In the Celestial Kingdom there were no seasons to chart
the passing of time. Two years swept by so quickly, I almost lost count but for the waxing and waning of the moon. The ease I felt here reminded me of my home, except for the
nagging ache in my chest whenever I thought of my mother. How I longed to see her again and not just as a distant orb in the heavens. I consoled myself that at least
I’d found a sense of purpose here which I had never known before; striving to better myself, to find a way home.
Dawn till dusk, Liwei and I were together—studying our lessons or sparring on the field. Mealtimes were my favorite, when we would talk about anything that took our
fancy, whether serious matters or in jest. Once, Liwei asked me about my home and how my parents had died. I had
bitten down hard on my tongue, wishing I could have told him the truth. From the tightening of his lips, I knew he had been disappointed by my reticence. How it wrenched me inside—I was not heartless, laden with guilt at
deceiving him. Our friendship meant more to me than anything I possessed.
Tomorrow would be his birthday. A grand celebration was planned as this year was a special one, marking the
assumption of his court duties as the Crown Prince. He had
invited me to attend but I’d declined, having little interest in spending an evening with Their Celestial Majesties and their court. Nonetheless, I had agonized over his gift as I owned little of value, and finally settled on composing him
a song. He had a keen appreciation for music though he did not play an instrument himself. However, it took longer
than anticipated as I could only work late at night or early in the morning, weaving a privacy shield around my room to prevent the music from drifting across the courtyard.
I rummaged through the drawers, pulling out the white
shell I had bought from the market years ago. It gleamed in my palm, the curved whorls ending in an elegant spire.
Placing the shell on the table, I cast a shred of wind into it to awaken its magic. Then I lifted the flute to my mouth,
letting my breath slide into the instrument. The shell
glowed as the melody poured forth, its light fading once the last note ended. Hastily, I wrapped it with a piece of silk. I had taken too long; I was already late.
I dashed across the courtyard, halting just outside his chamber. A powerful aura pulsed within—jagged, sharp,
and strong—one I had done my best to avoid so far. Sweat slicked my palms as I slid the doors open and entered. The Celestial Empress sat beside Liwei, while her attendants
stood behind her. Her green robe pooled on the floor like a carpet of moss, gold leaf-shaped pins gleaming from her hair. I had never seen the empress at such close quarters before. Memories of my parting from my mother flashed across my mind, cutting me as though it had been
yesterday.
I knelt to greet her as etiquette demanded, folding my body over until my brow and palms touched the floor.
The empress did not give me leave to rise. “Is this the behavior of the Companion to the Crown Prince? To rise this late and leave my son to attend to himself?” Her voice was thick with censure.
I should have apologized or pleaded for forgiveness. But though my body was taut with tension, my lips stayed
tightly sealed. I was no longer a cowering child, afraid of her shadow.
“Rise,” Liwei said.
I lifted my head from the ground yet remained on my knees. I would give the empress no reason to dismiss me.
“Honorable Mother, Xingyin was only late this morning because of my task.” Liwei looked at me. “Did you find the snow ginseng root?”
“Yes.” I was glad for his quick thinking.
“Could you give it to the kitchen to be brewed into a tonic? Ask them to send it with the afternoon meal to Their Celestial Majesties.”
Conscious of the watchful attendants, I pressed my
forehead to the ground in acknowledgment. Rising to my feet, I hurried to the entrance, eager to escape.
The empress’s voice drifted after me, a more pleasant tone now that I was gone. “Liwei, you’re a filial son,” she praised him. “Tomorrow’s banquet will be a grand event.
The Flower and Forest Immortals will join us, as will the
sea monarchs—a rare chance to affirm our goodwill toward the Four Seas. We will also be honored by the attendance of Queen Fengjin and her daughter.”
“Princess Fengmei?” Liwei asked, with a catch in his voice.
“Of course. The Phoenix Kingdom is our most important ally—more than ever, with the threat of that cursed Demon Realm still hanging over us.” She added, in a tone laden
with meaning, “I hope you’ll be an attentive host. And that you know what’s expected of you.”
Beyond the doorway, I glanced back at Liwei in sympathy.
He did not enjoy such occasions, avoiding as many as he could. But it would be impossible for him to escape his own celebration, particularly with the sharp eye of his mother watching his every move.
Liwei and I had planted a small garden in a corner of the courtyard. Grabbing a shovel, I dug up the snow ginseng root, grown from a seed just a month ago. While it usually took years to cultivate ginseng, Liwei’s enchantment
helped the plants mature faster. Admiring the perfectly formed root, its flesh so white that it was almost
translucent, I deemed it a worthwhile sacrifice to save my hide.
In the bustling kitchen, I found Minyi, whom I had grown to know well. After passing her the ginseng, I decided to
wait while she prepared our food.
She scrutinized me, her nose wrinkling. “Xingyin, you’re so pale. Are you eating enough?”
“I was late this morning and Her Celestial Majesty scolded me,” I told her.
She sighed in commiseration. The empress was much
feared for her temper—fierce, malicious, so easily roused— and few were spared it.
“Our empress has too much fire in her. Those from the Phoenix Kingdom have such hot tempers,” she remarked.
“Phoenix Kingdom? Isn’t she a Celestial?”
She shook her head, casting a furtive look around. Minyi was privy to the stories and gossip from the many attendants who visited the kitchen. It was a simple matter to trade a delicacy for the latest news and in the evenings, a cup of wine loosened even the stiffest tongues. And the one thing she loved more than collecting gossip was
sharing it with her friends.
“Before she wed the emperor, Her Celestial Majesty was a princess of the Phoenix Kingdom. She was not so ill-
humored at first, but her disposition worsened after the death of her beloved kin.”
It was the first I had heard of it. I did not think it possible, yet pity flared in me at the thought of her loss. “What happened to them?”
Minyi’s face clouded over. “A tragic tale. The empress is a relation of Lady Xihe, the sun goddess who dwells in the
Fragrant Mulberry Grove in the eastern sky. Lady Xihe had ten children whom she used to take upon her phoenix-
drawn chariot—one at a time—to ride across the heavens. Her children were powerful creatures of pure light and heat, revered as the sun in the mortal world.”
I went cold inside. “Ten children? Ten suns? The kin of the Celestial Empress?”
Minyi stirred a simmering pot of noodles, thankfully oblivious to my mounting distress. “The phoenixes are a close relation of the three-legged sunbirds.”
Sunbirds. The word seared me. “What happened?” I
choked out.
“Many years ago, Lady Xihe was gravely injured. To aid her, the empress sent a trusted general to the Fragrant
Mulberry Grove to drive the chariot on her behalf. Only one sunbird was permitted to join him, but they disobeyed, all
ten leaping into the chariot at once and flying away before the general could stop them. The sunbirds did not wish to return, soaring through the skies night and day.” Minyi
paused for a moment. “It was a terrible time, of blinding light and blistering heat. The mortals suffered most, their fragile world scorched to the brink of destruction.”
She continued, “The Celestial Emperor sent messengers to reprimand the sunbirds, but they ignored them all. They were so swift, no one could catch them. The emperor might have struck them down himself, but the empress shielded
them from attack. Under her protection, the sunbirds
would have burned the world to a cinder—but they were finally shot down by a brave mortal.”
My father. My legs trembled. I clutched the side of the table, my elbow knocking over a bowl of yellow plums that rolled onto the floor. Avoiding a glare from an irate cook, I bent down to pick up the fruit, glad for the opportunity to hide my face. I sifted through my faded memories of the
book I had read once—my father’s story as retold by the mortals. The sunbirds were said to be favored by the gods, under their protection. But the Celestial Empress’s blood relations? It was little wonder that she had sought to
punish my father for slaying them.
I swallowed to moisten my parched throat. “The mortal . . . what of him?”
Minyi sprinkled chopped green chives over two bowls of noodles, then lifted them onto a tray of polished wood.
Almost as an afterthought, she added a small dish of vegetables and a plate of dumplings. I suppressed the urge to grab her arm and shake the rest of the tale from her.
“Oh. The mortal’s deeds were praised by the emperor and he was rewarded with the Elixir of Immortality.”
“Wasn’t His Celestial Majesty angry with him for killing the empress’s kin?” I could not conceal the urgency in my voice.
Minyi leaned closer, speaking softer now. “It was said that the emperor might have had a hand in the sunbirds’ downfall. The mortal shot them down with an enchanted
bow of ice and he wore an amulet that protected him from their fire. How could a mere mortal have obtained such treasures, much less used them without His Celestial Majesty’s blessing?”
Something jarred me. Why would the emperor do such a thing? Why didn’t he stop the sunbirds himself? Was it just to avoid a confrontation with the empress?
“What happened next?” I asked, though I feared her answer, too.
She looked up in surprise. Perhaps, she thought, that was the end of it. The world saved from ruin. The mortal
rewarded for his service to the Celestial Emperor. “Lady Xihe was furious at the deaths of her children and she
severed all ties with the empress. As a relation of the sun goddess, the Phoenix Queen was incensed, too. Before,
there was much talk of an engagement between her
daughter and His Highness, but I heard that was called off! A shame, as it would have been a most eligible match.
Some gripe that Princess Fengmei is a hundred years older than His Highness. Yet those are trifling numbers for such as us.”
Liwei had never mentioned a betrothal before, though I now understood his strange reaction to the princess’s name this morning. There were so many peach blossom rumors
surrounding him, I had come to regard them with no more weight than the petals blown by the wind—forgotten once they landed on the ground. But that was not what I wanted to know now.
“What of the mortal’s fate? After he was gifted the
elixir?” I probed, hoping she would not notice my keen interest. Perhaps I might glean some clue as to my father’s whereabouts.
Minyi frowned as she lifted a porcelain teapot onto the tray. Fragrant tendrils of jasmine wafted into my nostrils.
“The mortal never ascended to the skies as an immortal. No one knows what became of him.” Her voice trailed off as
she turned away abruptly.
I did not question her further. I was not surprised at Minyi’s reluctance to speak of my mother’s ascension. The punishment of the Moon Goddess was not a tale shared
freely. Their Celestial Majesties did not appreciate being reminded of those who had displeased them.
I thanked Minyi, clutching the tray of food as I left the kitchen in a daze. The empress disliked me, believing me unworthy to be her son’s companion. I shuddered,
imagining her spite if she ever discovered that my father
had slain the sunbirds. I breathed deeply, trying to calm the churning in my stomach. My mother’s instincts had been right; the empress did bear my father a grudge. She would show us no mercy, she would snatch at the chance to
destroy us. I would not let her, I resolved. Though I could
do nothing now, except work as hard as I could, honing my skills and searching for a way to keep us all safe.
When I returned to Liwei’s room, I was relieved to find the empress had left, in no mood to feign respect and obedience. We ate in silence, neither of us inclined to idle chatter today. Minyi’s dumplings were beautifully made; plump with pork and leek, its skin fried to a crisp golden brown—yet they tasted as paper on my tongue.
“Xingyin, you look tired,” Liwei observed.
My hands flew to my cheeks, discreetly pinching the color back into them. He was the second person to have commented on my pallor this morning.
“I didn’t sleep well.” The excuse sounded limp even to my ears.
“Don’t take what my mother said to heart. She seems fierce, but she’s just overly concerned for me.”
I nodded woodenly, not trusting myself to speak. Lifting our books from the table, I waited for him by the doors.
He took the heavy stack from me. “I’ve told you that you don’t need to carry my things for me.”
“What would your mother say?” I asked.
“Don’t tell her,” he said, flashing me a conspiratorial grin.
I returned his smile, though I could not discard my unease. All morning I was unsettled, barely hearing the teachers’ lessons, earning myself a scowl from General
Jianyun and a scolding from Teacher Daoming. And now, by the archery boards, I missed all my targets while training
alongside Shuxiao.
She winced at a particularly bad shot, which left my arrow buried in the grass a foot from the board. “Xingyin, is there dust in your eyes?”
Before I could reply, General Jianyun stalked toward me, the hollows of his cheeks pulled taut. I had worn his
patience out today. “Xingyin, have our practices become so easy that you no longer bother to exert yourself?”
I lowered my head, shame rising in me. General Jianyun was a diligent mentor to Liwei and me. While many of our teachers focused their efforts on the Crown Prince, he
divided his attention equally between us.
Hearing the general’s raised tone, Liwei glanced over from where he was sparring with a soldier. He lunged forward, his sword outstretched—and with a few well-
placed thrusts, won his match in moments. He then wasted no time in striding to my side, and while I was glad for his support, I did not want him to witness my humiliation.
General Jianyun plucked a leather bag from the weapons rack. “Let’s try something more challenging today. If you miss any, stay back for an extra hour of practice tonight.”
With that, he flung the contents of the bag into the air.
Ten small clay discs shot out, each no larger than a loquat. “Hit them all!” he barked.
Before he finished speaking, I had shot down the first two. In the same breath, I nocked my next arrow and took down another three in rapid succession. Dropping to one knee, I shot two more that soared into the sky. The final
three were almost out of sight. I positioned my arrow
carefully to hit one, and then another. The last disc slipped beyond my sight. I closed my eyes, straining to listen
through the silence. My mind was clear, devoid of thought.
A faint flutter reached my ears, a whisper of wind. I
released my arrow with a twang, the disc shattering into fragments.
I stilled, unnerved by the sudden hush and the crowd which had gathered. Then a tall, lean soldier I had never
seen before clapped, the sound breaking the daze. Shuxiao cheered as Liwei stepped forward, lifting me up by my
waist and spinning me around.
“Liwei, put me down,” I hissed, conscious of the watchful stares. For some reason, I found it hard to catch my breath, my pulse leaping in an erratic rhythm.
He laughed as he set me upon the ground, and with a parting grin, headed back to the sword fighting station. The soldiers dispersed but General Jianyun remained,
studying me for a moment. “Have you given any thought to your future? When you’re no longer the Crown Prince’s
companion?” he finally asked.
His blunt question struck me. I had not imagined that my position would end, but Liwei would soon assume his court duties. His lessons would decrease and then, what would I do? Become his attendant, serving his meals and tea? The
idea seared me like a hot coal.
General Jianyun continued, oblivious to my unease, “Your archery is unmatched. According to Teacher Daoming, your magic is strong. I think you would do very well in the army and your future could be brighter than the sun.”
My mind whirled with the possibilities. My father was a soldier; it had been his path to glory, to slaying the sunbirds and saving the world. A great honor, a terrible burden. His reward had been the elixir which turned my mother and me immortal, though it parted us from him, too.
Snapping out of my stupor, I asked, “General Jianyun, how does one advance in the army?”
“Fighting for our kingdom. Performing each task to the
best of one’s abilities. Protecting your fellow soldiers. Hard work, obedience, loyalty throughout the years. What greater honor is there than to serve our kingdom and Their Celestial Majesties?” Pride rang in his voice.
A curt refusal sprang to my tongue which I quashed out of respect to the general, though I could not stop my lip
from curling.
He did not seem to notice, adding as an afterthought,
“Some also dream of winning the Crimson Lion Talisman, though such a thing is rare.”
“Crimson Lion Talisman?” I had never heard of it before. “It is the highest honor of the Celestial Army, awarded by
the emperor himself. Its bearer is granted a royal favor.”
A wild hope fluttered in my chest. “How is this talisman won?” I cursed the tremor in my voice, hoping he did not hear my eagerness.
“Through exceptional acts of valor, courage, or sacrifice, in service to the Celestial Kingdom.” He frowned. “However, this is not something to pin your hopes upon. In my lifetime, the talisman has been awarded less than a
handful of times.”
General Jianyun must be hundreds of years old. A thousand? How could I surpass the mighty warriors here, when I had barely grasped my powers a couple of years ago? No, I could not allow myself to think so, I could not admit defeat before I tried. Among all the mortals across the centuries, it was my father who had caught the
emperor’s attention to win the Elixir of Immortality. I would strive for no less.
Yet something reined in my surging excitement. If I joined the Celestial Army, I would have to leave the
Courtyard of Eternal Tranquility. I was safe there. As happy as I could be, away from my mother. Ah, I was becoming
muddled inside. I could never forget why I was here—that I had been torn from my home, and that I had come to the
Jade Palace to find my way back. General Jianyun’s talk of honor and service did not move me. This was not my home; I had no loyalty to this place. I even bore a grudge against Their Celestial Majesties, which I was willing to swallow for my own ends. And yet, this offer gave me a glimpse into a
future where I could advance through my own merit, a
chance to grasp at my mother’s freedom. Better by far than my wild fantasies of soaring to the moon and shattering the enchantment which bound her there. What life would await us after that? An eternity of being hunted and living in fear.
General Jianyun cleared his throat, perhaps wondering at my prolonged silence.
I cupped my hands as I bowed to him. “Thank you for your confidence in me, General Jianyun. I promise to
consider it.” His offer tempted me more than I cared to admit. I was already inclined to accept, though I could not do so before speaking to Liwei.
Over our meal that night, Liwei asked, “What did you and General Jianyun talk about? It seemed to be a serious
conversation.”
Surprised that he had noticed, I lifted my chopsticks to stuff a lump of rice into my mouth. For some reason, I was reluctant to tell him about the general’s offer. A few
excuses drifted through my mind, but I had only lied to him once before and that had been out of necessity.
“General Jianyun suggested that I join the army, after my role here comes to an end.”
“End?” He sounded confused. “Who told you it was ending?”
I placed my chopsticks down on the table and fixed him with a somber stare. “Liwei, how long will things go on this way? Once you take on your responsibilities, you will have less time for lessons. You won’t need a companion.”
For once, he appeared at a loss. “But . . . you’re my friend.”
How those words tore at my conscience, yet I could not think of myself alone. “I am your friend. Here, or wherever I go.”
“Do you want to leave me? To join the army?” There was a note of incredulity in his voice and, buried beneath, hurt. “There are things I want which you know nothing of. I do
have my own dreams.” My voice was hoarse with emotion.
The years I had spent here, training and studying, were happy ones. And yet, these were just the rungs of the ladder that scaled my ambition.
Perhaps Liwei sensed me drawing away, the hardening of my resolve. He leaned toward me, as he asked, “What are your dreams? Let me help, however I can.”
The words hovered at the tip of my tongue. To confide in him. To tell him the truth. He was a Celestial Prince,
powerful and favored. But I stifled the urge. I was unsure of how things might change between us if he knew who I was.
That I had lied to him. That I was the daughter of the
disgraced goddess who had defied his father’s wishes, and of the mortal who had slain his mother’s beloved sunbirds.
“No, you can’t help me,” I said softly. “But I thank you for wanting to.”
His hand covered mine, an unexpected tingle shooting
through my arm. “My offer stands. Anytime, whatever you need. Think about it and don’t make any hasty decisions.”
I had believed my mind made up. Yet pinned by the
intensity in his gaze, I could only nod in reply. Tomorrow, I told myself, cowardly. I will decide tomorrow.
