’d sliced them open while trying to spin the butterfly knives.
“Those are old, aren’t they?” Teshin said. “The other cuts on your fingers.”
Yiran shoved his hands into his pockets. He tried to smooth over his expression, but Teshin had noticed his discomfort.
“I’m sorry,” they said. “I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.”
“It’s in the past.” Yiran couldn’t bring himself to say more. He didn’t want to remember what his grandfather did to him, even if the old man’s intentions had been good.
“The past should stay the past,” Teshin agreed. They tapped the screen, and it went blank. “I think we’ve done all we can here.”
Disappointment slammed into Yiran. Despite knowing that a spiritual weapon was intrinsically tied to its wielder, Yiran had secretly hoped to match with a weapon that wasn’t Rui’s somehow. He wanted so badly to find his own blade, to prove he was his own person.
He forced a smile that made him feel worse. “Thanks for your help, Teshin. Sorry for wasting your time on a weekend. I’ll buy you lunch sometime.”
“What are you talking about? I’m not giving up,” Teshin said, frowning. They glanced at their watch. “We’ve got some time before our karaoke night. You’re coming over to my place. Mom’s not around, but my sister is.”
“Your sister?”
Teshin flashed one of their rare smiles. “The women in our clan are weapons artisans. Tesha doesn’t study at the Academy. She’s homeschooled, and she learns the trade instead. She’s a genius. I bet she’ll come up with something.”
And just like that, Yiran’s hope returned.
The Mak residence was a sprawling compound of metal and brick. It lacked the sophisticated elegance of Song Mansion and the eccentric appeal of Zizi’s shophouse, but there was an earthiness to it, a kind of rustic warmth that made Yiran think of cozy evenings, laughter, and a large family.
Teshin wasted no time in bringing him to the workshop. There were blades in different stages of treatment, and weapons and tools Yiran had no name for. The fire was going, and the place was warm. He shrugged off his jacket and slung it over a chair.
