Chapter 35 Yiran
Yiran
The world seemed both less and more awful when Yiran woke. Physically, he wasn’t in much pain anymore, even if some of his
muscles and joints felt delicate. Emotionally? It was best not to think about it.
He was lying on a firm bed. The ceilings made the room drafty, and someone was pounding something crunchy with a mortar and
pestle elsewhere in the house. For a moment, he thought it was the silly wizard and his coffee beans. Yiran wished it was Zizi and that this was his weird little shophouse. He might be annoying, but at least Yiran knew what his alliances and intentions
were, which was more than he could say about the gray-eyed boy lounging at the foot of the bed.
“Where are we?”
“Somewhere safe-ish,” Yuki replied. Knees propped up and back against the wall, he was engrossed in a fashion magazine, making
small judgy noises as he flipped through the pages.
There was something so at ease and comfortable about the way he was just there, as though they were two ordinary people hanging out, that it triggered an unwanted longing in Yiran.
“How did we get here?” he wondered out loud. Promptly embarrassed and worried that the double meaning in his question was
too obvious, he looked away.
But Yuki wasn’t paying attention. “Absolutely hideous,” he muttered to himself.
“Who healed me?”
Yuki turned the page. “Ooh, I do like this pairing. Hmm.”
“Yuki.”
Huffing, the Hybrid glanced up from his magazine. “One would think that after saving your sad and sorry ass, I would be entitled to some leisure time.”
“Sometimes,” Yiran said, pushing himself up with a grunt, “I’d really like to slap you.”
“You mean you’d really like to kiss me.”
Yiran glared.
“I’m joking. Where’s your sense of humor?”
“It died when I found out my deadbeat dad is still alive and has apparently decided to become a supervillain.”
“Yeah. Well.” Yuki made a face. “One man’s villain is another man’s hero.”
Police sirens blared in the distance, followed by the wailing of ambulances and emergency vehicles.
Yiran frowned.
“Some stuff’s been going down in the city the last few days since I, uh, invited you to meet your father.” Yuki smiled apologetically, maybe even hopefully. “But I did save your life earlier, so I guess
I made up for it?”
Yiran wasn’t sure why Yuki would care about getting his forgiveness. He was too tired to be angry. “What happened to those
Revenants in the forest?”
“Killed them,” Yuki replied in a singsong voice.
“Did my father send you after me?”
“I came after you myself. Can’t believe he let you go without healing you first. Noah did quite a number on you, huh?”
“Won’t my father be upset when he finds out you acted of your own accord?”
“Why would he be upset at me for keeping his precious son alive? Here’s a life lesson for you, Song er shaoye.
The trick to surviving is knowing when to show your strengths and when to lean into your perceived weaknesses.
Figure out how much you’re worth to those who are important and to those who have power—they’re not always the same.
” Yuki flipped another page, and his eyes widened.
“Now, this is a great pair of boots, stylish and functional—” He clicked his tongue in annoyance.
“Why do nice things always cost a fortune?”
Yiran stared at the puzzling, infuriating, contradictory, beautiful mess that was Yuki. From the outset, he’d appeared different
from other Hybrids. The others thought less of him because of his inferior combat skills, but the autonomy Song Liming had
awarded him implied something else was at work. Yuki could control his hunger for yangqi, and despite having weapons made
from yinqi, he could vanquish Revenants. Like the Hybrid girl, Yuki possessed the two qualities Song Liming was obsessed with
finding—and creating.
Matthias Lin was special too. Yiran had a feeling that Song Liming had a penchant—maybe even an obsession—for special.
The door to the room opened, and a petite young woman entered. She was carrying a bowl and a wooden case the size of an envelope.
“This is L,” Yuki said. “She’s a white lantern.”
Yiran didn’t expect a rogue mage to look so unremarkably normal. L’s doe-like eyes were framed by enormous tortoiseshell glasses,
and her thick, wavy hair fell untidily over her slight shoulders. She wore a cozy sweater with a small flower print and looked
more like someone who could recommend a good book and a cup of fragrant tea to go with it. Then again, any librarian worth
their salt knew where the obscure books with forbidden secrets were.
Yuki warned, “Don’t let her innocent appearance fool you. Believe me when I say she’s dangerous.”
“Leave us,” L said brusquely, putting the bowl on the table.
Magazine in tow, Yuki drifted out of the room.
L closed the door. “Drink.”
Yiran grimaced. The murky substance in the bowl looked like mud soup and smelled of pungent herbs. “Do you have honey or something
sweet to go with this?”
“The medicinal properties will lose their effectiveness if you add anything else. Hold your breath and drink it in one gulp.”
The broth was vile, but Yiran got it down. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, wrinkling his nose at his sweater. It smelled of dirt, sweat,
and blood. He wanted a bath. He wanted to go home and crawl into his own bed. But he wasn’t sure how Ash would react to the
news about their father.
Was he really trying to draw magic from you?
Yiran’s brain told him that the answers he wanted lay with Song Wei. But his soul shriveled at the thought of confronting
his grandfather.
“Thanks for healing me, L,” he said.
“Thank Yuki. White lanterns normally steer clear of Hybrids, but I owed him a favor.”
“What favor?”
“Family business. He saved one of mine, so I’m saving one of his.”
Family or friend or otherwise, Yiran wasn’t sure how he felt about being thought of as one of Yuki’s. As L reached to take the bowl from him, a lock of hair by her neck moved to reveal a tattoo. Symbols that looked like birds
in flight. It reminded Yiran of the tattoos the old mage at the Night Market had, the one who’d rejected Yiran’s request for
a spell to capture a Revenant. Master Kang, that was his name. According to Zizi, Master Kang was one of four mages who’d
vanished, and the Hybrid Revenants were to blame.
“Your tattoo is a clan symbol, isn’t it?”
L’s expression darkened. “Why do you ask?”
Yiran hedged. “I know someone else who had the same tattoo on his bald head, but maybe I’ve got it wrong, since I’m pretty
sure he was a red lantern.”
L seemed startled. “Did Yuki tell you what happened with my uncle?”
It was Yiran’s turn to be surprised. Was Master Kang the family Yuki had saved?
He shook his head. “Yuki doesn’t tell me much.”
“It’s probably for your own good.” L opened her wooden box. It was full of thin silver needles. “Yuki’s all right for a Hybrid.
I’ll leave it at that.”
Distracted by the needles, Yiran gestured nervously. “Are you going to—?” He didn’t want to sound like a whiny baby, but he wasn’t keen on being poked or stabbed. Not after his fight with Noah.
“It doesn’t hurt. I already did a round on you to hasten your healing while you were asleep. Your injuries should be fine
in a few days, but your qi circulation is still disordered. It’s starting to deviate, and that’s dangerous. I’ve been trying
to stabilize it, but I’m afraid there’s a deeper issue.”
Yiran stiffened. “What issue?”
She ignored his question. “Remove your sweater, sit still, and try to relax.”
The first needle went into the back of Yiran’s neck. Like L said, it didn’t hurt. She continued to line his spine with more
needles, then his temples and his chest, pausing between a few pricks to check his pulse.
“I look like a pincushion,” he said, examining his arms as L carried on her work.
Gradually, he felt the knots in his muscles loosening. He didn’t know if it was the needles or the vile medicine, but something
was taking the edge off and replacing it with a soft, gauzy filter. His body relaxed, as if lulled into submission, its defenses
torn down. He didn’t feel in control anymore, and that scared him. He blinked hard, trying to clear the fog.
“We’ll leave the needles in for an hour. Hopefully, it’ll help reroute the flow of energy in your meridians.” L had a peculiar,
unreadable expression as she closed her wooden box. “You’re really messed up inside.”
“Tell me about it,” Yiran mumbled. His insides were starting to feel weird too. He wanted to lie down, but his back was full
of needles, and L was staring at him oddly.
“I don’t think you understand,” she said in a kinder tone. “I was referring to your spiritual energy and how it moves in and
out of your body. It’s . . . different.”
As L spoke, her eyes had moved from Yiran’s face to his lap, where his hands were. He tried to focus. Had she meant to say
that he was different? That his scars had something to do with it?
Tesha once told him his spiritual energy sprayed out unusually, like a fountain.
But he’d assumed it had been Rui’s spiritual energy in his core that had caused that.
It didn’t explain what L was saying now, and it didn’t explain what had
happened in the Simulator with Noah.
Think carefully about what your grandfather did to you.
The foggy feeling in his head grew, and Yiran felt himself raising his hands, showing her the scars on his fingers. “Do you
know what these are?” His voice sounded as if it was coming from underwater.
L replied haltingly, “There’s a forbidden technique that blocks a magic wielder’s meridians and spirit core.”
The air seemed to press down. His heartbeat quickened, tripping erratically as if it were running from something.
“The technique destroys their ability to do magic,” L continued. “It’s forbidden precisely because of the trauma it inflicts
on the person for the rest of their life.”
Her voice seemed to resonate in the room as all sensation left Yiran’s body. It felt like he was floating.