Chapter 27 Rui
Rui
Rui tightened her grip on the grab handle in the car. She’d heard so many stories of the formidable Song Wei that he’d become
a legend in her mind. This wasn’t how she wanted to meet the man who possessed the ability to either give her what she so
dearly wanted or wrench it away with a simple nod or shake of his head. Without her magic, she felt especially exposed and
vulnerable. What if he saw through her secret? What if—no, she was going to this dinner with a mission in mind: access to
the Guild. That was what she had to focus on.
She chewed on her nails and stared out the window. Buildings upon buildings zoomed by. Ripe peachy sunset hues grazed glass
and steel, enveloping the city in warmth. Dusk was settling in.
Soon the imposing gates of the Song estate loomed, the tips of the iron bars gilded gold and curved sharp like an eagle’s
claws. The path to the house was tree-lined and felt a mile long. At the end of it, Yiran parked the car casually askew by
the garage.
Song Mansion was a modern siheyuan. Rui didn’t take to it the way she loved Zizi’s shophouse, but it was obvious it meant
something to Yiran for reasons beyond the fact that he lived here. The look on his face told her as much.
The front doors were painted a traditionally lacquered vermilion and carved with symbols Rui didn’t understand. Two stone
lions stood guard on either side. Across the threshold, the short path led to a second, smaller set of doors—a spirit screen
etched with even stranger symbols.
Everything inside was warm wood and stone and terra-cotta roofs, and the main courtyard had an egg-shaped koi pond and a surprisingly unruly garden.
The openness of the layout gave an illusion of welcoming candor.
Yet tall bamboo grew from the gray-pebbled perimeter, screening guests from what was likely the private family quarters north of the gardens and courtyards, tucking them away safely from prying eyes and sniffing noses.
Yiran gestured at a cabinet by the wall. “Shoes off, Darcy.”
“I’m not a heathen.” She glared automatically, but she’d grown used to him calling her by that name now and then. Secretly,
she felt it might suit her, but she’d rather walk barefoot over hot coals than tell him.
They exchanged their boots for pairs of woven house slippers. Muttering something about changing his clothes, Yiran left her
in the care of the housekeeper, who introduced herself as Auntie Kimmie. She had come out to greet them.
“It isn’t often that er shaoye has friends over,” Auntie Kimmie said. She was a kindly lady in her early fifties who wore
a tidy dress and a camel-colored cardigan with pearl buttons.
“I’m surprised, he seems popular,” Rui said, noting that Auntie Kimmie’s use of the honorific was affectionate.
“I was worried for him. He hung out with a certain clique at his old school.” It was clear Auntie Kimmie didn’t approve of
that. “I’m glad he’s made friends quickly at the Academy. He’s very shy, you see.”
Shy was not the word that came to mind when Rui thought of Yiran.
“It’s good to have him home. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him. He sends me messages from time to time to keep me updated,
you know. He doesn’t want me to worry; he’s such a good boy.”
Rui hadn’t thought Yiran to be the sort to keep his housekeeper informed about his life.
“Is there anything else I can get you, Miss Rui?”
Rui gestured at the honey cakes and cup of warm yuzu tea laid out on the table. “This is more than enough, thank you.”
Auntie Kimmie nodded and left.
Rui slouched back into her default mode of grumpy and tired. She was tempted to explore the place, but Song Wei could be anywhere. She drank her tea, nibbled her cake, and sent a barrage of text messages to Ada, who had made her promise to describe every inch of the mansion.
Shortly, Yiran returned. Freshly scrubbed from a quick shower, he’d removed his contact lenses and was wearing a pair of tortoiseshell
spectacles.
“Are dinners here always so formal?” Rui asked, surprised by his crisp shirt and gray sweater-vest.
“Only when my grandfather is present.”
Rui looked down at her own outfit.
Yiran had told her to wear her best, and her best was, well, not that great. She had on her cleanest pair of black jeans—more
faded gray than black, frankly, and worn at the knees—and her favorite oversized sweater, which, to her horror, was molting
at the right sleeve. By force of habit, she’d brought her talismans and weapons, tucked away in an old sword bag that had
seen better days. Standing here in this grand mansion, Rui wished she’d borrowed a dress from Ada.
Yiran shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Nervous energy radiated from him. Rui’s own anxiety spiked. Curse that
empathic link.
“Why are you still sitting there?” he said. “It’s time for dinner. Remember what I told you—”
“Speak only when spoken to, keep my voice low, don’t start eating until after he takes his first bite, refill his tea, hold
my chopsticks the correct way—please, I’m not an uncultured swine, and I’m not auditioning to be his granddaughter-in-law.”
There was a long awkward pause as they both processed what Rui had blurted out of annoyance.
As if on cue, Ash glided into the room. Dressed in a pair of black slacks and a taupe cardigan, he looked every bit like the
heir to this kingdom.
“Who’s auditioning to be my sister-in-law?”
“Shut up,” Yiran said.
Rui considered drowning herself in the koi pond.
“Good evening, Rui,” Ash said, trying not to laugh. She nodded back. Ash never called her by her first name. “Come along,
kids. We mustn’t keep Yeye waiting.”
He placed a hand on each of their shoulders, steering them to the dining room.
The round table was large enough to seat ten, but it was prepared for four.
All the cutlery had the family name embossed onto it, but one set of utensils was different from the rest: a band of gold ran across the top of the chopsticks and the handles of the fork and spoon.
Deliberately, Ash positioned himself between Yiran and Rui, placing her to the left of where his grandfather would be sitting.
A little too close for comfort, but perhaps better than sitting directly opposite in full view of the Head of the Exorcist
Guild.
Moments later, Song Wei entered. He was as tall as Rui remembered and a lot more intimidating. This was a man who could command
with a look and condemn with a gesture.
She had glimpsed him once in person. It’d been the last day of her mother’s funeral wake, and she was standing outside the
crematorium. A black limousine pulled up in the rain, stopping by the side of the road. Rui’s father was too distraught to
notice, distracted by the principal of Xingshan Academy who’d come to pay his respects and offer Rui a place in the school.
But Rui saw the car and the old man in it. He was dressed in white, a sign of respect for the dead. Song Wei never got out
of the vehicle, nor did anyone from the Guild approach the Lins that day. Rui never thought she’d be meeting him again in
his own home.
His two grandsons bowed. Noting the differences in their postures, Rui did the same.
“Finally, I get to meet the person who saved my grandson from a nasty fate,” Song Wei said, his manner transforming from stern
leader to charming host.
“The honor is mine, sir.”
“Your name is Lin Ru Yi?”
“I go by Rui.”
“You must tell me how you defeated that Revenant, but first, let us eat. Lan Xi has to prepare for tonight.”
“For a Hunt? The moon isn’t full tonight; is it tactical?” Rui asked.
Song Wei’s brows lifted, his gaze sharpening. “Observant, I see.” He turned to Yiran. “How has school been? I heard you had another training session in the Simulator yesterday.” The temporary warmth Song Wei displayed with Rui vanished when he addressed his younger grandson.
Unspoken tension filled the room. Rui squirmed in her seat. Words started coming out of Yiran’s mouth like he was a mechanical
toy, wound up and set off. As dishes were served, he regurgitated his recent days at school, studiously avoiding eye contact
with anyone. Ash nodded along, commenting at the right moments, slipping in a few jokes to lighten the mood.
Rui concentrated on her food. Their weird family charade was too painful to witness. The longer it went on, the more she wondered
if Yiran acted the way he did outside his home because he thought it was the only way to be accepted. To be loved.
When Yiran was done, Ash piped up, “No one succeeds the first few times in the Simulator. Accidents happen. And not everyone
matches up with a spirit weapon right away.”
“You did,” Yiran said tonelessly. He squished his rice to the side of his bowl. He’d hardly eaten any of it.
Rui stuffed a clump of enoki into her mouth and focused on chewing the stringy mushrooms. The only spiritual weapon Yiran
could match with was hers, but Song Wei couldn’t know that.
Ash waved away the tension with the practiced hand of someone who had to do it often. “It’s not a big deal. You’ll get it
right soon.”
“Tesha Mak is working on something for me,” Yiran said.
Teshin had taken an unexpected liking to Yiran, so it wasn’t that surprising they’d recruited their twin sister to help him.
But it was the first time Rui had heard of this.
Song Wei made a low sound of approval. “The Maks are good friends to have. What do you think, Rui? Does my grandson have what
it takes to be a real Exorcist?”
What a cruel question to ask a stranger. Rui felt foolish, chasing for the approval of a man like him for so many years. “Why wouldn’t he?” she said as innocently and brightly as she could. “He’s a Song, one of yours. All the Songs are magical prodigies, aren’t they?”
Yiran blanched.
Even though she feared she’d overstepped, Rui continued to smile.
To her surprise, Song Wei looked amused. “You’re right—he’s a Song and he is my grandson. He will succeed on his own terms.”