Voices from onstage and backstage drifted through the hall.
Zhao Huai had to let go of Zhao Shuning’s hand.
“You wait here for me, Sister. I’ll be back soon.”
“All right. Don’t worry—I'm not a child anymore. I can take care of myself.”
He nodded and, with Lan Anran, disappeared backstage.
Only Fu Nian remained on the stage. He announced the selection results, spouted a few lofty-sounding platitudes, then ordered the Sect’s disciples to escort everyone out. The enormous hall emptied until only the ten who had advanced remained. The disciples told them to wait where they were.
Zhao Shuning stayed in her seat, obviously in high spirits. She had known Zhao Huai wasn’t ordinary ever since they were children; she had fretted over his strange condition more than once. Seeing him now—composed, dignified—filled her with a joy she could hardly hide.
Lan Yan watched Zhao Shuning for a moment, then sauntered over.
Zhao Shuning was still smiling when she noticed the newcomer; then her heart gave a sudden jolt and the snacks in her hands lost their appeal. That voice…it sounded so familiar. Could it be—Master’s voice? And he sounded upset.
Zhao Shuning was about to set her seeds down and slip backstage to look when Lan Yan was suddenly standing right in front of her.
“You need something?” Lan Yan offered her hand with an easy smile. “Miss Zhao, I’m Lan Yan.”
“I know,” Zhao Shuning replied.
“Lan, the great beauty—up close, you’re even more beautiful.”
At first Lan Yan hadn’t thought much of Zhao Shuning; if anything, she’d felt the girl had stolen some of her glow. She’d expected Zhao Shuning to be aloof in return. But the response she got wasn’t what she’d imagined.
“Lan, the great beauty—what brings you to me?” Zhao Shuning teased, half mockery, half admiration. Lan Yan hesitated, suddenly at a loss for words.
“If I were a man,” Zhao Shuning went on, grinning, “you’d have me helplessly enchanted.”
That made Lan Yan flush. Ridiculous—how could a few easy words set her heart racing like this? She found herself unable to speak coherently for a beat.
“I—I’d like to be your friend,” Lan Yan said at last, her voice a little softer.
“Of course,” Zhao Shuning said, taking Lan Yan’s slim hand without hesitation. “It would be an honor to be friends with someone so lovely.”
Zhao Shuning’s circle was mostly women—Lingsese, Shuang’er, Kong Shishuang, later Gong Xiaotang—girls who liked her frankness and who she took care of in her own blunt, protective way. People whispered that she was ruthless for her age, that so many had fallen by her hand. But only she knew that it wasn’t cruelty that drove her. Mercy had once nearly cost her everything. If she did not strike decisively, she and those she loved could be slaughtered without pity. Letting enemies live was sometimes the cruelest thing imaginable.
“You’re a woman after my own heart,” Zhao Shuning said. “If you want friends, you’ve got one.”
“Are you…Brother Zhao’s?” Lan Yan asked, curious.
“His sister.”
“Your real sister?”
“Closer than that,” Zhao Shuning laughed. “We grew up together. He’s gentle, soft-spoken—always has been.”
“Is that so?” Lan Yan said, but she’d had a different impression. Zhao Huai might appear refined and mild, yet his eyes could be ice-sharp under the calm. Still, she found herself deflecting. “I admire Brother Zhao’s skill. That’s all.”
Zhao Shuning nudged her. “So you like him, then? If you think he’s worth knowing, you’re welcome to take a shot. He’s harmless—no tricks.”
For Zhao Shuning, Lan Yan seemed the perfect match for her brother: genteel, well-mannered, talented in the arts and spirit power, and a rare kind of beauty. Zhao Huai’s warmth would suit a girl like her.
“No, Miss Zhao—don’t say that,” Lan Yan stammered. “I only meant I have much to learn from him.”
“You should ask him for advice, then,” Zhao Shuning suggested. “I’d heard of Lord Lan long before I came to Chang’an. Why not go to your brother and learn?”
Lan Yan faltered, losing her train of thought. Zhao Shuning stood up. “I have to check something backstage. Would you mind standing aside for a moment?”
Before she could move, the Sect’s disciples returned. Zhao Shuning’s plan to slip backstage vanished. “Everyone, please come this way,” the disciples called.
Being familiar with the Sect, Zhao Shuning followed naturally, not gawking like the newcomers who were wide-eyed and excited.
“Hey, little miss—stick close. This place is huge. Don’t get lost,” a disciple warned.
Lan Yan grasped Zhao Shuning’s hand with a sudden warmth. “You come with me.” Her friendliness was, in large part, because of Zhao Huai—she wanted to stay close to where he might appear.
Backstage, Zhao Huai and Lan Anran found a colder scene: the stern-featured Yan Ruyu, and beside him a rakish, devil-may-care young gentleman who wore his beauty like a challenge.