Chapter 11 Yiran #2
if the Revenant didn’t drink that much, Rui would have recovered some of her spiritual energy by now and still be able to
do magic. But . . .” Zizi shook his head. “I found new signs of magical trauma in her spirit core. What happened? Did she
cast a spell on herself?”
“I’m not entirely sure. . . .” Yiran pulled out one of the swords he’d retrieved earlier from Rui’s sword bag. He tried to
remember that buzzy feeling. Tried to reach the magic that was supposedly in him now.
He didn’t feel a thing.
The gnarly hand of desperation gripped his throat, tight enough to choke. Did you really think it was going to work? Did you really think you could do magic? You are nobody. You are nothing. He wanted to stomp the voice in his head out. He wanted to strangle whoever it belonged to.
But he was afraid the voice was his own.
Zizi tapped the counter impatiently. “You were saying?”
Ignoring him, Yiran thought of Rui. She’d been so certain when she taught him how to use her weapon, so certain that he could
do it.
Song Yiran—I believe in you.
It was a cringeworthy thing to say. He didn’t even know if she’d meant it. But somehow, it worked.
He centered himself, trying to grasp the feeling he had when he fought the Revenant. His body had seemed to know what to do and how to do it before his mind did. Instinct. Like that of an animal or anything in the natural world. Pure and unbridled, before the mind could intercept it with doubt.
A soft crimson light shivered from the blade. It was neither solid nor deadly, more like a dribbling afterthought. But it
was enough to silence the taunting voice in Yiran’s head. The magic he had displayed wasn’t impressive. But it was something.
Big things grew from somethings.
Zizi knocked the sword out of Yiran’s hand, catching it before it fell to the floor. He set the sword aside on the counter
with careful reverence.
“How are you able to use Rui’s spiritual weapon?” he demanded.
Yiran rubbed his arm. “What exactly is a spiritual weapon?” He knew some Exorcists carried swords, but he’d never seen Ash
with one, and it wasn’t until tonight that he saw one in action.
“Anyone with magic can use common weapons. But spiritual weapons are highly specialized conduits that you can infuse with
your own qi,” Zizi said, still looking perplexed. “Your spiritual weapon feels right in your hands, like it’s a part of you.
It’s normally a bladed weapon forged from the purest steel, but sometimes it’s something else altogether. The form reflects
the practitioner’s character and skill, and once a weapon has been claimed, it’s bound to the individual. No one else can
use it—unless . . .”
He grabbed Yiran’s wrist, turned Yiran’s palm face up, and placed his own hand over it. Yiran sat still as a statue. The peaks
and valleys of the other boy’s palm were a treasure map he couldn’t read. But it seemed like Zizi found an answer in his.
“Gods.” Zizi dropped his hand and backed away.
“What’s wrong?”
“If Rui cast the spell I think she did on herself . . .” Zizi slammed a fist onto the counter.
“This is bad. Your qi levels are through the roof—did she touch you when she cast that spell? Did she transfer her spiritual energy to you?” Zizi clutched his head.
“Dammit. She’s going to be so mad at me. ”
Yiran hid his relief. For a moment he’d thought Zizi would tell him it was all a farce and that what he had done with Rui’s
weapon wasn’t magic. But it was real. He did have magic.
“I was able to kill the Revenant and save our lives because of the spell she cast,” he said. “Why would Rui be mad?”
“If her spiritual energy hasn’t reverted to her by now, it might mean the transfer is somehow permanent. I’m not sure if I
know how to fix it.” Zizi cursed again.
Of course. Rui would want her magic back. Who wouldn’t? Except Yiran wasn’t sure if he wanted to give it back. If he had magic,
maybe he wouldn’t be sent away. Maybe he’d never have to see the disappointment in his grandfather’s eyes again. No one needed
to know the source of his newfound magic.
Would Rui wake up with that haunting emptiness Yiran felt earlier? He pushed a pang of sympathy away. It didn’t matter. She
wasn’t his business, and he didn’t intend to make her so. The world he longed for was finally within his grasp. The magic
swimming in his veins, the girl lying half-dead in the other room, this boy with extraordinary eyes—they were the key to holding
on to it.
But first, he needed to cover up tonight’s mess. He didn’t know much about the Exorcist Guild, but he did know it didn’t take
kindly to magic practitioners who flouted the law. He remembered Rui’s reaction when he’d said he wanted to take her to his
grandfather and the Guild.
“Rui’s an Exorcist, isn’t she? She could go to the Guild for help. Maybe they’ll know what to do,” Yiran suggested in a helpful
manner.
“Rui isn’t one of them,” Zizi corrected, looking irked. “She only trains at Xingshan Academy.”
“That’s just semantics. She’s going to be an Exorcist.”
“I don’t want the Guild involved in this.” Zizi’s tone was as sharp as the line of his jaw. “I don’t trust them, and they
don’t like people like me.”
Yiran hid a smile. As he suspected, Zizi was part of the underground magic community.
The spell had to be his, which meant he couldn’t tell anyone about what had happened because he’d get into trouble.
And if the spiritual energy transfer was somehow permanent and could not be reversed . . . finders keepers.
As if catching on to what Yiran was thinking, Zizi sized him up. “You’re Song Wei’s other grandson, aren’t you?”
Yiran winced, a familiar twitch in his gut. He was always Song Wei’s grandson. Always Ash’s little brother. Never his own
person.
“How did you know?”
“You look like a Song, and I’ve heard about an anomaly in the family. You may possess high levels of qi now, but the spirit
core you were born with seems sadly ordinary, so I figured you’re the other grandson.”
An anomaly. That was what he was. Yiran smiled, implying he couldn’t care less about what Zizi said. “I’m well aware of my spirit core
and its limitations.”
Zizi clucked his tongue. “Are you? See, that’s what I’m not getting. How are you holding on to so much spiritual energy? A person must be born with a naturally strong spirit
core to do that, and they’d have to cultivate it in order to do magic. But despite being a weak ass, you’re somehow pulling
it off.” He paused, gaze sharpening on Yiran. “I guess my real question is, why didn’t you die during the transfer?”
Why indeed. When Yiran was younger, he found articles in the dodgier sites on the internet that shared stories of people with mediocre
cores trying to increase their qi. They always failed. You could strengthen your core through training, make it more resilient,
but you couldn’t expand its capacity. Besides, his grandfather’s experiments had made it clear that Yiran couldn’t change
what he was.
Yiran shrugged. “Apologies for my strong will to survive. It’s a product of my upbringing.”
“Have you ever felt unexplainable energies around you?” Zizi said, twirling his cigarette.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Like you said, I’m ordinary. I was born without the ability to practice magic. I can’t sense anything.”
“Why do I find that hard to believe?”
“Would you like me to swear it on my father’s grave?” Yiran snapped.
An odd look crossed Zizi’s face as he stuck his cigarette back behind his ear. “Sorry about your dad.”
The words were an unexpected punch to the gut, painful because of how gently and kindly Zizi had said them. For one, there
was nothing about Zizi that suggested he was gentle or kind. Yiran could only assume he’d meant to patronize. For another,
everyone knew of Song Liming and how he’d gotten himself killed in typical Song fashion—heroically.
Yiran had never asked Ash anything about their father. It was bad enough Yiran never knew the man, but knowing him through
the lens of someone whose life he’d been part of since birth would be impossible to stomach.
Zizi resumed his battering of coffee beans. A few broken bits jumped out of the bowl, arranging themselves haphazardly on
the counter. Yiran picked up a piece, turning it around with his fingers.
“You know what?” Zizi said in between his bashing. “Never mind. I don’t care about you. I’ll just have to figure out a way
to fix this so Rui won’t hate me.”
The jagged edge of the coffee bean dug into Yiran’s fingertips. “I thought you didn’t know how to reverse the spell?”
Zizi grinned. “Nothing is impossible. And I am very gifted.”
Yiran didn’t think anyone could look so shameless. “The spell Rui used—it’s one of yours, isn’t it? That’s why she said she
couldn’t go to the hospital and that’s why you don’t want the Guild involved. You broke some magical rule.”
“Rules are for cowards who have no vision,” Zizi replied tartly.
Ordinarily, Yiran would agree. But this was a matter of family pride.
His grandfather might not think so, but Yiran was still a Song.
Or at least, he was trying to be one. The Guild was doing their best to ensure that society didn’t run amok with people who used magic to harm others.
Rui had dragged him into her spell without asking for consent.
Sure, she had a good reason to: it was their only chance to stay alive.
But it didn’t change the fact that what she did was wrong.
A Xingshan Academy cadet in cahoots with a mage . . .
He flicked the coffee bean. “I assume the both of you want to keep tonight a secret?”
Neither of them missed the subtle threat in Yiran’s question.
The blue in Zizi’s eyes chilled. He came around the counter, lips twisting into a nasty grin. “I get the feeling we’re not
the only ones who want to keep this quiet, Song er shaoye.”
His use of the honorific grated on Yiran’s nerves. “Says the bloody wizard who sold a girl a dangerous and illegal spell he
can’t undo.”
“I am a mage,” Zizi sniffed. “I didn’t sell the spell to her, and she wasn’t supposed to cast it on herself.”
“She didn’t have much of a choice. She was injured, and the Revenant was going to kill us.”
“And for some reason she chose you, of all people, as her savior? Why were you even there?”
Yiran forced himself to look the other boy in the eye. “I had a fight with my grandfather. I got angry and thought I could
capture a Revenant alive.”
Zizi laughed. “That may be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”
Yiran’s fists wanted to yell hello to the other boy’s face, but he kept them by his side.
Zizi didn’t seem to notice the change in Yiran’s expression. Or maybe he didn’t care. He went on, not bothering to soften
his scorn. “Guess it must be hard, growing up as a Song without magic, especially with your father and that slimy protégé
brother of yours. It’s not surprising you have granddaddy issues.”
Something in Zizi’s words crossed the line. It wasn’t because he was wrong.
The first punch grazed Zizi’s hair instead of his nose as he ducked. The second punch was too slow and missed entirely.
Zizi shifted. In an instant, Yiran found himself on the floor, coughing from a blow to his stomach.
Zizi shook his hair off his face. “Stay down. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Yiran scoffed. “You got lucky.”
Quick swipe at the legs, and Zizi stumbled forward. This time, Yiran’s punch caught him on the cheekbone. Before Yiran could
bask in satisfaction, Zizi shoved him against the counter. The edge of the island dug painfully into his spine, but he scuffled
for a chance to get another jab in.
“Stop,” Zizi hissed, gripping Yiran’s arms.
Yiran found himself pinned down on the counter, his back arched as he tried to throw the other boy off. But Zizi was stronger
than he looked, Yiran gave him that.
Zizi’s shirt hung loose, tickling Yiran’s neck as he leaned in. “I get one hit to your face because you tried to ruin my prettier
one, and then we’re square and this ends.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Yiran caught a metallic flash. His fingers found what he was looking for. Warmth pulsated through
him, a flurry of energy spreading to his fingers.
He sneered. “I don’t like your terms, wizard.”
He shoved Zizi off. Exhaling, he started to run a hand down the blade of Rui’s sword.
“Stop! You can’t use it!” Zizi shouted.
“Says who?” Yiran grinned as the blade began to glow.
“You could die.”
Yiran wavered, his hand stopping mid-blade.
Zizi looked dead serious. “You’re untrained and your spirit core is bloated with qi. It’s unstable. Any time you try to use magic, you’re straining it, forcing it to do something it’s not meant to do. If your core breaks, you die.”
“This isn’t something to joke—”
“Do I look like I’m joking? Put. The. Sword. Down.”
Heat was flaring inside of Yiran. His surroundings seemed to throb against him. What if Zizi was telling the truth? Was magic
worth the price of his life? Fear flooded his brain. He didn’t know the answer. Wasn’t prepared to find out.
Shakily, he placed Rui’s sword back on the counter and shallowed his breath. The heat inside him began to cool.
Zizi pinched the bridge of his nose. “Thank gods. Please don’t do anything so stupid again,” he said.
Relaxing, he winked at Yiran—and threw a punch.