Page 74

Blood beat furiously against Junyi’s skull as he staggered the final few steps. All the names written on the roll seemed to congregate like tiny black insects. He was breathing too fast, but he couldn’t control it. He felt lightheaded. He felt like it was either the start or end of his life, and it was impossible to tell which.

He scanned the list, his stomach tripping over every name that shared a character with his.

It wasn’t there.

Not in the bottom row, which in brief moments of delusion, he had let himself believe was a possibility.

Not in any of the middle rows either.

He could feel his hope slipping away, the dead weight of failure sinking lower and lower in his gut. He should have expected this. He should have known—

“Junyi. Look.”

The delight in Rujia’s voice disarmed him. He whirled around, confused, and she was pointing at something high on the wall, and he had time to wonder if maybe it was someone she knew who’d taken the exam, too, when he peered closer, and slowly, the characters registered.

Junyi. His name. He had ranked. Not only had he passed the exams, but he was among the top thirty who did.

It didn’t seem real. Even the thought sounded absurd to him.

He was unprepared for the sharp, sudden throb of tears in his eyes—and then they were spilling over, running down his cheeks, blurring everyone’s faces, but he didn’t need to see to know where Rujia and Keran were. They were the only ones standing close beside him.

In the long years before, whenever he daydreamed about this exact moment, he had imagined pure joy. He had failed to imagine all the other emotions that rushed through him: the sheer, exhilarating relief; the sorrow and shame that it had taken so long; the lingering, unshakable suspicion that there had been a mistake, that his name was only there by accident. Sobs shook his body, and he was laughing and weeping at the same time. He cried for his younger self, for everything he had done to get here, the humiliation he’d endured at the academy; for his mother, who wasn’t here to celebrate with him; for his father, who should have stayed; for his tutors, who had appeared out of the blue and changed everything, just as they’d promised.

“Thank you,” he choked out and, unable to help himself, wrapped his arms tight around Keran. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Keran stiffened but didn’t pull away. “I recall you had already thanked us an inordinate number of times before you even took the exams.”

“I—I know. I meant it then and I mean it now. I’m glad—” He couldn’t even finish the sentence before more tears welled up. His voice cracked. “Thank the gods—I’m really glad—”

“No need to be so dramatic,” Keran muttered. But Junyi felt him pat his back a few times—gingerly, with some hesitation.

“Let’s have a feast tonight,” Rujia was saying, beaming wide. “You deserve it. I’ll go buy the wine from the market, and we can string up the lanterns, and you can invite that noblewoman to join us, Junyi. She seemed really sweet.”

Junyi flushed. “I don’t know if—”

“I’m sure she’d love to come,” Rujia assured him. “And don’t worry about it getting too crowded; we won’t invite anyone else. It’ll be just the four of us.” She turned to Keran, who was still tolerating his embrace. “Could we also buy the flower pastries we tried at the night festival? They were so delicious I had a dream I was eating them . . .”

And for once, Junyi didn’t have to convince himself that he was lucky despite his misfortune. He was simply, unfathomably lucky.

“Here’s to miracles, and the classics, and everyone who did worse than Junyi on the exams.”

I lean forward across the dining table and raise my wine, clinking the edge against Keran’s and Junyi’s cups, careful not to let my long sleeves dip into the plates of powdered pastries and glazed meats.

“And to surviving a great trial,” Keran adds before he settles himself back into his seat beside me.

I lock eyes with him in quiet acknowledgment. Junyi might think his trial is over, but we both know his real trial lies ahead. Now that he has attained his ranking, someone is bound to come after him. Yet, it is difficult to dwell on all those shapeless threats right now. Not when the air inside the house is so pleasantly warm, heated by the blazing fire and steaming dishes, and the new lanterns outside the windows appear to float over the dark horizon, lighting the way to the city.

“She’ll be here soon,” I tell Junyi, taking a swig from the wine. The first taste is bitterer than the wines of the Celestial Realm, but the aftertaste is sweeter.

“I hope so,” he says, clearly distracted. For what must be the thirtieth time this evening, he glances at the front door. Brushes a hand over his hair. “It’s already getting rather late. You don’t think Ziyan—”

Two faint knocks sound over the wood.

It has the effect of an enchantment: Junyi’s entire face lights up, his eyes brightening. He springs to his feet with such haste he almost knocks his wine over, almost trips over the legs of his chair. Then he scrambles toward the entrance, pulling the door wide open. The noblewoman from the festival sweeps in, a small, lacquered box swinging from her delicate fingers, flour on her cheeks, strands of oil-black hair caught by the wind.

“Sorry I’m late,” she says, a little breathless but beaming. “I wanted to make you these cakes to celebrate. I’ve never set foot in the kitchens before, and Ming’er kept saying I should leave it to her, but I thought I’d try on my own . . .” She unclasps the box and holds it out to him, revealing what appear to be lumps of purple dough.

“This looks incredible,” Junyi says sincerely.