Zhao Shuning opened her eyes slowly.
When she took in her surroundings, she couldn’t help but cover her mouth in delight, a soft gasp escaping her. This place—was breathtaking. Like something out of a fairy tale.
As far as she could see, peach trees stretched to the horizon. Their branches were heavy with pale pink blossoms, and a faint, sweet perfume rode on the breeze. She raised her hand and watched the sun hang in the sky between her fingers; the warmth felt utterly real.
“Where is this?” she whispered.
Now that she was an Eight-Aspect Spirit Apothecary, illusion and reality were easier for her to tell apart. This felt real.
Behind her, Yan Ruyu slid his arm about her waist. His hold was gentle. Her body, she thought, was so soft beneath him. She pressed her face into his hair; the scent there was unique and intoxicating.
“This is where I grew up,” he said.
Zhao turned. Yan’s eyes were a clear, startling blue. The moment they met, the air between them shifted.
“Buran,” she said—using the name she reserved for him—“you never told me about this place.”
Yan smiled, then leaned in and brushed his lips once against hers—quick, tender, and gone.
“This is the Glamour Grove,” he said. “My mother’s home. It’s also where my father and mother first fell in love.”
It really was beautiful. Everywhere Zhao looked there were seas of peach blossoms. Hand in hand, Yan led her through groves of pear trees, rice-leaning bamboos, and fragrant peach alleys until they came to a high pavilion where four women sat in stately discussion. They seemed to be in conference; the arrival of the two of them had not been noticed.
The four women were strikingly beautiful. Yan introduced them in turn: Lady You—the foremost among the fairies—then the Peach Blossom Lady, the Pear Blossom Lady, and the Mistress of the Bamboo Garden. Zhao murmured, “They look every inch like immortals.”
Yan chuckled. Time in this plane moved slow and gentle; here, things kept their ease.
“Actually,” he said, “their mothers a few centuries back were even more stunning.”
Below, the clan elders were debating taxes between the Glamour Grove and the Yun Kingdom. The talk, the sound, began to lull at Zhao’s ears; she felt her eyelids grow heavy. She closed her eyes, intending only to rest a moment.
Yan hadn’t been back to this place in a long time. His mind was on the affairs of the Yun Kingdom, and he didn’t notice Zhao drifting off. He certainly didn’t expect her to doze and fall from the pavilion’s edge.
She tumbled.
Yan’s chest tightened. In an instant he blinked and was below the pavilion, catching her precisely as she fell.
The jolt of the drop woke her fully. She blinked, heart racing, and glanced around. The situation was awkward—no, worse than awkward. There were easily a hundred faces turned toward them, every one of them frozen in surprise.
Zhao’s heat rose; she buried her face against Yan’s chest and mumbled, “Buran—what do we do?”
Yan gently set her down. The onlookers were dumbstruck, and because Yan had his back to the four seated women, they could not see the blue-clad man who had appeared from the air with Zhao.
The woman in charge was the first to recover. She rose at once. “Who are you?” she demanded. “How dare you trespass into the sacred Grove. How did you even get through the Poisonous Marsh?”
Zhao tucked her chin and whispered, “What do we do? We were caught eavesdropping.”
This was not Zhao’s territory; it was Buran’s home. She dared not be presumptuous.
Yan answered softly, “It’s nothing—I'm here.”
He turned, and the crowd fell silent.
His eyes were the color of ice, his face pale as snow. A mane of dark hair framed those precise, carved features; when he appeared in the center of the pavilion, everyone inhaled as if struck by lightning.
Then a voice called from behind him—a warm, magnetically calm voice. “Lady You, is something the matter?”
The speaker was a man. He sounded gentle and respectful. Lady You explained hurriedly, “Master, we gathered the elders today to discuss Yun Kingdom taxes. Just as we were reaching a decisive point, two people fell from the sky.”
The man remained composed. He bowed politely to Yan and Zhao. “Do you two have urgent business in the Glamour Grove?”
When his eyes caught Yan’s, they reddened instantly, as if something painful had surfaced. Zhao peered through her fingers and whispered, “Should we be worried? He looks like he might devour someone.”
Yan drew Zhao close and said quietly, “Xiao Jin—this is your third sister-in-law.”
“Third sister-in-law?” Zhao stammered. “Wait—no, Buran, say something!”
The man before them, despite his shock, kept his courtesy and bent his knee. “Feng Jin pays his respects to Third Sister-in-law.”
Zhao sputtered a few expletives in surprise—the wordless, stunned sort. The grove’s people, seeing Feng Jin bow, promptly dropped to their knees as well. Feng Jin’s reputation preceded him; he was of the Feng household, and within the Glamour Grove the clan never disturbed him lightly.
His mother, Yu Ge, had once been the Grove’s famed enchantress. Though she had long since passed, her influence persisted through the generations in the Feng family’s authority. Yu Ge had once been bound by fate to the Yun Kingdom’s emperor, Feng Qingchen, and had borne four children—each remarkable. Three of them later vanished under strange circumstances, but the youngest, Feng Jin, had remained. The Yun Kingdom might not officially be ruled by Feng Jin now, but the Feng family still held great sway.
Yan smiled as Zhao stood frozen and red-faced. “Ning’er, let me introduce him properly. This is Feng Jin—the youngest of the Fengs.”
Zhao blinked and, out of reflex, asked, “Your younger brother?”
Yan nodded.
Zhao swallowed. She had to hand it to his parents—whatever they were, they’d produced prodigies. Every person she’d seen so far in this family could stop the world with a look. She wondered what talents this Feng Jin possessed.
Apparently Feng Jin could read her mind; he gave her a small, rueful smile. “You don’t need to inspect me so closely, Third Sister-in-law. I’m nothing like my siblings—quite ordinary. I have no extraordinary talents.”
Yan interjected, “Xiao Jin excels at governance in ways the three of us could never match.”
Feng Jin’s eyes brimmed, suddenly wet. After sending the kneeling clan members away, he stepped to Yan’s side. His face was softened now by sorrowful concern.
“Third Brother,” he said quietly, voice thick—“your hair?”