Shen Cuiyu was a little surprised that someone had taken the initiative to speak to her. She let a small smile lift one corner of her mouth and answered softly, “It’s crowded right now. I’ll go in a bit.”
Relieved by the reply, Cui Rui visibly relaxed; her tone brightened. “No rush then. Want to go together later?” When she smiled, her eyes curved into crescent moons and looked utterly endearing.
Young friendships always started so simply and purely. Someone jokingly suggested, “Let’s be friends,” and the two of them found their conversation flowing easily, taking to one another in minutes.
Cui Rui’s gaze fell on the beaded flower in Shen Cuiyu’s hair. “Your hair ornament is so delicate. The beads even catch the light when they move!”
Shen Cuiyu found the girl in front of her unusually charming—probably a year or two younger. For some reason she was reminded of the first time she’d met Liu Ruyan: the lost child hiding timidly behind her parents, calling out, “Sister.” Shen had felt ashamed then and had tried to make amends afterward—only to learn later that it had all been a lie.
She shook the thought off, smiled, and reached into her pouch. She took out a similar beaded flower and offered it to Cui Rui. “I happen to have an extra. You can have it.”
Cui Rui froze for a heartbeat, then flushed. The ornament was clearly well made—no ordinary trinket. Her own family was humble; accepting such a present made her worry she’d never be able to repay it.
“It’s—this is too much…” she murmured, hesitant.
Shen Cuiyu read the unease in her face and explained gently, “I made it myself when I had some spare time. It’s not valuable. I just thought it looked good on you. If you don’t mind, take it.” Her eyes were earnest, without a trace of artifice. “Besides, we’re friends now—no need to fuss over small things.”
That settled Cui Rui. She accepted the ornament with shining eyes. “It’s beautiful. Thank you, Cuiyu!” She toyed with it for a moment, then pinned it into her own hair with a delighted giggle, tossing her head so the beads swung and sparkled.
After that day, Cui Rui would always save a seat for Shen in class, and after lessons the two often walked arm in arm toward the dining hall. But that was later.
When the crowd thinned, Cui Rui led Shen Cuiyu over to the posted roster to find their assigned group. They searched for a while before Cui Rui’s finger finally landed on Shen’s name. She waved excitedly. “Hey—there you are!” Her finger traced down the list. “Let’s see who your teammates are… Pei Yu, Dongfang Xiao, Zhong Shengwan…?”
Her eyes moved over the names and her smile faltered into an awkward twitch. “How did you end up with those…uh…particular people?” She looked like she wanted to say more but held back, then patted Shen’s shoulder as if to say, “Good luck,” with a complicated expression.
Shen couldn’t help the little amusement at Cui Rui’s childlike manner. She scanned the roster, then froze when her eyes locked on one name she knew all too well.
Liu Ruyan.
The three characters were like an ice needle, piercing through the pleasant bubble Shen had been floating in. Her features tightened.
Cui Rui followed her gaze, puzzled. “Liu Ruyan? You know her?”
Shen smothered the chill gathering under her skin and nodded once, voice even. “An acquaintance from before.”
Cui Rui leaned in to whisper. “It’s strange—Liu Ruyan made a splash when Wanxiang Academy opened admissions in June. She was touted as the reincarnation of the Mystic Maiden and got accepted right away.”
Shen already knew the rest. Liu Ruyan had returned to the capital and somehow fallen into disgrace at the Shen household; she’d been confined to the family’s farmstead for three months and missed the opening of term. Now, with that sentence over, the girl who had once stolen Shen’s achievements and nearly cost her life would soon be walking the same campus again.
“So she was tested for spirit-power on the registration day?” Shen asked. “What rank did she get?”
Cui Rui drew closer and lowered her voice. “Weirdly, although she’s called the Mystic Maiden’s reincarnation, she was only rated Yellow Rank. She claims her reincarnated form is special and her power hasn’t fully awakened yet…”
Understanding flickered in Shen’s eyes.
Before she could think further, a warm, heavy hand patted her shoulder.
Shen turned on instinct—and came face to face with a grotesque demon-mask.
The mask was carved with vicious detail: fangs curled outward, eyes fixed in a furious glare. A raw, violent energy hit her like wind off a cliff.
Years of spirit-work had tempered Shen’s nerves. When she’d first started she’d been startled by such things, but over time she’d learned to keep her face still. Even when a fright struck, she could wear an expression of calm. This training served her now: she stepped back only slightly and lifted her chin to study the man behind the mask.
For a moment the tall figure seemed as surprised as she was. Then he quickly stripped off the mask, revealing a sharply handsome face. He was tall and broad-shouldered, narrow at the waist, his skin a sun-warmed bronze. The dark fabric of his clothes did little to hide the lines of strong muscle; he moved like a coiled tiger waiting to spring.
“Sorry—sorry!” he said, sheepish as he scratched the back of his head. His voice was loud and open. “I was watching the commotion over there and I forgot to take the mask off. Didn’t mean to scare you.” His brows were bold, his nose proud; when he smiled a broad, honest set of teeth flashed—unexpectedly straight-forward and hearty. “You must be Shen Cuiyu, right? We’re in the same group!”
Shen’s eyes traveled from the mask in his hand to the tooth-and-beast necklace resting at his throat. He guessed this man wasn’t from a standard Daoist school; his look and accoutrements suggested a tradition that prized raw force and ancient rites.
“Forgot to introduce myself,” the man went on with a booming laugh, clearly proud, “I’m Dongfang Xiao.” His accent had the open cadence of the southern provinces. He thumped his chest once in a gesture of introduction. “From Southern Chu. I’m the nineteenth-generation direct disciple of the Wunuo Order.”
Wunuo—the name tugged at Shen’s memory. Wunuo, sometimes called the Ghost-Play tradition, was a lineage that worshipped force and ritual, skilled at summoning and banishing spirits. Its roots ran back to the oldest eras; it had dwindled in recent centuries. To meet such a young, direct disciple here was unexpected.
Shen observed Dongfang Xiao’s aura carefully. His spirit-power ran abundant and strong. It was odd that he, Pei Yu, and she had been grouped together—three people of such different reputations and temperaments.
“Pleasure,” Shen said, setting her surprise aside and smiling. “Which one is Zhong Shengwan?”
Dongfang’s grin faded into a casual point. “Right over there—that one.”