Chapter 29 Rui
Rui
Rui peered out the car window and read the small gold plaque on the low brick wall.
“The Reverie. Are you sure this is it?” she said, looking dubiously at the ancient mansion on top of the small hill they’d just driven up.
Another building rose behind it, more modern in architecture and ten stories tall.
Yiran killed the engine. “That’s what the GPS says.”
“Doesn’t your grandmother own a bakery, Zizi? You told me those egg tarts were from her bakery.”
“The bakery inside the hotel. My grandmother owns the hotel, therefore, she owns the bakery.” The sash was still around Zizi’s
eyes, shielding him from Rui’s glare. He stepped out of the vehicle and groped the air in front of him.
Rui was surprised to see Yiran going to him and helping him up the stone stairs voluntarily. She followed them, and together
they went through a moon gate into an expanse of manicured garden.
It felt like they had entered another world. Whimsical lamps hung from trees, and the air smelled of tea leaves and blooming
flowers. There was a beautiful arbor at the mansion’s entrance with vines running up and down the stately red brick. The place
looked old-fashioned in a moneyed kind of way. It never crossed her mind that Zizi was from a wealthy family. He was always
scrounging around for a quick buck, tiptoeing back and forth over the line of criminality. She should’ve guessed from his
expensive taste in silk pajamas.
She pushed the heavy front doors open, and they entered the reception.
The concierge looked up. There was a shiny pin of a camellia flower on her lapel.
“Welcome to The Reverie,” she said, clearly confused by the trio. “May I help—oh dear—” Her gaze had settled on Zizi.
“Don’t worry, she’s expecting me.” Zizi removed the sash around his eyes, tying it around his narrow waist. His skin was less
pallid than before.
The concierge composed herself. “In that case, come with me, please.”
The hall was enormous and lit by a chandelier and a few ornate side tables and plush armchairs scattered across the room.
It was just as dim as the reception, giving the whole place a hazy, dreamlike quality.
“Wait here.” The concierge went over to a rotary telephone and spoke into the earpiece.
Zizi settled onto the nearest chaise. But Rui and Yiran looked around, curious about everything.
A magnificent ceiling arched over them like a chapel’s, and it was painted with murals. Rui counted ten of them. Each mural
depicted a scene from someone’s dark imagination: mountains and fiery lava pits; strange beasts prowling a landscape of jagged
rock and stone; a suspension bridge hanging over a ravine of knives while vicious-looking winged creatures soared in the skies
above . . .
A mysterious figure in black robes appeared in each mural, with a hood shadowing their face. Each figure was painted a little
differently; Rui wondered if it was supposed to be the same individual. In one panel, the figure was seated on the edge of
a precipice, looking down on people crawling over nails and sharp objects. The figure held a stick or a wand in its skeletal
hand and a small cluster of spheres floated in front of it, giving a bizarre impression that they were blowing soap bubbles
as the hordes of humans below suffered.
“Magic,” Yiran whispered.
Rui could feel his awe. She watched as he breathed in, like he was trying to inhale the grand hall and all its beautiful monstrosities
into his own body.
He was right.
A layer of magic surrounded this hotel. Not the kind Exorcists wielded, but the other kind. The ceiling shimmered briefly, the paintings coming alive for a split second before going still again.
Zizi’s grandmother had to be a powerful mage.
Remember that this mortal houses the soul of a god—it will not be anyone ordinary.
The sound of heels on marble echoed above them.
An elegant lady was descending the grand circular staircase. The soft silk of her turquoise qipao swished as she walked to
them, and her graying hair was coiffed into a bun, the ends tucked neatly and hair-sprayed to death. There was a timelessness
to her, suggesting she was either not that old or perhaps older than the world itself. With her pinched expression and cold
manner, she reminded Rui of the Academy’s discipline master, the one who never let anyone get away with anything.
“Madam Meng.” The concierge lowered her head and stood behind her.
Rui smiled politely.
Yiran gave Madam Meng a full-on bow.
Madam Meng was unimpressed by either of them.
Zizi waved weakly from the chaise.
Madam Meng’s expression softened, but when she fixed her eyes on Rui, it frosted again.
“So, you’re the girl,” she said pityingly, like Rui was a stray dog she couldn’t shake off.
Rui kept her smile, but her stomach curdled. She definitely wasn’t feeling a connection with this woman.
“This is Rui,” Zizi said sharply.
“And I’m Yiran,” the other boy piped up. “A pleasure to meet you.”
Madam Meng pursed her burgundy-stained lips. “I suppose I should thank the both of you for retrieving my good-for-nothing
grandson and bringing him back here.”
The strand of tiny pearls hanging from her glasses clicked as she lowered her chin and peered at Zizi. “Hmm . . . looks like
it’s not the usual migraine this time.”
“Doesn’t feel like it.” Zizi showed her his hands.
Her expression changed. “Come,” she said with urgency, “you must take your medicine.”
Not wanting to let Zizi out of her sight, Rui said, “I’ll go with you.”
Madam Meng’s eyebrows shot up, but Zizi took Rui’s hand and didn’t let go. Rui felt her fingers winding around his like it
was the most natural thing in the world.
“She’s coming with me,” Zizi said firmly.
“What about me?” Yiran asked.
“You?” Madam Meng said. “You will wait here and keep your voice down. My guests are not to be disturbed. Song Wei will have
something to say about you being here—yes, I know exactly who you are.”
“I’m only here because Zizi showed up at my house out of the blue,” Yiran grumbled.
Ignoring him, Madam Meng gestured Zizi toward an alcove at the end of the hall.
“Guess I’ll just wait here by myself,” Yiran muttered.
Sensing his dejection, Rui let go of Zizi’s hand and backtracked. “We won’t take long. Maybe you should call Ash and let him
know where you are, get ahead of things in case she calls your grandfather.”
Yiran shrugged and walked in the opposite direction.
Rui hurried after Zizi and his grandmother. Several turns later, they came to a large room. Glass jars and metal tea tins
lined the tall shelves, each meticulously labeled in neat script. Various teapots rested on the long table at one end of the
room.
Rui and Zizi waited on the bench as Madam Meng perused the shelves. A tiny bell tinkled. Something black pounced onto Zizi’s
lap and curled up.
“Mao! How’d you get here?” Rui reached over to scratch the cat’s chin.
Absently, Zizi played with Mao’s soft ears. He was quiet, his eyes wide and curious as he waited. Rui imagined this was how
he must’ve spent his days as a child, wandering around this old and rambling estate thick with magic, poking his nose into
this and that, experimenting with spells and artifacts to satiate his thirst for knowledge.
Armed with an assortment of tins, Madam Meng got down to work.
She dusted loose tea leaves into a gaiwan, then tapped on the wooden dragon carved onto the curve of her walking cane.
The dragon spat out a puff of pink powder.
Rui wanted to ask what it was, but the whole process felt like a ritual she didn’t want to interrupt.
After pouring hot water into the gaiwan, Madam Meng capped it with its matching porcelain lid. As the tea steeped, she examined
the black lines on Zizi’s hands.
“Do you know what they are?” Rui asked.
Madam Meng ignored her.
Zizi held Mao a little closer. “Is it bad?”
“We will speak of the markings later.” Madam Meng picked the gaiwan up, holding the lid and cup expertly as she poured, allowing
only tea to escape into another smaller cup. “Drink.”
Zizi stuck his tongue into the liquid and retracted it with a grimace.
Madam Meng tutted. “You kick up a fuss like a child every time you have to take your medicine.”
“Because it tastes bitter every time, and this one’s particularly vile.”
“It is only by knowing what is bitter that you will treasure what is sweet.”
“I’ve no problem treasuring what is sweet without ever tasting anything bitter.” Zizi downed the tea in a single gulp. He
grimaced and gagged.
“Now, you must rest. Leave us,” Madam Meng said. “I believe the girl would like a word with me.”
How did she know? There was clearly more to the old lady than Rui had thought.
Zizi paused at the door, throwing them a cloaked look before stepping out.
“How did you know I wanted to speak with you?” Rui said.
“An Exorcist-in-training wandering around the Night Market looking for a mage? Word gets around.”
“Zizi’s a mage, and I hang out with him. It’s not unusual for me to talk to mages.”
Madam Meng removed her glasses. The change was startling, like she had removed a piece of her face, leaving it blank and unsettling.
“Then why didn’t you go to him first? What are you looking for?”
Rui fidgeted under Madam Meng’s scrutiny, torn between the desperate need to ask for help and Ten’s command of secrecy. “It’s
a who and a what,” she finally said. “I’m looking for someone who doesn’t want to be found. An unusual person, who came into
this world through unusual circumstances.”
“And the what?”
“Something that can contain . . . things.”
Madam Meng raised an elegant eyebrow. “Vagueness gets you nowhere. Spit it out if you want my help, child.”
“I . . . I can’t.”
“Then perhaps you should give up your search,” Madam Meng said. “Some things are not meant to be found. Some people are better
off lost. Some secrets should remain secrets.”
Rui clenched her jaw, more annoyed with herself—and Ten—than the old lady and her cryptic nonsense. The bench creaked as she
stood. “Thanks anyway. I—”
She gasped. Madam Meng had grabbed her hand, and she was staring hard at Rui’s palm.
“I see he has chosen well,” she concluded seconds later. She released Rui, who wiped her hand on her jeans. “But unfortunately,
you need to stop seeing him.”
“Excuse me?”
“I believe I was speaking plainly. I want you to stop seeing my grandson.”
Something lurched viscerally in Rui’s chest. “Stop seeing him? We’re not—” She tried to laugh at the ridiculousness of it
all, but instead she felt pain. “We’re not dating if that’s what you mean. I would never—”
Would you never? whispered a voice in her head. Her cheeks flushed.
Madam Meng’s smile did not reach her eyes. “That makes things easy then. Leave him alone.”
“But I’m not bothering him,” Rui argued. He likes being with me, she thought.
“I want a parting of ways right now, before things progress.”
“You can’t change my mind by rearranging your sentences. Why don’t you want me to see him?”
“You do not need to know.”
“Zizi’s my friend. He saved my life.”
“Friends come and go. Make new ones.”
Rui fumed. “I’m speaking plainly, too. I refuse to stop seeing your grandson. I’m happy with the friends I have now and see
no reason to replace them.”
Madam Meng leaned forward, knuckles white from gripping the table. “Your story will not end well,” she hissed.
Fear inched down Rui’s spine. “What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said. Just as you cannot change fate, I cannot force your actions. Do what you will. Choose your own path
if you wish, but be warned it will be a difficult one.”
Before Rui could respond, Madam Meng rose from her seat and disappeared down the dark aisles.