Xingyu waved him off. “You’re fine. I went through all that training before I left.”

“Are you still—well, I mean, are you going to—”

“Rang’er.” Chen Jun was coming up behind them, Xingyu’s father in tow. “Where is Xiaokai?”

“He said he went to the back to get some things done and told me to stay here with Xingyu-ge.”

“Chen Jun,” Xingyu’s father said, and there was some warning in his voice, but although whatever threat he had didn’t escape the tip of his tongue, Chen Jun seemed to understand. He raised his hands, surrendering, and changed the subject.

“Xingyu, young man. It’s really a shame you weren’t able to stay.”

“Ba—” Rang’er hissed immediately, seizing his father’s arm.

“If you had, you would have been able to help Rang’er. It doesn’t come as natural to him as it came to you.”

“Ba!” Rang’er protested. Chen Jun ignored him.

“Your father tells me you’re just staying through the party. You’ll be leaving tomorrow, then?”

“I was planning on staying just a few days more, but…” Xingyu smiled and lifted his shoulders. He very pointedly did not look at his father. “I didn’t realize how much I missed my family until I came back. I might stay a little longer to catch up.”

Across the hall, Zhang Weiran was circling the room in a rented suit, bracing a metal tray in his hands. Occasionally he would stop and silently offer a wine glass to one of the many elites in the room with him, but they barely spared him a glance—if they did, no one remembered Weiran, and if they happened to remember, no one would be able to recognize him after this long. Right now, he was just another employee—no, less than an employee; right now, he was a portable drink stand. Effectively featureless.

As he moved around the room, he could spot the various faces he’d spent the last few days researching: Chen Jun, with Chen Rang’er and Xingyu and Liu Baiyan by his side. Hu Yongzhu, who was one of the names in Liu Xiaokai’s desk. Xu Runshen. Kang Haichi. Ge Daoxian. All people who made Zhang Weiran feel hot with anger. All people who played a part in his parents’ imprisonment, in their deaths, and Liu Baiyan was at the center. He tore his eyes away from where they’d become stuck on the man, worried on some level that he’d somehow feel the gaze burning into his back. He wouldn’t let himself look at Xingyu, wouldn’t let himself linger there. He was just a portable drink stand. He was a drink stand.

“I’m impressed you were able to get in,” came a voice behind Weiran that made him jump. “I didn’t see your name on the list.”