No one understood why Jiang Chen had given away his Trial merit. No one but Ling Chuan. And no one interfered.
Jiang Chen owed no one anything. He was responsible to no one but Jiang An'an.
Still, talking with Zhao Yan, he felt he owed an apology: "Ruchen — I meant to help you toward your Meridian-Opening Pill first, but..."
Zhao Yan laughed out loud: "There are too many hard people in this world for you to help them all."
"I've no great ambition to save the world. But when something walks into your face, you can't look away. You didn't see their red eyes. Men who don't flinch when they bleed..." Jiang Chen sighed. "It reminded me of the seniors, after Little Grove Town, who locked themselves in their rooms and cried."
"My third brother! I wish you had some grand ambition." Zhao Yan's voice was half-joking, half-sincere. "One bleeding-heart like the big brother is enough."
Jiang Chen was quiet for a moment. "I just want you to know. It wasn't that I didn't care about your future. I went soft in the moment. We brothers earn merit fast when we work together. The people of Three Mountain City — they don't have that much time."
Zhao Yan studied him. "Then hear this: I really don't need it."
"Your talent is too good to waste."
"What's fun is always tied to waste." Zhao Yan grinned. "Is buying a smile with a thousand gold a waste? It makes me happy. Is idling away the hours a waste? It makes me happy. I have money. I have talent. So what? Wasting them is exactly what makes me happy!"
"...That's the sort of talk that would get you a lecture from the big brother."
"Hahaha! That's why the moment he starts, I say 'I'm going home to train!' and run."
Laughing, they walked past the academy gate.
A shirtless man hung in midair above the jade lion by the entrance. His wrists were bound to a branch of a strange tree growing out of the courtyard wall — a tree made of art, without question.
His head hung low, long hair loose. His skin was pale, thin, short on muscle.
A board hung around his neck: "Betrayed his master and his ancestors. Unforgivable. Three days in the wind, as a warning."
Jiang Chen looked closer. Then recognized him.
It was Huang Azhan.
"What happened to him?" Jiang Chen asked Zhao Yan.
Zhao Yan was holding in laughter: "Last night he put on a mask and went to smash Ironface Xiao's door. Got caught red-handed. This is his live demonstration of the wages of betraying one's master."
"Why would he do that? Of all people, Ironface Xiao?" Jiang Chen was genuinely baffled.
Three things you did not touch in Maple City Academy: Ironface Xiao of the arts faculty, the man who ran the mess hall, and Dean Dong in the morning.
Dean Dong's temper was at its worst at dawn, everyone knew; that was the hour you steered clear.
The academy mess hall had fine food, better than most restaurants. The catch: you ate what the cook felt like making. His tyranny was legendary, and so was his untouchability.
Ironface Xiao ranked first of the three. That told you the shadow he cast over the student body.
And Huang Azhan had reached out and grabbed the tiger by the tail. There was no other word for it: pure, spectacular nerve.
"Hahaha!" Zhao Yan laughed. "Remember when we were assigned to host the Three Mountain cultivators? A teacher said Huang Azhan's image wasn't good enough to lead, so Ling Chuan led instead. That teacher was Ironface Xiao. After the trial, Huang Azhan stewed, had some wine last night, and decided to show Xiao what color he was."
Jiang Chen: "..."
The man had a death wish.
Huang Azhan had hung his head, hair in his face, hoping to be unrecognizable. But Zhao Yan's commentary was loud, and his laughter joyful.
The anger built inside Huang Azhan, word by word.
"Brother Ruchen." Hanging there limited his options, but he flung his hair back and produced a face of pure charm. "Do a brother a favor."
"Sure thing!" Zhao Yan beamed. Then turned. "Ah — I just remembered something important!"
He hurried off, fast.
Huang Azhan bared his teeth. Slowly, he turned to Jiang Chen.
Jiang Chen pointed after Zhao Yan. "I'd better see what he needs."
And he was gone too.
Neither of them had to guess what Huang Azhan wanted. But they would not have dared cut down a man Ironface Xiao had hung. Huang Azhan had plenty of friends, supposedly. Not one of them was in sight. They were not even coming through the main gate for the next few days.
...
Zhao Yan had not lied about the important thing.
Today was the twelfth of the tenth month. The day after the trial. Jiang An'an's birthday.
Jiang Chen had been preparing for weeks.
White-cut mutton and mutton soup from Cai's shop. Pastries from Guixiang Bakery. Du Dewang's charcoal hotpot. All ordered days ago, to be delivered to the house.
He had gone to the market at dawn and bought fresh ingredients, ready to cook a feast for his sister — a secret he guarded fiercely from Zhao Yan's rescue attempts.
Ling Chuan had slipped out of the city last night, mysteriously, promising a surprise for An'an.
Zhao Yan had commissioned new clothes from the Yunxiang Studio and was fetching them now.
Jiang Chen told no one else, to spare them the pressure of gift-buying.
Huang Azhan, he might have invited — An'an knew him well. But Huang Azhan hanging from a tree was entertainment in itself.
Everything was ready. It only waited for An'an to leave the schoolhouse.
Jiang Chen checked the time and split from Zhao Yan, walking alone toward the Hall of Bright Virtue. He would pick An'an up, and if she had a friend she loved — that quiet girl Qingzhi, say — he would bring her home too.
Today was Jiang An'an's birthday. Her first birthday without her mother.
It was also, in a way, the summing-up of everything these days with her had been.
He would make it a day of pure joy, without a single worry in it.
This, above everything else, was what mattered to him now.
...
Zhao Yan arrived at the Jiang house on Flying Horse Lane with a box of complete outfits from the Yunxiang Studio under one arm and an ornate gift case in the other hand. Inside the case: a smoke jade, fine artifact material, warming to the blood when worn.
The clothes were expensive. The smoke jade was priceless. To Zhao Yan, money was never the point.
The gate was shut. Zhao Yan shrugged, vaulted the wall, left the gifts, and settled into a lounge chair in the yard, perfectly content.
A while later Ling Chuan came running up, breathless, mud still on his robes.
He carried a great turtle, three hundred years old at least.
It had terrorized the Green Willow River for years. Ling Chuan had spotted it long ago, but it had taken him this much effort to catch it. A gift for An'an — turtles bring long life.
And if she did not believe it, turtle soup was a fine tonic besides.
Ling Chuan was the obedient sort. Seeing the gate locked, he prepared to wait outside.
Zhao Yan heard him, broke the lock from inside, and let him in.
Then the mutton arrived. The hotpot arrived. The pastries arrived.
Time slipped by.
At last, Jiang An'an came home. She found the lock broken.
She pushed the gate open, and saw the table full of food in the yard, and Ling Chuan and Zhao Yan, gifts in hand.
"Where's your brother?" Ling Chuan asked.
"Where's my brother?" Jiang An'an asked.
In unison.
...
It was Jiang An'an's birthday.
Ling Chuan and Zhao Yan had come with gifts.
Jiang An'an had come home.
Jiang Chen had not.