Chapter 39 Yiran
Yiran
It was easier to sneak into Song Mansion than most would think. His grandfather’s strict rules had taught him to be inventive,
and Yiran had done it over a dozen times through the years. There were ways to avoid both residents and servants on an estate
so big, especially at this late hour. No one was the wiser that Song er shaoye had returned home.
A quick check on the garage revealed that Ash was out. Probably on Guild business. Song Wei, however, was home.
Yiran went to his own room first. A shower and change of clothes made him feel more in control. He found some spare cash and
stuck his hand behind the stack of encyclopedias on his bookshelf to retrieve his burner phone. After a longing glance at
his bed, he grabbed a warm scarf and left the room.
His breaths came out in white puffs in the cold air as he treaded softly across the bamboo garden out back. The trees hid
the way to the old northern wing of the estate. The building had been closed off for a long time, and he hadn’t visited since
he was a child. Yet, even after all these years and even in the dark, his body remembered each step of the way. Strange how
memories carved themselves into your muscles and bones.
A fresh dusting of snow covered the stone path leading to the front door. Before he could overthink it, Yiran pushed. The
door creaked loudly in the quiet night.
Shoulders taut, he stepped in.
It felt surreal to be back here. The place smelled musty, but there were few signs of cobwebs or other neglect. The servants
must come in now and then, something Yiran didn’t expect.
Like a ghost, he wandered from room to room, pausing now and then, staring at a specific chair, a now-empty alcove, then pensively out a window at the tall concrete wall that fenced off the back of the compound.
In one room, he crouched and reached behind the heavy drapes.
He slid his hand against the wood paneling running across the bottom of the wall until his fingers hit the first etching.
They were still there.
All eleven little lines. Scratches he had made during the stretch of nights he’d been locked in here, each to mark the passage
of time.
Relief and rage fought within him. It was real. It had happened. It shouldn’t have been done to him. But above the tempest,
there was a bitter sadness. Why was he taken from his mother? Why did his grandfather choose to cut off his magic? And if
his meridians and spirit core were screwed up, how could he have used magic against Noah? How could Rui’s spiritual energy
have transferred to him?
Only one person had the answers.
Song Wei’s study was empty.
Yiran marched to his grandfather’s sleeping quarters in the eastern wing of the mansion. Most of the lights were off, and
his grandfather’s master suite on the first floor was empty. But there were voices coming from the second story.
Yiran crept up the stairs and slipped into the room adjoining Ash’s bedroom. The two rooms shared a large bathroom between
them, and as a kid, Yiran had always wanted to live here to be closer to his brother. But his grandfather had kept him in
the western wing of the house, as if his closeness would taint the more legitimate grandson.
Holding his breath, Yiran turned the knob to the bathroom door.
It wasn’t locked.
He pulled it ajar and peeked in. The other door leading to Ash’s room was open, angled in a way that could conceal Yiran’s
presence if he remained careful. He could hear the muffled voices of his grandfather and Ash.
“. . . need to get your wounds tended to,” his grandfather was saying gruffly.
“They’re superficial injuries. Nothing’s broken.” Ash sounded distracted.
Yiran frowned. What had happened to his brother?
“Did you get a good look at her?” his grandfather asked.
“I’ll get a sketch done and inform the others.”
There was a hiss from Ash. How hurt was he?
“. . . he’s off the radar, and it’s been days. The whole situation’s too dangerous now, and I’m worried—”
Ash wasn’t talking about the person who attacked him anymore; he was talking about Yiran.
“ . . . lied about staying over at Theo’s. None of his friends know where he is. We can spare a few Exorcists to find him,
or I can hire a private investigator. I’ll be discreet. I don’t need your permission, but I want your clearance.”
Yiran clenched the doorknob. That was classic Ash. Always deferring to their grandfather, always using the old man to back
himself up and avoid full responsibility if things didn’t go according to plan.
“The Guild Council must be notified,” Song Wei said, sounding weary.
“Must they?”
“He can be used as a bargaining chip against us and our goals. He’s a weak link, and he could be a wrench in our fight against
the Hybrid Revenants. If they have him, we’ll need to cut—”
“Why are you talking about him like that?” Ash said, raising his voice. Yiran never would have thought he would shout at their
grandfather. “He’s my brother. I’m not sacrificing his safety. I shouldn’t have told you anything. I should’ve gone ahead
and—”
“Do not forget your duty, Song Lan Xi. Have you forgotten who you are and your responsibilities? Are you—”
There was a sound of sudden movement, like someone stumbling. Something crashed onto the floor.
“Yeye!” Ash exclaimed. “What’s wrong—”
Yiran didn’t wait to find out.
By early morning the snow had turned into icy rain. An abrupt downpour, as if the heavens had decided to add to his misery.
Yiran had been walking for hours, and his legs were numb. His hooded parka protected his head, torso, and arms for the most
part, but his scarf had gotten soaked, and he’d tossed it along the way. He’d grabbed a random pair of sneakers instead of
waterproof boots when he left the mansion, and his wet socks squished in his shoes, the cold water freezing his toes. He wondered
if he was getting hypothermia, then decided maybe he didn’t really care if he stayed alive anymore.
No one else seemed to.
He hadn’t gotten the answers he wanted, but he had heard all he needed. He’d been a fool to think, to hope, there was a more benevolent explanation for his grandfather’s actions. The old man had hated him from the start, and he’d
cut Yiran off from the true nature of his spirit core and his inherent magic to protect Ash’s right to be the heir. Yiran
was a burden, a weak link to be severed when convenient.
I’ll cut the cord myself. It would save everyone else the trouble.
The sky was turning light, and he was near the Night Market. He turned the corner to a lane with a row of eateries that were
still closed and found Gojo’s Café.
Yuki was standing outside, holding a large umbrella.
He came for me. Yiran had left a voice mail without any real hope of a response. He ducked under the umbrella and stared into those stormy
gray eyes.
“Hello, little runaway.” Yuki gave Yiran a once-over, pausing at his soaked sneakers. His lips quirked. “I hope you brought
money—I know where we can get you a great pair of boots once the shops open.”