Chapter 7

There were common baths in the guild. And the new recruits were assigned one fixed hour to bathe.

Ying lay curled up on her corner of the raised wooden platform, her face buried against her bundle of clothes. It was the only way she could stay in the dormitory without having to witness the varying states of undress around her. She felt a piece of clothing land across her legs and prayed that it was outerwear and not Chang-en's undergarments.

"Aren't you coming to the baths?" Chang-en asked.

"No," she answered. "I'm not feeling too well. Head hurts."

"Oh. Best get an early night, then. You don't want to be nursing a headache when our lessons start tomorrow. You sure you don't want a bath, though? A good warm soak could help." Chang-en sniffed in the air. "I can't tell whether that smell of sweat is coming from you or me," he joked.

"I'll pass," Ying mumbled, raising her hand and waving him along.

"Suit yourself."

Ying heard the voices of her roommates rumble past and their footsteps slowly recede down the corridor. There was finally peace and quiet. She waited for a while, then tilted her head to briefly open one eye. They were all gone.

She flipped herself upright so she was cross-legged on the platform, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. After Master Gerel's address, some of the senior apprentices had taken the fledglings on a quick tour of the dark, twisty corridors of the guild compound, and by the time they had dinner and returned to the dormitory, it was bath time. One of her roommates had whipped off his waistband in a flourish the moment he stepped into the room, declaring that there was nothing better at the end of a tiring day than a warm scrub of the grime. He had moved with such agility that she had no choice but to catch a good glimpse of his chest of fur.

The thought of it made her feel like retching up her chicken-and-cabbage stew.

Ying lifted her arm and took a whiff, immediately wrinkling her nose in disgust. After spending a whole day with these boys, she smelled as stale as them. The sweat from the morning's arduous stair climb had dried, leaving the fabric on her back stiff and grungy. She needed to find a way to solve the bath problem—but how could she do it without being found out?

Picking herself up off the platform, she poked her head cautiously out into the corridor, emerging only when she was certain there weren't any half-naked stragglers prancing around.

The sprawling compound of the Engineers Guild was structured into four wings—north, south, east, and west—surrounding the main hall situated in the middle. Each wing comprised a series of interconnected courtyards and buildings, linked by narrow corridors and covered walkways, all fashioned out of the same grim stone. Even the gabled roofs of the buildings used dark tiles that were almost obsidian in shade, unlike the emerald green or crimson red favored in other parts of the city. No carvings, no embellishments, no frivolity, as if any fanciful ornamentation would sully the eminence of the guild.

Ying and the other apprentice candidates had been housed in the north wing, along with all the other guild apprentices. The masters had more luxurious and exclusive accommodation in the south wing. Classrooms and workshops were located in the east wing, and the west wing was reserved for guests. The four beiles were occupying rooms in that wing.

Ying took care to take a route that would veer far from the common baths. She did not need to see another man in partial—or worse, complete—undress. Her mother would have been horrified that she was even here, sharing a room with so many boys. Her father would probably have laughed.

A pang struck her heart as the thought floated into her mind. She would never hear her father's laughter again.

Her footsteps slowed out in the open courtyard past the north wing. She lifted her head and looked up at the night sky, clear and shimmering. The northern star blinked back at her, and she imagined it was her father winking from above.

You should still be here, she thought, showing me all this yourself.

In the courtyard, there was a single evergreen Antaran pine planted in the center, its branches and needlelike leaves twisting gracefully toward the heavens. A gust of wind blew past, forcing her to wrap her arms tightly around herself.

There was no cozy fire waiting for her outside her family's ger. No tall tales from her a-ma, no rude interjections from her a-ge, and no whining from her younger siblings clamoring for bed. She wouldn't be falling asleep cuddled beside Nian after coaxing the latter to sleep with the gentle, repetitive stroking of her hair.

She looked at the stars and sighed.

A rattling sound suddenly disrupted the quiet of the night. Ying looked upward.

There was a familiar figure perched on the tiled roof with a jar of wine beside him, the silver embroidery on his black outfit glinting under the moonlight. He was peering down at her, unapologetic about the disturbance.

"What are you doing up there?" Ying exclaimed. Then she quickly brought her fist to her chest and bowed. "I'm sorry, Beile-ye. I didn't mean for it to come out like that."

The corners of Ye-yang's lips twitched. "Do you want to join me?" he asked. "The view from up here is quite spectacular. One of the best in Fei."

Ying hesitated. It was one thing for a beile to be disregarding decorum and drinking on rooftops. It was another for her to join him.

"How did you even get up there?"

The distance between the roof and the ground was at least twice Wen's height from head to toe. If Ye-yang slipped and fell, he would have a few broken bones.

"My qing-gong is quite good," Ye-yang replied.

"What?" Ying yelped. Qing-gong is real? In her mind's eye she imagined Ye-yang leaping across rooftops and flying through forests, lifting high into the air with a delicate tap of his toes against brittle branches.

The village storyteller back in Huarin liked to regale the children with stories from the older dynasties of the Great Jade Empire, where noble swordsmen and elusive assassins would partake in epic battles—mostly while suspended in midair. The term coined to explain the magic behind their gravity-defying acts was "qing-gong," the art of being light as a feather. It had inspired her flying contraptions.

Ye-yang chuckled, and for the first time Ying realized that he had a dimple on his left cheek. "I'm joking," he said. "You don't have to look so scandalized." He gestured to the left, where a bamboo ladder stood leaning against the roof's edge, partially concealed by shadows. "Come up, unless you're scared."

Scared?She leapt off cliffs. A measly roof was nothing compared to that.

Ying never backed down from a challenge. She shoved her fleeting concern about propriety aside and checked the surroundings to make sure there was no one around, then she clambered up the rungs of the ladder. When she came up to his side, she sat herself down and tilted her nose upward with a haughty air.

Ye-yang held out his jar of wine. "Want some?"

Ying grabbed the jar out of his hand and took a quick glug. The pungent fumes of the wine shot right up her nose. She erupted in coughs and splutters.

The young beile threw his head back and laughed, his dimple deepening. When he laughed, he felt less like a beile and more like any regular boy. "Aihui Ying," he said, "I'm beginning to wonder how you were brought up back on Huarin. I thought the women of the grasslands were far less delicate than those from Fei." He took one look at her skinny frame and shook his head. "I guess not."

"I'm not delicate. Even if I was, why does that matter? An engineer uses brain, not brawn," Ying huffed.

"Very true. That explains why the guild masters are mostly shriveled prunes who could be blown away by a strong gust of wind."

"Are you drunk?" Ying asked, eyeing the beile suspiciously. A slight blush was creeping across his tanned cheeks. She squinted into the wine jar. It was almost three-quarters empty.

"Maybe."

"Give me back my fan."

"I'm not that drunk," Ye-yang replied, giving her a sideways glare. He leaned back so he was lying against the tiles of the roof, his head propped by his hands. "It's been a while since I've had someone to drink with. Thank you," he said.

"You're…welcome?" Ying turned and studied Ye-yang curiously. His eyes were lightly shut. The broad smile he had been wearing earlier was gone, and his expression returned to the calmness she was more accustomed to.

Ye-yang was an enigma. A puzzle she hadn't quite figured out. There seemed to be two sides to him, and she couldn't be sure which one was the real one. He was a convergence of youth and authority—a combination that her brother Wen had always yearned for, and one that Ye-yang pulled off effortlessly.

"Do you drink alone often?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Having time to drink is a luxury," he said. "I'm using the guild's trial as an excuse to skive."

Ying followed his lead and lay back against the cold tiles, turning her gaze toward the heavens. The guild compound was situated on high ground, far from the city lights, so from this vantage point the stars seemed innumerable, like fireflies blinking in the darkness.

A-ma, did you once lie here counting the stars too?

"How do you find the guild so far?" Ye-yang asked. "Is it what you imagined?"

The recollection of the first airship hanging in the main hall appeared in Ying's mind, and her eyes glowed with rapture. "It's even better," she said. "This is where it all happened. The greatest feats of engineering in Antaran history. This is where dreams are built."

"Dreams and nightmares are but two sides of the same coin," Ye-yang murmured.

Ying frowned. His words struck a chord inside her, reminding her of the terrible memories of her father's death.

"Beile-ye, what do you know about my father?" she asked. "You said you heard many stories about him."

"It's Ye-yang," he reminded, shooting her a wry glance. "I was only a child when he left Fei, so everything I know comes from my teachers. Your father, Aihui Shan-jin, was a prodigy on a level that had never been seen before in this guild. He was under the tutelage of the then–grand master, Aogiya Rusha. My grandfather." There was a reverence in his voice that she had never heard before, speaking volumes of how much he respected the man.

"The previous grand master was your grandfather?"

"Yes. That was a time from before the nine isles were united, and the Aogiya High Command was just the Aogiya clan of Fei—much like your clan. My grandfather was obsessed with the art of engineering, more so than with running the clan. He was a perfectionist, so I can only imagine how talented your father must have been for my grandfather to have taken him under his wing."

Ying imagined her father in his younger days, walking across these very courtyards, bent over at his workstation, toiling through his intricate sketches and designs. She had never doubted her father's skill—to her, he had always been the sky—but to hear such high praise coming from the lips of so many people still made her swell with pride.

"I remember this one specific story," Ye-yang continued softly, "because it was so incredulous and incredible at the same time. Every year the guild holds a competition for all its apprentices—much like a sparring session of sorts where you get to pit your skills against everyone else. The guild masters set a question, and the apprentices are given a week to construct a solution. That year, the masters' challenge was deceptively simple. To light up the dark. There were many extravagant, complex pieces of work that came out of that—gas lamps that lit up with the crank of a handle, self-kindling flames, even fireflies trapped in orbs of yun-mu. Gerel thought he had the winner. He had created a miniature model of lightning in a jar using a precise combination of kaen gas and powder, and it shone so bright that it blinded everyone present for a good couple of minutes."

"Master Gerel? You mean he was in the guild at the same time as my father?"

Ye-yang nodded. "Gerel and your father were from the same batch of apprentices, but Gerel was taught by Quorin." He returned to the story. "Back then, Gerel thought he had this competition in the bag, but then your father showed up. Late. To add insult to injury, the piece of work he brought along was so simple that it felt like a joke. A throwaway. It was—"

"The octagonal lamp," Ying answered with certainty. "It was the octagonal lamp."

She had grown up with those lamps. To make them, her father would hunch over his workstation for days on end, carefully chiseling sandalwood to carve out images that would adorn each of the eight panels. Each lamp he made told a story—folktales from the village storyteller. He would fix the lamps on stands with a rotating axle, so that when they turned, they cast shadow images onto the white walls of the gers. When Ying was a child, she would be mesmerized by the revolving pictures, listening to her father's mellow voice as he told their stories, then she would slowly fall asleep accompanied by the comforting glow.

"You're right," Ye-yang said with a tinge of surprise. "It wasthe lamp. An ordinary lamp that any street carpenter could have made, not a masterpiece of engineering. But your father was unanimously declared the winner that day, because—"

"?‘A lamp can light up the darkness around you, but a story lights up the darkness within.'?" Those had been her father's own words. "It wasn't just an ordinary lamp," Ying said quietly.

Those were the most special lamps in the entire world. Especially the one that her a-ma had made for her e-niye. She remembered badgering him to tell her about their story time and time again. She never got tired of listening to how her father and mother met and fell in love.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to remind you of sad memories," Ye-yang said when he noticed the glistening in her eyes.

"No." Ying rubbed her eyes vigorously. "It's all right. Thank you for telling me that story." Another new leaf in her father's book that she hadn't known.

She let the story steep, but as she did she recalled Gerel's expression earlier in the day, when her identity as an Aihui had been revealed in front of everyone. A flame of suspicion flickered through her mind.

"Master Gerel—were he and my father on bad terms?" The question spilled out of her before she could stop herself.

The beile shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't know. Gerel had high hopes of becoming my grandfather's apprentice. He must have been bitter when he lost out to your father." He pursed his lips as he stared up at the skies, as if he could see the complex web of Antaran clan politics mapped in the stars. "Gerel comes from the Niohuru clan. I'm sure you know what that means."

The Niohurus were an old and well-established noble lineage in the Antaran territories, comparable to the Ula clan. Niohuru men had occupied high official positions for generations, while Niohuru women often married into power, becoming principal wives of other clan chieftains. Her fellow apprentice An-xi was from this clan, a nephew to the High Commander's fifth concubine.

In comparison, the Aihuis were dirt on someone's shoe. Ying's ancestors were born and bred on Huarin, the least consequential of the nine isles, and had no illustrious achievements to their name. It was no wonder Gerel was peeved when someone like her father pipped him to the position of Aogiya Rusha's apprentice.

But was it enough to push him to murder? Or even be an accomplice in it?

The suspicion inside Ying started to grow, sinking roots in the crevices of her mind.

"You know, you could visit the guild archives to discover more. Every single member of the guild has to keep detailed records of the work that they do. I expect your father's journals would also be there." Ye-yang took a swig of wine from the jar, and Ying flushed as she watched him lick the remnants off his glistening lips.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she quickly turned away.

Stop being embarrassing, Aihui Ying!

It wasn't as if she hadn't drunk wine with a boy before. Communal drinking was a common feature of celebrations on the grasslands. The alcohol must be messing with her mind. It tasted far more potent than what she had drunk back home.

"Try to stay away from Arban." Ye-yang changed the topic. "His kind are not difficult to figure out, but he'll keep trying to provoke you if you get close. As for the others…" He paused. "It's best to be cautious when interacting with them. Those who appear friendly are often the ones you should be most wary of."

Ying turned back and studied Ye-yang's side profile closely, her eyes tracing the elegant angle of his sharp nose bridge. "We must be about the same age, right?" she asked.

"I was born in the year of the Dragon."

"You're only one year older!" Ying exclaimed. "So why is it that you always speak as if you're a doddering old man who's experienced all the hardships of life?" It was definitely the wine doing the talking now.

Ye-yang turned toward her, and the closeness of those smiling gray eyes abruptly shook her out of her daze. His warm breath tickled her cheek, contrasting sharply against the cold night air. Her throat clenched. What had she just said? Had she called the fourth beile a doddering old man? And since when was he so close?

Ying shot right up, back stiff as a washboard.

"I'm sorry, Beile-ye, I don't know what came over me," she rattled.

To her relief, Ye-yang didn't explode in fury and order her beheaded. Instead, he picked up his wine jar and finished the rest of it in a series of gulps.

"Be glad that you haven't experienced enough to become like me, then," he replied.

Ye-yang didn't nag any further, and Ying didn't dare say anything, in case her loose tongue got her into real trouble. He lay there while she sat beside him, both of them quietly admiring the serenity of the night view. It almost felt like being back on Huarin again, with the grass beneath her back and the sky as her blanket.

A chilly breeze blew past and Ying sneezed loudly.

"I find nights in Fei tend to be the coldest, even when I am surrounded by many," Ye-yang remarked. "We should head back down."

Ying nodded. She rubbed the tip of her nose with her index finger, a habit that she had developed as a child. Picking herself up off the tiles, she followed behind Ye-yang as he headed back toward the ladder.

"What are you doing wandering about the guild at this hour anyway?" Ye-yang asked.

"It's bathing hour. The others have gone to the common baths— Ah! Can I ask you for a favor, Beile-ye?" It was a brazen request, but it was the only solution she could think of. Since he knew that she was a girl—and was obliged to help her protect that identity—Ye-yang might be more amenable to her suggestion.

"You want to borrow my private bathing quarters," Ye-yang answered on her behalf.

"How did you know?!"

Could he read her mind? That would be terribly dangerous.

She watched as a furrow appeared between the beile's brows and the regret immediately set in. She had to stop forgetting that Ye-yang was a beile—someone who could crush her like a fly with the snap of his fingers.

Run away, Ying, just run away.Then feign ignorance tomorrow.

She rushed for the ladder, but in her haste, the tip of her left boot caught itself between the roof tiles. Her center of gravity shifted, and her entire body lurched sideways, threatening to send her hurtling off the rooftop.

"Ying!"

Ye-yang was in front of her in a flash, his arm catching her around the waist. Still, it wasn't in time to pull her back onto the roof. Instead, the momentum swept both of them off, and Ying shut her eyes tightly to brace for the impact. To her surprise, it never came. Instead, her body experienced a brief sensation of weightlessness—of flight—and then they landed gently on the ground below, feetfirst.

Her eyes flew open.

Qing-gong?Maybe what he said earlier hadn't been a joke.

Then she realized that her arms were circled around his neck, and her cheek was pressed tightly against his sturdy chest. Flustered, she released him and backed away. She bowed her head, hoping that the shadows would hide the furious blush spreading across her cheeks.

It was the second time now. She had to stop letting him catch her when she fell, else it might become a habit.

Ye-yang cleared his throat. "About the bathing quarters," he started, continuing their earlier conversation as if the interlude hadn't happened, "make sure you scrub it well. I don't want to see a layer of grime anywhere."

Wait, what?

Did that mean yes? Ying could hardly believe her luck.

She looked up to say thank you, but somehow Ye-yang had already vanished, his shadow disappearing a little too quickly through the nearby archway. A tiny smile curved upon her face.

Maybe she wasn't the only embarrassed one after all.