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His scream was lost in a violent stream of bubbles and silt and the revolting taste of the lake water. His throat burned; his lungs ached with building, unbearable pressure. He was choking, thrashing, beating desperately at the ground to go up, to breathe, but Qiming’s nails dug into his flesh like hawk talons, forcing him to stay under. The other man was too strong. He was too weak. He had always been too weak; that was why his father despised him so much, why the others dismissed him.

More water pushed into his mouth, up his nose.

He was going to die like this.

He couldn’t believe that just hours ago, he had been sitting down to dine with Ziyan and his two tutors, warm and dry and blissfully happy, the kind of happiness that demanded nothing else except the given moment. How fast everything had shattered. How quick the currents had come.

Qiming yanked Junyi’s head out of the lake, just long enough for him to take one great gasping breath, to splutter and squirm like a dying fish. Then Qiming pushed him in again and ruthlessly hauled him back up by the hair. Again. Again. It was worse, a thousand times worse, than simply drowning. It was torture. He couldn’t control anything; by the time his lungs reacted and sought air, there was nothing except the dark waters to suck in. He could feel the last of his strength ebbing away, the heavy mist creeping in around the edges of his mind. There was some comfort, at least, in the idea that everything would soon be over . . .

But the fingers on his neck went slack.

There was a new, overwhelming feeling—hands helping him up, grabbing him by the sleeves, a soft handkerchief dabbing at his cheeks. He lay back on the pebbles, his chest rising and falling furiously.

“Junyi. Junyi.”

His eyes fluttered open. Ziyan’s face moved into view, beautiful as the brightening sky. Tears slipped down her chin. Her temple was still bruised from when Qiming had pushed her out of the way. He was inundated with pain just remembering it.

“Are you . . . all right?” he whispered.

“Yes,” she said, nodding hard, more tears spilling over. “Yes. Don’t worry. You’re safe now; I called for Rujia and Keran to help.”

He managed to turn his head a fraction, though the single movement sent a bolt of agony splitting through his skull. In the near distance, he saw the keenly familiar figures of his tutors. They were accompanied by two young men he’d never met before, but who seemed to possess a similar kind of unearthly beauty. One of them was gesturing wildly, muttering something Junyi couldn’t quite discern. He thought he heard the word mortals.

And then there was Qiming, helping himself slowly up from the ground where he’d fallen, his face blank with confusion.

“What the fuck?” Qiming said, his gaze darting to the newcomers. “Who are all these people? Who shoved me just now?”

Kill him.

The words split through Junyi’s dizzied thoughts. It was not his own voice. His voice phrased everything like a question, second-guessing every instinct: Am I good enough? Is this the right choice? Should I do this? Can I do this? But this new voice was resolute, seductive, powerful. As unshakable as the way of the Heavens, as ancient as the mountains and lakes.

Kill him.

Kill him right now.

His eyes locked on Qiming. He was barely conscious of himself rising. He knew what he needed to do. He was more certain of this than he had been of anything before. Qiming was the root of all his problems, so killing him was the natural solution.

He picked up the sharpest rock he could find, weighing it in his palm.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Qiming demanded. Was that fear on his face?

Good, the voice whispered. Show him why he should fear you.

It was almost absurdly, laughably easy. He didn’t understand why he had waited so long to do this, why he hadn’t considered it before. Murder—so simple, so efficient. He seized Qiming’s collar with one hand, and with the other, Junyi smashed the rock into his skull.

There was a loud cracking sound, like a dropped egg.

Someone screamed.

He didn’t care to know who it was. He felt his lips split into a delighted grin as Qiming collapsed, blood running down his forehead. Dead in less than a heartbeat. But it had been a little too quick. Not satisfying enough. He let the rock drop, its sharp corners still glistening crimson, and turned to the person closest to him.

Ziyan.

Kill her too, the voice urged. Kill them all. Restore the balance to the universe.

She was frozen in place, her face white with shock. She didn’t even try to retreat when he slid the bejeweled hairpin out from her bun.

Go ahead. The ancient voice grew louder, as if it were speaking right beside his ear. Stab her with it. One quick jab to the chest should do the trick.