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“That’s run out as well.”
“I suppose chrysanthemum—”
“I’m so sorry, but I don’t have that either.”
“So what,” Keran says, each word flat and forced through his teeth, “do you have?”
“Black tea,” Junyi says.
We both wait a few seconds for him to continue, then realize that he has finished.
I smile at him before Keran can make any remarks. “Black tea would be wonderful. Thank you.”
“Of course. I’ll go make it now.” He retreats quickly through the door again, the backs of his ears burning red.
The second he is gone, I turn to Keran. There is so much I wish to say that I do not even know where to begin, but the first word to leave my lips is: “Wife?”
“What else was I meant to tell him?” Keran asks calmly. “That you were trying to murder me? I doubt we would both be in here if that had been my response—at least, you would not be.”
“Well, now we are apparently wedded,” I say, my lip curling, my voice reduced to a hiss to avoid being overheard. “I hope you’re happy.”
“Quite,” he says. He brushes the dust from his robes. “And you must admit, it is the least suspicious explanation. Perhaps you’re not as familiar with the Mortal Realm as I am, but there is little reason for a man and woman of equal age to be seen together in public.”
“If I had it my way, we would not be seen together at all,” I point out.
“The time for that has passed,” he says, entirely unbothered. “Let us turn our attention to more imminent matters: the upcoming exams, for instance. I’m assuming they are related to his first tribulation.” He raises an eyebrow, his gaze locked on mine, as though he can see right through me. “That’s why you were so concerned about his studies, is it not? Or have you simply developed a sudden interest in the civil service examinations?”
I consider lying, but only for a moment. Outside, a door creaks, accompanied by the sound of shuffling feet through loose soil, the metallic rattle of a can. We need to decide on a strategy before he returns. I resent how easily my mind hooks around the word we, how smoothly I have accepted this fiction about our relationship, but I can concede that Keran would know more about the Mortal Realm than most do. No other god wanders through the streets here every night.
“I know only this,” I tell him, then repeat what the Celestial Emperor had shown me.
A scholar, filled with envy, drags him to the lake to take his ranking.
A lover, filled with grief, drives a blade through him to take his memories.
“Who is the scholar?” Keran asks.
“I don’t know. I don’t know who the lover is, either, for that matter. Does he look like he has one?”
It is a question that needs no answer. There’s not even a second pair of shoes inside the house.
“We can worry about that later,” Keran decides. “If the tribulation comes after he has ranked in the exams, then we need to ensure he takes the exams in the first place, and performs well.”
“Yes,” I say, chewing the inside of my cheek. “But how? According to him, he hasn’t done very well in the past, and I doubt he’s only being modest.”
“We could poison everyone else who takes the exam. By eliminating the competition, he would be guaranteed to rank first.” Catching the look on my face, he amends, “Obviously, the poison would not be strong enough to kill them. Just enough to weaken their minds.”
I shake my head. “That would be too tricky to execute. A different concentration of poison is required for each individual to achieve the same effect.”
“We can bribe the examiners, then. There are plenty of ways to go about it discreetly,” Keran says, leaning across the desk and listing the options with his fingers. “Stuffing dumplings with nuggets of gold. Sending them a rare plant in a jade pot. Inviting them to a courtyard for tea and slipping them the keys. Tailoring a new coat with jewels stitched into the sleeves . . .”
“Do all your ideas involve poison or bribery?” I ask, exasperated.
“The better ones do,” he says.
“There must be something else,” I insist.
“We could make ourselves invisible, seek out the questions ahead of time, and write the answers for him—”
