The reactor was gone. Pin could not believe it. He and the other demons came back down from the rocks and wandered around the little pools, the gentle hollows, the lilies. The reactor had been hideous but at least it had produced something, it had been useful, and this pretty landscape was not. He was at a complete loss. Everyone seemed to feel the same way; no one was saying very much. He came over the crest of one of the hills and looked down, and his heart gave a jump.
Mai was kneeling in the middle of the hollow, by the side of one of the lily pools, and in front of her was a little boy. As Pin started to hasten down the side of the hill, the child reached out a grave hand and touched Mai's bent head. She shimmered and began to fade.
"Wait!" Pin cried. Mai had done so much for him, given up so much for him, that he could not bear to think of her leaving before he had a chance to say thank you. But as he reached the floor of the hollow, Mai was gone.
"Mai!"
The child looked up and Pin saw that his eyes were completely blank and dark, like looking into empty space. For a moment, he looked like something else entirely, but Pin could not have said what it was.
Then the child blinked and the world changed.
They were somewhere else. The place had the familiar smell of the dressing room: powder and the musty odor of the ceremonial costumes, mingled with sweat and cheap perfume. Pin thought that he was sitting on the edge of one of the divans on which the actors rested, but it was too dark to see properly. He felt heavy and hot. He raised a hand and it seemed incredibly weighty. He smelled of meat and there was a weird thumping in his chest, a whistle as he breathed in. It took him a minute to realize that he was back in his own body.
There was a brief flare as someone lit a lamp. He blinked until his eyes adjusted. The little boy came to sit beside him, swinging his legs against the bed. Pin looked around him wonderingly at the seedy comfort of the dressing room.
"I'm back," he said. "This is the Opera, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is," the child answered. "I have brought you home. You should never have been in Hell. Is this where you want to be?"
Pin shrugged. "I don't know anymore. In Hell—it wasn't so bad. There were more opportunities, that's for sure. At least I had some dignity." He looked down at the small figure next to him. Now, the child's eyes caught the lamplight and held it, burning a smoky yellow somewhere far within. They reminded him of the demon's.
"Can I make a suggestion?" the child said.
"Sure."
"Go to the temple of the son of the Emperor of Heaven. It's now the Emperor's own temple. Say that I sent you and give them this." He placed something in Pin's hand. Pin looked down: he held a shining bronze-green scale, like the wingcase of a beetle. "Things are changing. You'll find they have opportunities. I think that Hell might be rebuilding, too. They'll want people who know how things worked. And Pin, your mother is there. She's still looking after you, you know, as best she can. She saved you from the kuei. She wants you to take this chance."
"I think," Pin said, swallowing hard, "I will do that."
He saw the Opera with new eyes: not as a trap, but as a beginning. Somewhere to start, and somewhere to leave. "What time is it?" Pin asked.
The child gestured toward the heavy curtains. "Go and see."
Pin pushed the curtains aside. There was a faint pale light over the city.
"Morning's coming," the child said. Pin nodded. It seemed a good time to make a move. He looked up at the skyscrapers and saw that the sun was touching their sides. When he looked back into the room, the child was gone.
Pin opened the door and made his way to the front entrance of the Opera. There was only one person in the foyer, a cleaner, who paid no attention to Pin. He went through the main doors of the Opera and out onto Shaopeng. The café owners were just beginning to put their tables out, setting menus down. Pin made his way among the first trickle of morning commuters, heading up Shaopeng, away from the Opera. He did not look back.