She cried out in surprise. Her string wasglowing. Before she could do anything, a curtain of fog descended on her vision. Was it time to return to the human realm?
I’ll come back for you, she said desperately, reaching for him.Stay alive.
Stay alive—for me.
22
Zizi
His nightmares tormented him relentlessly. Weakening his will. Battering his soul. But he didn’t want to wake up. Despite the agony, he wanted to stay in this ephemeral world of memories.
It was the only way he could see her.
The scent of wildflowers. Her laughter. Her kiss, sweet like honey on his tongue. Her voice. The flickering stars. Blood on snow. A body, cold.
Stay alive.
He couldn’t leave her. He wasn’t going back; he was staying here in his memories. Forever. Nothing else held meaning for him.
Stay alive—for me.
That voice. Wasshecalling out to him?
Laughter. The scent of wildflowers.
Blood on snow.
He saw her standing by a blooming wisteria tree, her black hair cascading down her back, her purple hanfu fluttering in the wind. She turned and stared at him with Rui’s eyes. Smiled, with Rui’s lips.
Rui’s voice whispered in his head.Do you remember me now?
And in that dark, dank cavern in the depths of Hell, the boy-god finally opened his eyes and whispered, “I remember.”
There were four chairs around a square table in the middle of the grandest hall of the ancient palace in Youdu. Only two seemed occupied. An assortment of tiles carved with colorful characters, circles, bamboo, and various animals were laid on the green-felted tabletop.
Now and then, the tiles moved. Some were replaced, some revealed. The distinctive clacking sound from the tiles resounded through ornatelydecorated corridors and empty rooms, regularly interrupted by frustrated grunts and the occasional triumphant declaration.
“Chi.”
“Peng!”
It was a game of four with only two players visible.
A sudden jolt hit like a small earthquake. The marble floor shook; the silk paintings on the walls swayed. A mysterious burst of energy had been released from somewhere below.
The woman in the blood-red qipao looked up from the tiles in front of her. Her jet-black bob ended sharply at her jaw, and her rosebud mouth was painted scarlet to match her dress.
“Our prodigal son is finally awake,” she said to the man across the table. “It appears the Nothing will be stopped, and this round has come to an end.”
The man in the burgundy suit smoothed a hand over his slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair. He was handsome and regal in the way that one would call a centuries-old sequoia handsome.
“No, my dear,” he said with an enigmatic smile, “the game has only just begun.”
23
Yiran
Yiran heaved painfully. Mere seconds had passed since the initial surge of spiritual energy in the arena. It had flowed into him the moment he stretched his fingers, and he was bursting at the seams. The crimson flecks of light at his fingertips, that searing warmth spreading inside him—was it really magic?
