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“So where is he?” I ask Keran, staring around the empty room.

After coming to the conclusion that Junyi could not survive on potatoes alone—well, he could stay alive for some time, Keran emphasized, but malnourishment was not ideal even when it didn’t lead to starvation—we had taken it upon ourselves to venture into the closest shops for proper food.

Keran sets the basket of fresh fruits down on the table and whips his head toward the backyard. “Outside,” he says. “There are people with him.”

“Who?” I ask, mystified. If there is one other thing we’ve learned about Junyi’s life as a mortal, it’s that he has no family or friends. While the gods would flock to the crown prince’s palace at every opportunity, crowding around the steps for just a glimpse of his face, not a single visitor has sought him out in all our time here so far.

“Let’s find out,” Keran says, motioning for me to follow. Then he holds up his hand.

“What?” I ask.

He waves his arm, and a cool sensation rushes through me from head to toe, as if someone has peeled off a damp cloth. When I blink, Keran is gone, even though I can sense his breathing somewhere just ahead of me. I lift my own fingers before my face and find only air.

An invisibility enchantment. It is well-done, I must admit. Most gods only have the strength to keep themselves invisible, and even then, at the slightest lapse in concentration, their forms will flicker, revealing a lock of hair, the corner of a sleeve, the heel of a shoe. Oftentimes, the risk of being discovered and the consequent embarrassment is enough to deter the gods from attempting it. But this enchantment holds strong no matter how I move.

“We don’t know what they want,” Keran says. “Best to go unnoticed.”

“Right. Stay in the shadows and let your opponent into the light,” I say without thinking, remembering one of the practice questions from Junyi’s mock paper. How might you strategically reverse your position if the enemy is in the shadows, and you’re in the light? “I don’t suppose the official answer to that is making yourself invisible.”

“That would still be a better answer than what Junyi gave yesterday,” Keran says disdainfully. “At least it would be imaginative.”

We slip back out through the front door and make our way around the yard, keeping our footsteps quiet. The voices reveal themselves to us first. Low, male, and jeering, speaking over Junyi’s.

“Shouldn’t you let us in for a drink? We were so kind as to stop by in the middle of nowhere just to see you.”

“I—I don’t have—I need to study—”

“For what?”

“The upcoming exams—”

“The exams?”

Harsh laughter rings across the open space. Not welcome visitors, then, but intruders. Students, as well. My fingers tingle with realization. Could they be the same people who end up trying to hurt Junyi after the exams?

“And here I’d thought you’d finally learned to give up for good.” This voice is the haughtiest of them all, sharp one moment and silken the next, and unsuited for the face attached to it: a handsome young man with swordlike brows and sculpted lips. As he strides forward into view, Junyi flinches back. “Why waste your life doing something that will lead to no results?” His smile is so bright it could almost be mistaken for sincerity, if not for the taunting gleam in his eyes. “Only a select few are made to be civil servants. It’s like my father says: there is no shame in being a peasant. Someone has to boil the water and wipe the boots of his superiors. Why not contribute to the workings of the empire in a more practical fashion?”

I grit my teeth. Had it been the crown prince standing here in his god’s form, this man would be dragged out and whipped until his robes turned crimson.

But Junyi stays quiet, his gaze cast down to the grass. It is difficult not to feel a sting of pity for him. It’s like watching a child get shoved over on the street.

“Useless,” Keran mutters beside me. “He doesn’t even know to defend himself.”

“I don’t think he can,” I mutter back. “He’s outnumbered.”

“He’s weak.”

“Well, everyone’s weak at some point in their lives.”

He doesn’t reply to that.

The man takes another menacing step forward and claps a hand on Junyi’s shoulder. “Have you forgotten how to speak?”

“No,” Junyi replies. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“Don’t be so rude now,” the man says, clapping his hand down harder, so hard that Junyi wobbles on the spot. “Your manners were always your best quality. Perhaps your only good quality,” he adds, to grating laughter from the others.

“Please,” Junyi tells him. “Leave, Qiming. I’m sure . . . I’m sure you have better things to do. Shouldn’t you be revising—”