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Chapter Twenty-Two

Junyi was still struggling to breathe.

He didn’t like the crowds at the festival. He didn’t like the loud music and blazing fires; the overwhelming smell of fried oil and sugar; the feeling of being pushed and squeezed amid the crush of bodies, swaying side to side on his feet as if he were caught up in a great churning wave. The sight of all those strangers swarming through the stalls ahead of him made him panic. But this was a different kind of panic, one that had nothing to do with whether or not he could perfectly recall the fifty-fifth page of a book written by a deceased philosopher, and it helped pull his thoughts away from the exams, which was all that mattered to him at present. He was so restless, so nauseated with nerves, that he would have signed up to be target practice if it could distract him for a few hours. Perhaps that was the key to getting through any ordeal, he mused to himself as he walked faster to keep up with Keran and Rujia. You had to find something equally terrible, and counter one pain with another, trading them between two hands like burning coals until eventually you were rendered numb to both. It was not a good way to live by any means, but it was the best way to survive.

Suddenly, the crowd surged and shifted to the side.

He looked up in a daze and found the source of the commotion. A beautiful carriage had been drawn forth by two gleaming bay mares. The lacquered wood was newly polished and ornately carved, and the carriage seemed not to roll on its wheels but to float until it slowed on the street corner. At once, a maidservant rushed to the door, though Junyi noticed that she hesitated before opening it.

“Who is that?” Rujia asked, craning her neck.

“I don’t know,” Junyi said. “A noblewoman, maybe. Or a princess.”

A young woman emerged from the luxurious, silk-cushioned interior, and as she lifted her face toward the servant’s handheld lantern, Junyi felt his breathing stop entirely.

For the first time, he became aware of his soul.

It existed separately from his body, contained but distinct, like water held inside a vase. And now, it felt as though somebody had reached in and wrenched his soul from his chest until he was outside of himself. The result was a most peculiar rippling effect, a sense of endless expanding movement, even as his physical being stood frozen to the spot, staring and staring at this woman whom he had never met before.

“Junyi?” Rujia prompted. She was only a few feet away, yet she felt very distant, as did the noise from the festival. “Do you . . . know this person?”

“No,” he said, but while true, that seemed like the wrong answer, somehow.

“Miss, please reconsider,” the maidservant was saying, her round face scrunched with worry. “Madam Hong will break all my fingers if she finds out you went wandering through the festival—”

“Don’t fret so much, Ming’er,” the woman chided. She didn’t look worried at all. Her expression was bright as the overhanging moon, her lips parting in a happy sigh as she stretched her arms like a cat and began walking. “It’s only for the one evening, and I’ll just make up an excuse for you like last time. Even if she breaks all my fingers, I’ll ensure she doesn’t break yours. Deal?”

The maidservant hurried after her. They were both coming closer. “But, miss, you really shouldn’t travel around alone in the dark—it’s too dangerous—”

“It would be more dangerous if I stayed cooped up in that yard forever,” she said, swishing out her sleeves. “Do you know how bored one must be to unravel a tapestry, then weave it back together, then unravel it again?”

“But if something happens, and there’s nobody with you to help—”

The woman smiled. “I have you, don’t I?”

“You know that’s not what I mean, miss,” Ming’er said.

“Fine.” She paused, and her gaze swung out toward the crowds, flitting over a few faces before landing on Junyi. His heart thrummed wildly. Something deep in his soul reverberated like a plucked pipa string. This single moment felt both as natural as breathing and as extraordinary as the gods from another realm. His mind split into two opposing truths: He couldn’t believe this was happening, and of course this was happening. Without missing a beat, the familiar stranger made her way to him, then rested her hand lightly on his wrist. “Please help me,” she whispered in his ear. “It shouldn’t take too long, I promise.”

He wasn’t aware of himself nodding. He was only conscious of the triumphant grin that leaped to her face in response.

“See? Now I’m not alone, and nobody has to worry about my safety,” she told Ming’er. “I have a good friend willing to accompany me.”

Ming’er didn’t look too reassured. “A good friend?”

“Yes. This is—” The briefest pause as she leaned in to whisper again. “What’s your name?”

“Junyi.” He gave it without thought, without question, like a patient would hold their bleeding arm out to a physician: with full faith that doing so could not harm them.

“This is Junyi,” the noblewoman said confidently. “If you’re scared, Ming’er, you can return home. He’ll walk with me.” She glanced up at him. “Won’t you?”

“Of—of course,” he stammered, then remembered his two tutors.

They were both watching the exchange: Rujia, with curiosity, and Keran, with an expression he couldn’t fully read. It was more resigned than displeased, but the sharp, calculating look in those black eyes made Junyi’s neck prickle. He had the abrupt feeling that there was another story here, encompassing more than he could ever hope to understand.

He faltered. “I mean—I’m not sure if—”

“That’s fine,” Keran said, surprising him. “Accompany her. We will meet you back at the house.”