There were no silvery ponds or flower-filled gardens to
grace my view; my small room overlooked the walls of the palace. But I had earned it through my own efforts and not by another’s grace. On the nights when my restless mind drove sleep away, I would climb up to the rooftop to stare at the stars above and the glittering lights of the kingdom below. Sometimes I would fall asleep on the cold jade tiles, lulled by the silvery glow of the moon. It reminded me of
the lanterns in my home, whose light had shone through my window as I lay in my bed of cinnamon-wood.
In the privacy of my room, I stripped off my clothes, eager to wash the blood and sweat from my body. Captain Wenzhi’s balm was wearing off and as I sank into the warm bathwater, my arms stung. Clenching my teeth, I scrubbed myself raw. Afterward, I slipped on a white underrobe and sank onto the bed, hoping to rest before the healer arrived.
Sleep claimed me. When I awakened, the sun had darkened to amber. I sat up and stretched my arms—
bracing for pain—yet there was none. Not even a twinge or a blemish remained. The healer must have come while I slept.
“Did you rest well?”
His voice startled me, one I knew as well as my own. My pulse quickened as I slowly turned.
Liwei sat by the table, calm, as though we had just seen each other yesterday and not months before, as though our last words were not choked with pain and regret. His gray robe was clasped around his waist with a chain of onyx links and his long hair was pulled through a silver ring. He looked just as I remembered except his face was leaner, his eyes darker than before—or perhaps, the light in them had been dulled.
I smoothed my features into indifference, though
inside . . . I was a mess of tangled, writhing emotions. Scrambling off the bed, I bowed with stiff formality.
“You don’t have to do that,” he said in a strained voice. “I wouldn’t need to if you didn’t come here uninvited.” I
tugged the lapels of my underrobe closer together. “Liwei, this is hardly appropriate. I’m not dressed. These are the soldiers’ quarters and you . . . you do not belong here.”
When he did not appear inclined to leave, I stalked to the wardrobe, pulling out the first garment I found—a green
robe that I slipped my arms through, tying its belt around my waist. Not wanting to take the stool beside him, I sat down on the bed again.
“Why are you here, Your Highness?”
“You called me Liwei just a moment ago,” he pointed out. “A mistake,” I said. “You are the Crown Prince. I am a
soldier. To me, you are ‘Your Highness.’”
His slender fingers toyed with the cup on the table. “I
heard you had returned. I wanted to see you, to know you were unharmed.” He frowned. “Your injuries were severe. Why didn’t you heal yourself before?”
“My skills are at best rudimentary. And with the serpent’s venom, Captain Wenzhi believed the wound should be
treated by a healer.” I did not meet his gaze. The sight of him fractured the shell around my heart, reviving the ache that I had long fought to suppress.
He cleared his throat. “I believe congratulations are in order. I heard you brought Xiangliu down with two arrows in a single strike.” He sounded pleased. Proud, even.
“Not me, alone. If not for the others, I wouldn’t have made it out alive,” I said with feeling.
The color drained from his face, yet I would not let myself read too much into his concern. “Your Highness, I thank
you for your visit, but I wish to rest. Please see yourself out.” I stretched my hand to the doors, tempering my rudeness with a short bow.
He did not rise. He did not speak. Was he offended? The chief attendant would have had an apoplectic fit at my disrespect. But then it struck me, how could he have seen my injuries unless—
“Did you heal me?”
“Yes.” His gaze held mine.
My traitorous mind conjured the image of him sitting on my bed, his hands sliding over my arms as he channeled his energy into them. “I didn’t ask you to. But thank you.”
“There is no need for thanks,” he said. “Have you been well?”
I recalled the countless sleepless nights since I had left him, the grief gnawing at my heart. The tears I had
swallowed until they ran dry. These were my secrets, hidden beneath my smile.
“Yes,” I lied baldly. “My training keeps me busy. Captain Wenzhi is a hard taskmaster.”
His jaw tightened as an unfamiliar edge cut through his tone. “Yes, Captain Wenzhi is most solicitous of you. One wonders why he spends so much time and effort on just one recruit?”
I simmered at the insinuation. If he was jealous, he had no right to be. “Why are you here?” I asked again, in a harder voice than before.
His hand curled into a fist on the table. “I shouldn’t be here. I stayed away as long as I could. But when you were
in the Mortal Realm, I could not help fearing that you might be in danger. That you might not return.”
His confession slashed through my carefully constructed defenses. How I hated this weakness which stirred in me, this futile yearning for what was lost. How easy it would be to admit the ache in my chest, to reach for him as I had dreamed. But he was promised to another, and I would not settle for less than I had to give.
I laughed instead, a short, harsh sound—indifference and mockery my armor in this struggle. “Do you think so little of my abilities?”
He stared at me unflinchingly. “Xingyin, that is unfair.
You know how highly I regard you.”
“Not enough, it would seem. Don’t speak to me of what’s unfair, Liwei.” I cursed myself for the lapse of his name, the sudden brightness which flared in his eyes. “You made your choice clear the night you betrothed yourself to another. I made mine clear when I left. It’s unfair of you to come to
me now, when you must realize it unsettles me.”
I should have stopped there, but my resentment and anger spilled from me now. “You told me you loved me. You broke my heart. You didn’t even tell me of your
engagement yourself. Was that fair?” Bitter words and yet, it was a relief to have spoken them aloud.
“No.” His voice was hoarse. “You have every right to
despise me. Just know, if I could choose, it would be you.”
He ran a hand through his hair as he did when he was distressed. How I wished I did not know these things about him, and that he did not move me so.
“I was going to tell you. The betrothal was not meant to be announced that night, but my mother persuaded my father otherwise.”
My breath shook as I drew it in. I was wrong; the empress had not waited to retaliate, and her blow struck truer than she could have ever hoped. It did not matter; nothing would have changed. He was the Crown Prince.
Marriage was his duty, and I should have realized that from the start.
A heavy silence fell over us. Part of me wished he would leave, so I could sink back into the bed and lose myself in the numbness of slumber. And yet, a weaker part of me
thrived on his presence still—drinking in his face, the
sound of his voice, yearning for his touch—despite knowing the anguish which would come after.
I steeled myself to ask, “Has the wedding date been set?” There it was, said aloud, the bandage ripped clean from the wound. Was it not better to battle the monster in the open
than leave it lurking in the shadows, unsure when it might strike?
The light leeched from his eyes. “The betrothal gifts have been exchanged, though the ceremony won’t be for years.
Princess Fengmei and I are still young, and I’ve asked for the time to devote myself to my duties. Perhaps then, things might be different.”
He did not sound like an eager bridegroom. Nor did I understand the delay when the exchange of gifts was a commitment as binding as the signing of the betrothal
contract. Who would dare come between an alliance of the two most powerful families in the realm? I had asked the question, invited the pain, peeling away the last stubborn shred of hope from my heart. Yet how sharp the regret
which stabbed me now, the claws of jealousy which raked me.
Someone rapped on my door. Was it Shuxiao, calling me for the evening meal? I would be glad for any distraction. Striding to the doors, I wrenched them apart, a welcoming smile on my lips—
It was Captain Wenzhi who stood in the entrance, out of his armor and in a black robe. “The healer said she was
sent away before she could attend to you.” At the sight of Liwei, he stiffened before bowing in greeting. “Your
Highness, I did not expect to find you in the soldiers’ quarters.”
Liwei’s expression turned cool, sliding into the imperial mask he wore so easily. “Captain Wenzhi, you are most solicitous of your soldiers. Even visiting them at this late hour.”
“Indeed I am, Your Highness. Particularly of those
injured.” He stalked into the room, unflustered by Liwei’s hostility.
As they stared at each other, their gazes flat and unblinking, my head began to throb.
Finally, Liwei turned to me. “I am at ease knowing you’ve returned.” He nodded tersely to Captain Wenzhi, who
responded with another short bow. From the set of his shoulders, I knew he was displeased as he left.
“Why should your return weigh on Prince Liwei’s mind?” Captain Wenzhi asked, taking the stool newly vacated. With a surge of his magic, he heated the water in the pot,
brewing a fresh pot of jasmine tea and pouring me a cup.
I took a sip, relishing its delicate fragrance and soothing warmth. “We’re friends. We studied together.”
“He didn’t seem friendly. Neither did you.”
I kept my face blank, setting the cup back down. “Captain Wenzhi, did you come for a particular reason or just to stir up trouble where there is none?”
“I came to check on your injuries. How are they?” “Healed.” I stretched out my arms to show him the
renewed skin, relieved to find his wounds had vanished, too.
A strange expression crossed his face. “You’re fortunate to have been attended to so well.”
I snatched my arms back. He knew the healer had not
attended to me. “How was your audience with His Celestial Majesty?” A clumsy attempt to divert his attention.
“The emperor was pleased. You would be in line for a promotion should you decide to make this a career.” His
tone lifted like he was asking a question.
I cared not for that, yet this was a promising start to the journey I hoped would bring me home. “I’m not going anywhere. If they want to give me a new title, though, I
wouldn’t mind yours,” I told him lightly.
“I’ll be sure to inform Their Celestial Majesties of your wish.” He added, almost as an afterthought, “The Jade Dragon Bow—did you keep it someplace safe?”
I nodded, thinking of the box tucked beneath my bed, an enchantment woven to conceal it from prying eyes.
“I’ll be leaving soon to one of the Sea Kingdoms. If you join us, we might find some information on the bow there.
However, it could be dangerous. It’s no small matter for their king to request our aid and no favor from the Celestial Emperor comes without a price.”
Something flickered across his face. Was it distaste? Or
concern for the perils ahead? “I’ll consider it,” I said slowly.
He rose to his feet then. “I’ll see you at training tomorrow. At dawn.”
I resisted the urge to protest. It would do no good.
He almost collided into Shuxiao at the doorway. Trying to balance the unwieldly tray in her grasp, she bowed to him awkwardly. He gave her a curt nod in return, his expression aloof as he left.
Shuxiao set the tray on the table. “Your dinner. I heard you were hurt.”
“Thank you.” I was glad for her company. Her room was close to mine and we ate together whenever we could. As I
glanced at the braised pork, stir-fried green beans, and ripe loquats—my stomach growled, reminding me that I had not eaten anything all day. Lifting the lid off the bamboo steamer, I took a soft pillow of bread, tucking slices of the tender meat within its folds.
“Have you seen a healer?” she asked. “Yes.” I was reluctant to elaborate.
She slanted her head back to stare at me. “You look well.
Glowing, almost. Maybe you should have brought me my dinner instead.” Pushing back her stool, she lifted the hem of her robe, displaying two rows of red indents pressed into her calf.
“Are those teeth marks? What happened?”
“Fox spirits. A few broke in.” She grimaced. “When their magic is drained, they bite. It doesn’t hurt anymore, but
they itch like fire and the healer said it will take weeks for the marks to disappear. If they do.”
“How did they get in?” I was surprised, as powerful wards protected the Celestial Kingdom from its enemies. Each night, the soldiers on duty wove shields all along the kingdom’s borders, which alerted them to any intrusion.
“One took the form of a Celestial and slipped through, undetected. Once inside, she broke the wards from within. It shouldn’t have happened. Even with a transformed appearance, our wards should have detected their auras.
General Jianyun is investigating the matter.”
I fumbled in my pouch, pulling out the jasper bottle that Captain Wenzhi had given me. Tugging off its stopper, I shook out the last few drops over her leg.
As the redness of her injuries subsided, she sighed in relief. “What’s that?”
“Just something Captain Wenzhi gave me for my injuries.” “Oh? Does Captain Wenzhi often dispense rare medicines
to lowly soldiers?” Her stare bored into me. “Just this once” was all I said.
“Or just this one.”
I did not reply, taking a loquat and peeling it with excessive care.
She shrugged then, perhaps tired of teasing me when I did not rise to the bait. “How was Xiangliu?” she asked, as though we were speaking of a mutual friend.
“Dead. An arrow through the eye.” It was easier to speak cavalierly of it. Somehow it made it less real—the danger,
the life I had taken.
“How bloodthirsty,” she remarked. “Was it a hard fight?”
I described the battle, knowing she would be interested in every detail. When I was done, I looked away, admitting, “I lost my nerve. Those injured . . . it was because of my
mistakes.”
“Anyone would have been terrified. What were you thinking—Xiangliu, for your first assignment? New recruits are typically sent on mundane tasks like inspecting the border or searching for some lost artifact.”
It was precisely for the danger that I had put myself forward. Mundane tasks were of no use to me. They would not get my name whispered into the emperor’s ear; they would not earn me the Crimson Lion Talisman.
She added, “At least you recovered in time. No one died. Well, except for Xiangliu. Don’t forget it was you who killed it.”
I nodded, feeling a little better. “It wasn’t all bad. We found a cave of treasure.”
She leaned across the table. “Did you keep anything?”
I thought about the Jade Dragon Bow, more precious by far than any jewel. But it was not mine and Captain Wenzhi had cautioned me to keep it hidden and, a secret. I dug
through my pouch for the bangle, pressing it into her palm. She flicked the clasp open, slipping her hand through it.
The gold and coral gleamed against her skin. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s just a small trinket.” I was glad that she seemed to
like it. “You should have seen what Captain Wenzhi brought back for the Treasury.”
Her expression turned curious. “What was Captain
Wenzhi doing here? Not that I’m complaining when there are so many who would envy us.”
“What do you mean?”
“Haven’t you noticed the crowds in the field whenever he trains—both men and woman alike? Tall, broad shoulders,
clear eyes, firm mouth, straight nose,” she recited, ticking each item off on her fingers. “If only he smiled more, it
would put his handsome features to better use.”
“Handsome?” I had thought him striking, but handsome? She shot me a reproachful look. “How could you not have noticed? After those months you’ve spent training with him,
walking beside him, sleeping under the stars by the glowing campfire—”
I grabbed a bun and threw it at her, which she deftly caught. “Don’t protest too much,” she grinned. “Or I might start to think there’s some truth to the rumors.”
Were those the same ones which had reached Liwei? Was that why he had sought me out the moment I returned, to seek a denial or admission? “Those rumors you mention are ridiculous beyond measure,” I said, more heatedly than intended.
“Did I strike a nerve?”
I shut my mouth at once.
Shuxiao picked a loquat from the bowl, passing it to me.
A peace offering. “Few are held in as high regard as
Captain Wenzhi. His fighting skills are renowned, and his magic is unusually strong for one not descended from any known lineage.”
I glanced at her. “Where is he from?”
“I’ve heard Captain Wenzhi is from some undistinguished family line in the Four Seas. It was no small feat for him—a foreigner—to rise through the ranks, to become the
youngest captain in the Celestial Army.”
I felt a sense of shared companionship with Captain Wenzhi, knowing both of us were forging a new life for ourselves here. While he was far more capable than I, it gave me hope for my own ambitions—that an unknown could rise to prominence in the Celestial Kingdom.
Though I could not help thinking, even he had not won the Crimson Lion Talisman.
After the meal, I helped Shuxiao stack the empty dishes onto the tray. As I tried to pry the tray from her fingers, she snatched it away.
“It’s not every day you slay a legendary monster. And it doesn’t sound like Captain Wenzhi is going to go easy on you tomorrow either.” Without another word, she left the room.
Sleep eluded me that night. With an impatient sigh, I
tossed off the bedcovers and left the room. Climbing onto the rooftop, I settled upon the cold jade tiles. How the
solitude of night reminded me of home. The lights of the Celestial Kingdom glittered below, whose borders I now defended with my life. Would my mother feel betrayed by
my new allegiance? Would she think I had forgotten her in the pursuit of power? My chest cramped at the thought. If only she knew the truth—that all I did was to win her freedom, that we might be together again.
