Sunlight filtered through the painting, illuminating a peak of layered clouds where three serpents coiled in midair. Each writhed in a different pose; in the light their movements seemed almost alive. Their heads converged at the canvas’s center, each mouth clasping a heavy silver chain that hung and danced among the clouds.
At the other end of those chains was a mighty dragon, subdued and battered. Its scales were a raw, angry red, striped with scarred patches and stained with wide swathes of blood that seeped into the cloudbank beneath. The silver restraints cut into its flesh. Every time the dragon tried to free itself, nine bolts of heavenly lightning would strike down from above. Sparks leapt along the chains as the creature breathed out a dim, dark-red flame that crawled relentlessly across its body. The image was unbearably tragic — a noble beast punished into a living furnace.
The dragon made no audible sound, but looking at it something in my chest ached as if the creature’s sorrow were calling out to me.
“How cruel,” Bai Qi muttered, brow knitted.
“What does it mean?” I asked, unable to tear my eyes away.
“It’s the highest punishment of the heavens,” Bai Qi said. “It must have enraged the Celestial Emperor to deserve such a fate.”
“Then what does this have to do with Gu Yuan? Is he one of those three serpents?” The thought stabbed unpleasantly. I couldn’t bear to watch the scene longer.
As the sun edged west, the painted tableau dissolved with the light. When the last of the sunlight vanished, something fell from beneath the framed picture — a palm-sized silver disk that glinted with a pale blue radiance.
I crouched and picked it up, holding it out to Bai Qi. He reached for it, but then hesitated; he clearly didn’t dare touch it. The thing hummed with a strong, palpable magic.
“What is it? How did my mom never notice this?” I asked.
“It looks like a snake scale,” Wu Qingyun said. He was a serpent in spirit himself; he knew scales. “Seems something that only appears when all three paintings are gathered.”
The scale was beautiful enough to steal a breath, iridescent like a polished shell. I wasn’t as frightened by it as Bai Qi; I wrapped it in a square of red cloth and gave it to Bai Qi to keep. It would be easier for him to trace its origin.
With Kua Ye’s gu-seal lifted and the village’s misunderstanding of the Gu spirit cleared up, the villagers finally let go of their fear. They even proposed rebuilding the Gu shrine to help the spirit ascend properly. Wu Qingyun, however, would not stay. He’d heard where Gu Yuan had gone and wanted to seek him out at once.
I hesitated. I’d slipped away from Gu Yuan without telling him; if Wu Qingyun went with me back to Gu Yuan it would blow everything. I refused him gently and told him to remain and guard the painting. I’d return and, once I’d eased the matter with Gu Yuan, I would bring Wu Qingyun into our hall.
He accepted my decision without argument. I didn’t linger in the village. I took a carriage to my cousin’s house in the south — she’d moved there after the last incident — soaked in a little of the southern air, and then flew back to Gangliao City.
The instant the plane landed and I switched my phone on, my stomach dropped. Thirty missed calls, all from Gu Yuan.
Fear and relief warred inside me — fear of the unknown consequences, relief that his calls meant he was alive. I hit redial before I could change my mind.
The line clicked and his voice came through, clipped and cool. “Where are you?”
“Almost home. I was in a taxi — my phone was off,” I said, my voice sounding small to my own ears.
By the time I hauled my suitcase into the apartment, the air felt colder, as if the room were bracing itself. They’d all been waiting at the door, which made me want to crawl under my bag. But as soon as I pushed inside every one of them melted away like steam.
Gu Yuan sat on the sofa, his face carved from winter. That gaze of his could freeze breath. “Where did you go?” he asked, breaking the silence.
“I went to Xiangchuan. My cousin lives there.” It wasn’t a lie; I had gone to see her.
Before he could press further I climbed onto the sofa beside him, smiling like I’d never been scared a day in my life, my hands looping around his waist. They say a smiling face disarms even the sternest hand. I smiled until I nearly bloomed.
“How did you deal with the vengeful spirit?” I rubbed against him for good measure.
Men were maddeningly predictible. He softened. “Her grudges have been swept away. The underworld’s messengers took her. Whether she’s allowed to reincarnate is up to their judgment.”
“Pity,” I said. “It’s sad when someone dies and becomes a puppet of hatred. At least she’s free now.”
“You nearly lost your shadow bones to her,” he pointed out, nudging the bridge of my nose playfully.
“Everything in its place,” I teased back. “She was heavy with hatred. You and the dragon gave her a chance.”
He glanced down at me. The corner of his mouth lifted. “You foolish girl.”
“I get what fools get,” I shot back. “Otherwise how would I have ended up married to such a handsome husband?”
“And what of Su Xiaoxiao and Su Qiaoqiao?” I asked. I was less interested in the vengeful spirit than in those two sisters’ fates.
“Su Xiaoxiao had her heart torn out by that spirit — she’s dead. Su Qiaoqiao lost her mind.”
I pressed my lips together, feeling neither pity nor triumph; this was the dark arithmetic of cause and consequence.
I’d only just begun to settle when Gu Yuan swept me up into his arms. The sudden tilt made me squeal.
“Gu Yuan, what are you doing?” I thumped his chest in mock indignation.
“You tell me,” he murmured, eyes alight with temptation.
“I haven’t showered.” My voice trembled between protest and invitation.
“I don’t mind,” he said, and laid me down on the bed.
His face was an exquisite, cold sculpture; his eyes glittered like distant stars with a dangerous warmth. When I reached up and looped my arms around his neck, he leaned down and kissed me. The kiss was slow and meticulous, careful as it was ravenous. I melted into it, until breath became a scarce thing and my limbs went light and useless.
He trailed kisses across my skin, whispering against my ear, “Did you miss me?”
My eyes fluttered closed; a flush burned my cheeks. “Yes. So much.”
He deepened the kiss, weight settling against me. His hand slid toward the seam of my clothing — and then a memory ruptured the moment like glass: me, lying in a pool of my own blood, birthing slithering snake-children.
I jolted away and cried out. I shoved him off me so hard I could feel the bed rock.