It will be painful either way.
I couldn’t defend myself or Ren in this cramped space for long. And if I attempted another attack, the jiangshi would only disappear again. My remaining option was to make Yuyan come to me and surprise her when she drew too close.
But first, we needed to get out of the tiny courtyard.
“Do you trust me?” I whispered to Ren, my gaze trained on the jiangshi. The incense’s smoke was gradually thickening, hiding Yuyan’s bloodred smile.
“Yes,” he said, the sincerity in his tone startling me.
But I didn’t have time to ponder it. Instead, I said, “I want you to run.”
“What?”
There was no point in clarifying. Yuyan had stepped away from the pavilion and was advancing toward us once more. I pivoted and shoved Ren’s shoulder, hard. “Run, now!”
We scrambled for the door through which we’d come, ice raking across my skin as I felt nails scrape the back of my neck. But I didn’t turn, just pushed Ren into the house while my bells chimed wildly. The moment my feet crossed the threshold, Islammed the door shut, unsure how well it would hold against a powerful jiangshi.
But thoughts of Yuyan fled my mind as I faced the room. I could see nothing of the furniture, the walls, or even the floor. The inner chamber had been flooded with moon-silvered incense smoke. It filled my lungs and eyes, overwhelming my senses. As I squinted through the smoke, I realized that I’d lost sight of Ren. I couldn’t even hear his footsteps or his heavy breaths.
“Ren?” I called, stumbling forward. “Where are you?”
No response.
The smoke was deathly still all around me. I expected Yuyan’s cold fingers to grab me at any moment, but the jiangshi seemed to have vanished as well.
I pressed onward, my concern for Ren growing, until my outstretched hand brushed against another door. Anxious to escape the smoke, I peeled open the paneled wood, expecting to see the mansion corridor on the other side. Instead, I found myself in an unexpectedly comforting and serene place.
Home.
CHAPTER 10
The soles of my boots pressed flatly against the even, paved ground of the Moon Cloud Monastery’s courtyard. It was late morning, the air eerily breezeless and temperate. A low-pitched bell rang from the heart of the temple, the only source of movement in the otherwise empty space. Behind the white walls enclosing the residence, the forest’s blooming boughs interrupted the pale blue of the sky.
I turned and saw the moon gate of the monastery entrance. The wooden doors were closed, despite the daylight.
Strange.
Again, I faced the temple, scanning for signs of life. But my sister didn’t appear at the doors to greet me, and I didn’t hear Baba’s humming echoing inside the corridors. Neither were there shoes outside the prayer hall to suggest the presence of worshipers.
Unnerved, I stepped forward, peach staff held tightly by my side. As I crossed the yard to the temple, I thought,This can’t be real. It must be a trick.And yet I could smell the sunlitstones beneath me, the freshness of the forest around the monastery, the faint scent of rain. When I touched the prayer hall’s doorframe, the wood was coarse, the faded paint peeling easily beneath my fingernail.
Had Yuyan somehow transported me home? If so, how was it already springtime, when autumn had just begun?
I was walking along the veranda to access the eastern wing behind when I heard the chilling sound of weeping. It was a familiar cry, one I’d heard before when sleeping beside my sister in the bed we shared. Lilan occasionally experienced nightmares, no matter how she disguised her fears with a cheerful demeanor.
Thoughts flying to the worst possible scenario, I quickened my footsteps and followed the sound, which seemed to be coming from Baba’s bedroom. My sister’s weeping grew louder. At last, I reached the room, the answer to Lilan’s grief hidden behind closed windows and a wall of wood and stone. I paused at the door, suddenly terrified to enter—to see my father’s lifeless body sprawled across the bed. Was I too late?
The need to know overpowered my dread. I gripped the small, flower-shaped handle and pulled the door open.
The crying immediately stopped.
I stared at the chamber, empty of anything but the familiar furnishings—dressers, stools, Baba’s bed shoved against the wall. No, not entirely empty. There, covered by a white sheet, a figure lay, unmoving, on the bed.
I swallowed nervously, my disquiet returning as a noxious brew in my stomach. I approached the figure, breathless, my free hand reaching out toward the thin linen sheet.
The fabric ripped away in one swift motion, my pulse faltering at the body before me.
I knew that face, knew the moonlike shape, the narrow nose, the full lips now pale and dry. I stared at the slender, work-worn fingers laid peacefully over the woman’s stomach, the loose black hair falling starkly against her white robe like old blood on snow. Those fingers had once combed through my own locks, twisting them back into elaborate braids and adorning them with wildflowers.
