Peeking
It had to be said—ever since Jun Jiu arrived, Zhao Shuning had been having the time of her life.
Or rather, she’d found a different side of herself in Jun Jiu.
Jun Jiu was a daughter of a rich household: indulged, wilful, but not cruel. In that way she reminded Zhao Shuning of Kong Shishuang back then. If anyone asked why Zhao Shuning was so eager to befriend her, there were two reasons. One: she liked pretty women. Two: she had plans—mischievous ones—that she couldn’t risk carrying out herself. Jun Jiu made a perfect proxy.
During the month the Jun family stayed for the Assembly, Zhao Shuning shadowed her everywhere. Jun Jiu took to her quickly; the more time they spent together, the closer they grew. Jun Jiu even promised, with a flourish, that one day when she returned to Qingyun, she would take Zhao Shuning with her.
Hearing that fearless little declaration made Zhao Shuning beam. Her master had been barely paying her any attention lately; Jun Jiu felt like a breach in the wall.
The thought of her master tightened something in Zhao Shuning’s chest, but Jun Jiu’s company helped. One evening, Jun Jiu nudged her back to the present.
“Hey—what are you thinking about? Remember you promised to take me on something dangerous?”
“Of course I remember. We leave tonight. But you know I’m a disciple at the Assembly; I can’t be seen leading you around to drink and flirt with handsome men. Some things we’ll have to do in secret. And you can’t sell me out when the time comes.”
“Don’t worry, Miss Jiu—loyalty’s my middle name.”
Jun Jiu was the Jun household’s youngest daughter; because of the “nine” in her name everyone called her Miss Jiu. Zhao Shuning had watched her since she arrived. Jun Jiu was about the same age—nineteen, by custom—but smaller-framed, which made her look closer in age to Zhao Shuning. One thing stood out: Jun Jiu loved handsome men.
When Jun Jiu had first seen Zhao Huai in the main hall during a meeting, she’d instantly gone to look for him afterward. She wasn’t the scheming type; she assumed Zhao Huai and the famous beauty Lan Yan were in love and wouldn’t meddle. Each time Jun Jiu sighed that Zhao Huai was “wasted on Lan Yan,” Zhao Shuning wanted to knock some sense into her—what was she thinking?
“Zhao Shuning, I’m bored. Take me out for a walk.”
“I—”
“You can’t say no. I told the elders I’d be with you the whole time I’m at the Assembly. You have to go wherever I want.”
“The elders agreed?”
“Of course.”
Zhao Shuning shrugged and made an exaggerated bow. “My honor. It would be my pleasure.”
Jun Jiu threw her head back and laughed. “Smart girl.”
With the elders’ blessing, they changed into plain clothes and wandered Chang’an with abandon. Two hours later their legs were weary and Jun Jiu was panting. Zhao Shuning steered her to a nearby teahouse.
If they exhausted themselves now, how would they manage tonight? Zhao Shuning still hoped Jun Jiu could help her bridge the gap with her master.
Jun Jiu sipped tea and picked at sweets, but her eyes kept drifting to the street below. After a while she brightened. “Look, Zhao Shuning—look. That man’s not bad.”
Zhao Shuning leaned to the window. The man Jun Jiu had noticed was someone she’d seen once at the black market: Yan Xun. He was handsome, yes, but he rarely showed himself in the open market. Zhao Shuning watched as he cut into the teahouse.
“Bah, nothing to see there,” Jun Jiu said, indifferent, resuming her tea.
Zhao Shuning suddenly clapped a hand to her stomach. “Miss Jiu, my stomach’s bothering me—excuse me, I need to step out.”
“Go on then.”
She dropped her tea and vanished. Jun Jiu chuckled, “People have their emergencies—Zhao Shuning can disappear like that.”
Zhao Shuning followed Yan Xun out the side door. He carried something odd in his hand—an object that looked like a death-mask, all black and hollow-eyes, the kind of thing that conjured underworld kings in one’s mind. A bold guess jumped into her head: could Yan Xun be connected to the Masked Yama?
The black market boss had once told her the masked Yama ran the whole operation. If Yan Xun knew him—if that mask could be on their side—Zhao Shuning’s chances against the Four Great Families would improve immeasurably. She had to meet him.
She kept her distance and followed as he slipped up the teahouse’s narrow stair to a private room. The shadowed doorway should have concealed her, but when she drew near the voice from inside cut through the stairwell.
“Yan Xun—someone followed us. You didn’t notice?”
The tone was low, annoyed.
Yan Xun’s reply trembled. “Master, I’ll deal with her right away.”
“Wait.”
“Master Yama? What is it?”
“Don’t touch her. No one is to harm her. From now on, change your meeting places. This teahouse is no longer safe.”
“Understood, Master.”
A figure moved within and then—nothing. Alarmed, Zhao Shuning burst into the room. It was empty; the teapot on the table still steamed.
She should have been ready for that. The emptiness worried her more than the meeting would have. Someone inside had seen her coming and stopped everything before she even reached the door. They were that sharp.
She went back upstairs, deflated, and found Jun Jiu finishing her pastry. They settled the bill and left. Night had fallen; she had missed the chance of the evening. Whether another would come, she did not know.
Later that night, Zhao Shuning rapped softly on Jun Jiu’s door. Jun Jiu opened it on tiptoe and took her hand; together they slipped out of Yunxiang Pavilion.
“Well?” Jun Jiu whispered.
“Wait till you see what real handsome men look like,” Zhao Shuning grinned.
“What caliber are we talking?”
“One in a million. Buy one, get one free.”
“Enough talk. Let’s go.”