Chapter 15 Yiran
Yiran
Yiran stood in the kitchen, a box of cereal in one hand and a carton of milk in the other. He’d been too excited to sleep.
The first day of school always brought about its own kind of anxiety, and he was feeling it tenfold today. Xingshan Academy
wasn’t just any school; it was his gateway to the world of magic, his key to belonging.
You’re going to fail. This magic doesn’t belong to you.
Yiran chased the mocking voice away. He couldn’t think like that. Opportunity lay in front of him; he had to grab it and make
something of it.
He stared out the window, trying to silence his rambling thoughts. Dawn cast its peaceful light over the sprawling garden
of bamboo and stone behind the house. As a kid, he would hide in the verdant copse, thinking about his mother, wondering if
she was thinking of him too. He turned away. What was the point of fixating on the past when his future was about to change?
Sighing, he leaned against the counter, eating to calm his nerves, vacantly musing about how his tongue knew the cereal tasted
the same, but his brain insisted the purple-colored puffs were just a tad fruitier and more exciting to eat than the orange-colored
ones.
“For crying out loud, use a bowl.” Ash walked into the kitchen, his expression telegraphing his disapproval of his half brother’s
eating habits. “Didn’t Auntie Kimmie make you breakfast?”
Mouth full of cereal, Yiran replied, “She went to the fish market.” He paused to dribble a bit more milk into his mouth to
get the right crunch-to-mush ratio before continuing. “Are you giving me a ride to the Academy?”
“Can’t,” Ash said. “I have to be at the Guild headquarters. Paperwork and meetings. Worst part of this job.”
“What’s the best part?”
“Killing Revenants, terrorizing cadets when I’m on campus, the fans.” Ash grabbed his overnight oats from the fridge and rummaged
for a spoon. “I have to say the fan club aunties are the best. I’ve gotten so many care packages with homemade food and tonics.
I don’t eat or drink any of that—you never know what’s hiding inside.” He pointed his spoon at Yiran. “But I do appreciate
the gesture.”
Admittedly, Ash was somewhat of a minor celebrity. There were, after all, collectible laminated photocards with his face printed
on them, sold side by side with pop-idol merchandise. Some cards had little hearts drawn on them, others were holographic,
and they all focused on Ash’s good looks. There were other well-known Exorcists—the Captains, mostly—who got the same treatment,
but Ash was the rising star of the new generation. Yiran supposed it was good politics to have a handsome public face when
one dealt with unsavory things.
“Drive yourself to school or get George to take you,” Ash said, adding a generous spoonful of almond butter and fresh berries
to his bowl of oats.
“George?”
“Yeah, George Li. Average height, glasses, wife gave birth three weeks ago. You’ve met him—more than once.”
Yiran continued to stare blankly.
Ash tsked. “Remember what I said? Always know your people. Treat them well and with respect, and they’ll be loyal to you.”
Yiran had sat through so many of Ash’s random pep talks that they were all a blur. Ash meant well, but Yiran had been sleepwalking
toward an inevitable dead end before meeting Rui, and any sagely life advice had seemed redundant.
But things were different now. Yiran promised himself to do better. “I’ll remember that,” he said. “And it’ll be useful to
have a car at the Academy, I guess, but I’ll have to check if I still have driving privileges.”
The thought of asking his grandfather for anything soured his mood.
His “magic reveal” was a total nonevent.
In fact, it felt like someone had thrown a bucket of ice water in his face.
Nothing had changed except that Yiran got to remain in the city.
If anything, Song Wei had seemed irritated that his younger grandson could do magic.
Probably because he expected Yiran to fail at Xingshan Academy and bring more shame to the family.
“Want me to talk to Yeye about the car?”
“Nah, it’s my own business.”
Ash clapped a hand on Yiran’s shoulder. “He is proud of you, you know.”
“He has a funny way of showing it.” Yiran chugged his milk to stop himself from saying more. He wondered if he was being foolish
for wanting an old man’s approval.
But you’re not doing this for him anymore. You’re doing this for yourself.
“Damn right,” Yiran muttered, taking another gulp of milk.
“I have to go.” Ash licked his spoon clean, dropped it into the kitchen sink, and wet his hand under the tap. “By the way,
your hair’s sticking out.” He patted the offending lock of hair down and pulled Yiran into a hug. “I’m proud of you. Always have been, always will.”
Blinking rapidly, Yiran pushed him away. “Don’t be cringey.”
“Me? Cringey?” Ash laughed and sauntered out of the kitchen.
A smile tugged on Yiran’s lips. He washed his cereal down with the rest of the milk and jogged back to his room to get his
suitcase.
The door was slightly ajar when he got to his grandfather’s study. He knocked. Two quick raps.
His grandfather opened the door.
Yiran bowed.
His grandfather eyed the suitcase briefly and retreated into the study. He stopped in front of the expansive bookshelf, speaking
without turning his head to Yiran.
“I see you’re all packed.”
“Yes. I’ll be back on the weekends unless there’s school stuff.” His grandfather didn’t like waffling, so Yiran got to the
point. “May I borrow a car?”
A beat of hesitation. Then a curt nod.
“Thank you, Zufu.”
Seconds passed. Yiran twitched uncomfortably. His grandfather was still focused on the bookshelf, but he hadn’t dismissed
him yet. Yiran wasn’t sure if he was supposed to stay or go.
He counted to eleven. When nothing changed, he said, “I guess I better be going then. Don’t want to be late on my first day.”
His laugh jittered.
His grandfather did not say a word.
Finally, Yiran bowed and left, closing the door behind him.
Disappointment frothed in his stomach. He didn’t know what he’d been hoping for. A smile? A kind word? Or for his grandfather
to simply say, Enjoy your time at the Academy? He’d been foolish to think his bastard status would change in the old man’s eyes, that maybe somewhere in that cold heart,
there’d be room for someone other than Ash.
Yiran snatched his suitcase and went down the hallway, cursing at his own naivete. It was only when he reached the garage
that he realized what his grandfather had been staring so hard at. The bookshelf in the study housed the only picture Song
Wei kept of his deceased son in the entire mansion.
It was a faded photograph of a young Song Liming in his Xingshan Academy uniform, smiling without a care in the world.
Yiran swerved into the parking lot, pulling into an empty spot with ease. Several cadets gawked at his luxury two-seater as
they walked to class. In hindsight, he could’ve chosen a less selfish car—you could squeeze someone in the back but it wouldn’t
be comfortable, and he might need to build some social cachet by offering free rides.
He got out in time to catch a boy laughing snidely at his ride, but another cadet threw him a look of interest. Yiran committed his face to memory, making a mental note to look him up.
If Yiran was going to fit in here, it’d be best to know where the clique lines were drawn—and where they could be redrawn.
With the Song name hanging around his neck like a noose, he needed all the help he could get.
He left his suitcase in the trunk and walked toward the main campus, adding a little extra swagger to his stride. He wasn’t
just here to learn and fit in, he wanted to impress.
A group of girls settled into step with him. They were younger than he was. Juniors, maybe.
“You’re Ash’s little brother, aren’t you?” one of them asked.
The little chafed, but Yiran flashed a winsome smile. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Aren’t you too old to be a freshie?” Up close, the girl’s cocky eyes and challenging smile told him she thought highly of
herself and not a lot about him.
He had misread the situation. Most girls approached him thinking he could give them Ash’s number, or that Yiran could pass
on a message or a gift. Sometimes girls approached him for him, but the group that was surrounding him and blocking his path
now were a pack of foxes around a rabbit’s burrow.
Yiran kept his smile. “Chill with the ageism. No one’s ever too old to learn.”
Another girl with box-dyed red hair said, “Don’t expect anyone to take it easy on you, nepo baby. You’ll start at the bottom
like all of us. Your granddaddy may have protected you for years, but here, we’re all equals. We’ve heard a lot about you,
Song er shaoye.”
She cocked her head, and the entire posse turned on their heels, leaving Yiran standing alone.
In his old school, boys like Yiran were untouchable princes in their made-up kingdoms. He knew how that world worked, but
Xingshan Academy was a different world. The rumors of a decadent lifestyle he’d let run free because it benefited him in the
past were coming back to bite him now. He’d have to work doubly hard to earn everyone’s respect.
“Go big or go home,” he told himself, appraising the grand entrance of Xingshan Academy.
He would show them what he was made of.
The Academy was a stoic collection of gray and green: blocks of buildings, rectangular patches of grass, an oval field lined
by a running track, tennis courts to the west of it, a huge lawn to the east, and the dormitories in the south. It seemed
disappointingly ordinary on the surface, but Yiran soon found that this wasn’t the case at all.
Cadets spilled from classrooms and lecture halls, hurrying back to lecture halls and classrooms, passing him in a flurry of
too-loud laughter. Yiran spotted deconstructed blazers and embellished shirts and skirts, along with colorful hairstyles and