Chương 88: Kim Yuna

Massachusetts Leo guided his Moonrider over the Massachusetts countryside, the prom venue coming into view ahead. The New England Botanic Garden at Tower Hill sprawled across rolling hills, its glass conservatories glowing like lanterns against the darkening sky. Torches lined the pathways between hedgerows, and the Wachusett Reservoir stretched beyond, black water reflecting the first stars of twilight.

He descended toward the designated landing zone, a cordoned section of the north parking lot where a harried faculty member directed traffic. A Lamborghini Immortale circled for approach beside him, its cultivation engine humming as the sleek black vehicle drifted through the air on golden formation arrays. The young master driving the cultivation car glanced over at the Moonrider. His jaw tightened. His date, a girl in an emerald gown, kept her eyes fixed forward, studying her nails with sudden intense interest.

Leo touched down first and stored his Moonrider in his Dantian. The Lamborghini landed a moment later, its doors lifting upward like wings. The conservatory rose ahead, the Italian-style glass walls revealing the warm glow within. Through the panes, Leo could see citrus trees strung with lights, their branches heavy with fruit. Students in formal wear drifted between cocktail tables, their laughter carrying through the evening air. Tom Wheeler stood at the entrance, broad shoulders filling out a charcoal suit.

He spotted Leo and waved.

"There he is!" Tom called out.

"The man of the hour!" Security flanked the entrance, two Gold Core cultivators in discreet black suits. They straightened as Leo approached, then relaxed. One of them, a woman with silver streaks in her dark hair, smiled.

"Mr. Chen," she said, nodding.

"Enjoy your evening." The other guard, a heavyset man, waved Leo through with a knowing look. Leo passed through the doors and into the Limonaia, the main reception hall. The Italian-style conservatory wrapped around him with the scent of citrus and champagne. Lemon trees reached toward the glass ceiling, their branches wound with strings of soft white lights. Tom fell into step beside him, giving Leo's outfit an appraising look.

"Nice suit." Tom circled him slowly, taking in the details.

"Is that Versace?" Leo shrugged.

"I have no idea."

"You have no idea what you're wearing?"

"Kim Yuna made me fly to New York." Leo tugged at his collar, which fit perfectly despite his instinct to adjust it.

"Some building on Fifth Avenue. There was a man there. Very opinionated." Tom raised an eyebrow.

"Opinionated how?"

"He made me stand on a platform for hours." Leo's eye twitched at the memory.

"He kept walking around me with measuring tape, making disappointed sounds. Then he said my shoulders were acceptable but my posture was a tragedy. He made me do wall sits while he took measurements."

"Wall sits?"

"He said if I was going to waste my body's potential, I could at least suffer for his art." Leo rolled his shoulders, which admittedly did feel good in this jacket.

"Then he brought out fabric samples. Forty-seven fabric samples. He held each one against my face and sighed. Thirty-nine sighs. I counted." Tom was trying very hard not to laugh.

"Then came the buttons." Leo's voice went flat.

"He spent an hour on buttons. An hour. He said the wrong button could betray a man's entire immortal potential."

"And the right button?"

"Apparently these." Leo gestured vaguely at his jacket.

"They're bone. From something. He told me what, but I'd stopped listening long before that."

"Well." Tom clapped him on the shoulder.

"He did a great job. You look like a young master."

"I still feel like myself."

"You look like a million bucks." Leo looked down at himself. He sighed.

"I just wish there was a better way to show my insignia," Leo said.

"I wanted to wear my cap. The one with the crossed arrows. He refused."

"Your baseball cap?"

"He said baseball caps were a crime against civilization." Leo scowled.

"His exact words. A crime against civilization. Then I suggested embroidering the insignia on the jacket, maybe on the lapel or the breast pocket. Something subtle."

"What did he say?"

"He said if I wanted to look like a walking advertisement, I should have gone to a department store." Leo's scowl deepened.

"Then he suggested I get the insignia tattooed on my forehead so everyone could see it at all times." Tom snorted.

"The only thing he agreed to was this." Leo pointed at his breast pocket. A silk pocket square peeked out, folded into precise peaks. The fabric was navy blue, and embroidered in gold thread, visible only if you looked closely, were crossed arrows.

"That's actually pretty classy."

"Half the time it slips down." Leo demonstrated, nudging the pocket square with his finger. It immediately began to slide beneath the pocket's edge, hiding the insignia entirely.

"See? It's like he knew. Like he designed it specifically to keep the insignia hidden." Tom laughed, full and genuine, and patted Leo on the shoulder.

"It's okay. Everyone knows who you are. Everyone knows what you accomplished."

"Easy for you to say." Leo's gaze dropped to Tom's wrist. The Jacob & Co. Heavenly Tribulation Lightning gleamed under the conservatory lights, tiny bolts of electricity dancing across the dial.

"I should have gotten a watch," Leo said.

"Next time." Tom adjusted his cuff so the watch caught even more light.

"I'm sure you'll be back in the Catacombs soon enough. Collect a few more Nascent Soul kills. Speaking of which, a few of my uncles have been asking when you're going to form another team. They want in on the next hunt." Leo looked at Tom.

"You guys are really eager to go back? Even after homecoming?" Tom smiled, slow and satisfied. He let the watch turn in the light, catching the attention of a group of students nearby. One of them, a boy in a navy suit, pointed at the watch, then at Leo, then made a phone gesture with his hand. Call me. Tom leaned close to Leo and dropped his voice to a whisper.

"Birds die for food. People die for greed." His smile widened.

"Every time I look at this watch, I think about how worth it everything was." Leo pushed Tom's arm away, deliberately ignoring the lightning dancing across the watch face.

"Speaking of food. What do we have here?"

"Oh, you're in luck." Tom's attention shifted at once.

"Lots of good stuff. Follow me." He led Leo deeper into the Limonaia, past cocktail tables ringed by students in silks and suits. Waiters in white jackets circulated through the crowd, silver trays balanced on their palms. Each tray held a different arrangement of small, delectable bites.

"Here's something I learned from Uncle Ray," Tom said, snagging something that looked like a flower made of tuna from a passing tray.

"Always sample one of everything. Hors d'oeuvres are small. They're limited. Miss one and you miss your opportunity forever." Leo grabbed a passing bite, something involving cucumber and cream, and ate it without really tasting it.

"The key is to identify the expensive ones," Tom continued.

"The good stuff always comes out first, when the important people are still arriving. Later in the night, they switch to cheaper options. Volume over quality. Classic event catering move." This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. Tom stopped mid-stride. His head turned toward the kitchen doors like a hunting dog catching a scent.

"There." He was already moving. Leo followed. A waiter had just emerged from the kitchen, bearing a silver tray with careful reverence. The tray held small rounds of something, each topped with a glistening mound of black pearls. Caviar. Tom intercepted the waiter with practiced ease, inserting himself into the man's path with a warm smile.

"Osetra?" Tom asked, already reaching for the tray. The waiter beamed.

"T2 spiritual osetra, sir. From cultivated sturgeon raised in Siberia." Tom's eyes went wide. He grabbed two blinis without asking permission, one in each hand.

"Leo. Get two." Leo reached for the tray. The waiter's smile flickered.

"Sir, we're trying to ensure all guests have an opportunity to..." Tom directed the waiter's attention to Leo's breast pocket. The pocket square had slipped again, but the golden crossed arrows were still partially visible. The waiter's eyes widened. His smile returned, broader than before.

"Of course, sir. Please, take as many as you'd like." Leo took two blinis. The waiter bowed slightly and continued his circuit, though he glanced back at Leo over his shoulder. The blini was delicate, a buckwheat round no larger than a coin. The crème fraîche formed a cloud beneath the caviar, which sat in a perfect black dome. Each egg glistened like a tiny pearl. Leo placed the entire thing in his mouth. The caviar popped against his tongue, releasing a rush of salt and sea and something else.

Spiritual energy threaded through the flavor like lightning through clouds. The crème fraîche was cool and rich, balancing the bright ocean taste. The blini added texture, a slight chew that made each bite feel substantial. Leo stood very still.

"Good, right?" Tom watched him with a knowing grin.

"That's..." Leo looked at his second blini.

"That's incredible."

"The spiritual osetra hits different." Tom popped his second blini.

"The Qi enhancement during cultivation concentrates the flavor compounds. Something about the sturgeon's spiritual refinement affecting the egg membranes." Leo snagged a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and took a sip to wash down the richness. The bubbles fizzed against his tongue, bright and crisp and... completely devoid of alcohol. He looked at the glass.

"Non-alcoholic," Tom said, without glancing over.

"No fun allowed at official school events." Leo set the glass aside and turned his attention back to the food. He ate his second blini more slowly, trying to appreciate each element. It was gone too quickly.

"Is there more stuff like this?" Leo scanned the room, suddenly invested in the hors d'oeuvres circuit.

"Foie gras? Wagyu?" Tom grinned.

"You learn fast. Let's go hunting." The waiter, still within earshot, helpfully called back: "The wagyu skewers are being served near the Moonpetal Orchid display. The foie gras torchon is by the eastern terrace." Tom was already walking. Leo fell into step beside him. They found the wagyu near the Moonpetal Orchid display, the A5 beef dissolving on Leo's tongue like butter. The foie gras torchon by the terrace was even better.

They continued their circuit through truffle arancini and lobster medallions until, near the hamachi station, they got separated. Leo had paused to examine a display of Soldiers' Roses, the cultivar that changed color based on nearby emotions. The flowers were mostly white at the moment, peaceful, but occasionally a bloom would flush pink or deepen to a soft lavender as students passed. When he turned back, Tom was gone. Leo scanned the crowd. Silk gowns and tailored suits blurred together. Someone laughed.

A camera flashed. The string quartet had shifted to something slower, more romantic. He drifted toward the edge of the room, where the crowd thinned. Here, near the glass walls, the cultivated plants were more exotic. Spirit Grass from the Sichuan highlands. And more Moonpetal Orchids, their white petals luminous in the darkening evening. Leo stopped to admire them. The orchids pulsed gently, like breathing, their light waxing and waning in a slow rhythm.

This close, he could feel their spiritual energy, faint but pure, a clean frequency that resonated with something in his cultivation base.

"There you are." The voice came from behind him, soft and warm. Leo turned. Kim Yuna stood three feet away. Her dress was pale blue, the fabric flowing like water with every breath. The cut was elegant, a modified hanbok silhouette with modern tailoring that hugged her waist before cascading to the floor. Her hair was pinned up with diamonds, leaving her neck bare save for a delicate silver chain at her collarbone. Her makeup was soft, her lips a gentle pink that matched the flush of her cheeks.

She smiled, warmth in her eyes.

"I asked the student council to keep this corner quiet," she said, stepping closer. One of her hairpins caught the light, sending a rainbow across the nearest orchid.

"The Moonpetal Orchids are at their brightest right now. They'll fade in an hour." Her voice softened.

"I wanted to enjoy them with you." She reached out and straightened his pocket square, which had predictably slipped below the pocket's edge. Her fingers were gentle, precise.

"It keeps doing that," Leo said.

"I know. I came prepared." From somewhere in the folds of her dress, she produced a small boutonniere: a single white orchid, its petals faintly luminous. She pinned it to his lapel.

"There." She smoothed the fabric once, twice.

"Now it stays, and you have a flower." She stepped back and looked at him properly. Her eyes moved across the suit, the tie, the way the fabric sat on his shoulders. Her smile widened.

"You look wonderful," she said.

"Mario did exactly what I asked."

"Was that his name? He never told me."

"He's very particular about his clients." She reached up and adjusted his collar affectionately.

"But he called me afterward. He said you have good bones. And that your patience was acceptable."

"I did wall sits for forty-five minutes."

"I know. He was amused." Her hand lingered on his lapel.

"It was supposed to be a joke."

"I was too confused to complain." She laughed, soft and genuine. The nearby Soldiers' Roses shifted to a warm pink.

"Come," she said, slipping her hand into his. Her fingers were warm.

"Walk with me. I want to show you the view from the terrace before everyone else discovers it." She led him toward the glass doors, past students who parted for them without being asked. A few waved. A few stared. Kim Yuna acknowledged each with a polite nod, but she kept walking, her hand tucked in Leo's. They stepped onto the stone balcony. The reservoir stretched below, black water reflecting the rising moon.

The air was cool after the warmth of the conservatory, carrying the scent of night-blooming flowers and distant pine. Kim Yuna leaned against the railing and looked up at him.

"I'm glad you're here," she said simply. Leo looked at her. At the moonlight in her hair. At the orchids glowing through the glass behind her. At the careful way she had arranged this moment, this view, this quiet space away from the crowd.

"I barely even know you," Leo said.

"The only thing we've shared is a kiss in the middle of a battle and a fake photoshoot. This whole relationship feels forced." He turned back to her.

"What do you actually want with me?" She was quiet for a moment. The Moonpetal Orchids pulsed gently around them.

"Maybe I'm just a girl who wants to go to prom with a boy she likes." Leo stared at her.

"Or maybe you're a fun mistake," she continued, a hint of mischief in her voice.

"Youthful indiscretion. Something to scandalize the family."

"Which is it?" She smiled, both dimples showing.

"I'll let you know when I figure it out." Before Leo could respond, she took his hand and pulled him back toward the conservatory.

"Come," she said.

"They should be playing a slow song soon." The Orangery's dance floor was half-full when they arrived. Students swayed in pairs beneath the glass ceiling, the reservoir's black water visible through the eastern wall. The string quartet had shifted to something softer, slower, the notes drifting through the air. Heads turned as they entered. Kim Yuna acknowledged each glance with a gracious nod, her path across the floor somehow taking them past every important cluster of students. She turned to face him.

She placed one hand on his shoulder and waited. Leo took her waist and her hand. He was ready. After all, he spent an hour on dance lessons right after the suit fitting. The instructor had been just as exacting as the fashion designer, counting beats with a metronome while Leo stumbled through box steps. The music swelled. A waltz. Leo stepped forward on the downbeat. She flowed backward, her dress rippling with the motion. He turned her, and she spun beneath his arm with grace.

Their feet traced patterns across the polished floor, three-quarter time, rise and fall, perfectly in sync. She made it easy. Every slight pressure from his hand, she answered. Every turn he initiated, she completed. When he faltered on a transition, she covered for him so smoothly that no one watching would have noticed. The other couples gave them space. Some had stopped dancing entirely just to watch.

"You've been practicing," she said.

"Someone made me." She smiled. They swept past the string quartet, Kim Yuna's skirt fanning out on a wide turn. The musicians glanced up, and the first violinist smiled. The song reached its final movement. Leo guided her through one last turn, then drew her close as the music faded. They stood together in the center of the floor, breathing slightly harder, her hand still resting on his shoulder. Another song began, slower this time. Kim Yuna hadn't let go of him.

"One more dance?" she asked.

"This one we can just sway." Leo looked at her. He knew what she was doing. She had her own plans, her own game she was playing.

"Sure," he said. She stepped closer, resting her head against his shoulder. They swayed together, simple and slow, as the moonlight poured through the glass ceiling. Whatever game this was, Leo decided, he would at least enjoy it.