My mind had journeyed here a thousand times, although I had traveled this path only once before. I saw first the
forest of moon-white osmanthus, the glittering laurel tree in the distance. The sweeping silver roof, then the shining stone walls of the Pure Light Palace. My home. Closing my
eyes, I inhaled a heady trace of cinnamon-wood. If this was a dream, I did not want to awaken.
I halted my cloud and leapt onto the ground, luminous from the lanterns’ glow. Any moment now, Mother and Ping’er would sense the startling presence of a visitor. I had barely taken a few steps when the doors swung open
and a slender woman in white emerged, a red peony tucked into her hair. She was pale, her lips drawn tight. Visitors
were a rare occurrence here, usually heralding misfortune or ill tidings.
I was no longer the child who had fled, afraid of the
unknown and clinging to Ping’er. Yet time had stood still here; I would have known her anywhere. A smile stretched across my face as my feet flew over the stone path. Never had they felt so light before. And my heart . . . my heart was incandescent, brighter than all the stars in the heavens.
“Mother!” I flung my arms around her, I was taller than her now. “I have returned.”
Her body stiffened as she pulled away, peering into my face. Did she suspect some trick to catch her unaware? Her gaze searched me, drinking in my eyes, moving to the cleft in my chin. She sucked in a sharp breath, a moment before her fingers lifted to brush my cheek, her eyes shining as
the moonlight on water. Then her arms wrapped around me, hugging me as tightly as she had in my dreams.
“Xingyin, Xingyin,” she whispered. Again, and again,
each time louder than the last. As though the more she said my name, the more she could believe it was true.
Another figure appeared at the entrance, perhaps drawn by the commotion. She stood by a column of mother-of- pearl, craning her neck. “Little Star?” A faint whisper
slipped from her lips.
My childhood name pierced me with a sudden sweetness.
The years fell away; it was as though I had never left. In truth, my heart had always been here.
“Ping’er! It’s me!” I cried.
She ran to me, embracing me just as she used to. “All
these years, I’ve been so worried!” Her words tumbled out like she had been holding them in for a long time. “I . . . I
failed you that day. I was too slow. I’m so—”
“No, Ping’er. I would never have escaped if not for you.” I held her tighter. “How did you get away from the soldiers?”
My last glimpse of her had been her lifeless body, as her cloud soared away.
“I had almost exhausted myself, I believed myself dead. Fortunately, a wind sprang up and blew me to safety. I had to regain my energy before I could return. I went back to the Celestial Kingdom to find you, but I didn’t know where
you had gone. The soldiers stopped me then.” Her face was pale. “They were suspicious of me and since then, I was not allowed to leave this place without permission.”
“I knew you would have tried to find me.” A lightness spread through my chest. “That when you didn’t, it was because you couldn’t.”
We stayed outside until the moonglow began to fade. The three of us laughed and wept, our hands clasped together, none of us wanting to let go. Until now, I had not realized how much I missed such a feeling—the oneness of family, of unconditional love. I did not want to move, to do anything
that might shatter the perfection of this moment, this
renewal of my soul. How rare are such times, even in an immortal life? When happiness is absolute, silencing the constant murmurs preying upon us. With my mother and Ping’er beside me, upon the earth of my home—I wanted
for nothing more in this moment, my heart already filled to bursting.
Only when the night gave way to the pearl of dawn did
we finally enter the silver entrance doors. My gaze lingered on the pale walls, the white jade lamps, each carved
wooden pillar. Nothing compared to the treasures of the
Jade Palace, yet a hundred times more precious to me. The stillness was deeper than I recalled, as was the tranquility which permeated the air. But after all I had been through, I was glad for it.
I sank into a chair, my fingers tracing the grains of the wood. I’m home, I whispered to myself, staring at my
mother—afraid she might disappear if I glanced away. That all this would vanish, leaving me alone in my bed in the
Celestial Kingdom. Perhaps I had been plagued by too many nightmares, perhaps I had grown accustomed to
disappointment—there it was still, that tight kernel of fear in my chest that this was just an illusion. I pinched myself until red crescents appeared in my arm, relishing the sting that told me this was real.
Ping’er pressed a warm cup of fragrant tea into my hands. The questions flowed then: Have you been well?
Happy? Where have you been all this time? What have you been doing?
I answered them in as much detail as I could, trying to
satisfy years of anxiety and curiosity. While some memories as my time in the Golden Lotus Mansion were a blur, others cut sharper than I wished. When I spoke of entering the
Jade Palace, my mother grabbed my sleeve and tugged it. “Did the Celestial Emperor discover your identity?” She
glanced over her shoulder, as though expecting armed soldiers to barge through our doors.
“Not then,” I assured her. Before she could probe further,
I quickly described my training in magic, combat, and archery.
“Archery?” There was a catch in her voice. “Just like your father,” she said with pride.
A lump swelled at the back of my throat. For so long I had lived in fear of who I was—never speaking the names of my parents, pretending to the outside world that they did not
exist . . . like I was some weed sprung wild in an open field. Now, I wanted to shout it to the world.
Once, my mother interrupted me. Unguarded in my home, a warmth filled my voice whenever I mentioned Liwei’s name.
“What is your relationship with the Celestial Crown Prince?” she asked.
I caught the slight puckering across her brow. “We’re . . . friends,” I stammered, heat creeping up my neck.
“This Captain Wenzhi, is he your friend, too?” My mother’s tone was deceptively mild.
“No,” I cried out, more vehemently than intended.
There was an awkward pause as my mother exchanged a worried glance with Ping’er, and I was glad when they
asked no more. Hastily, I began describing the battles I had been in, the creatures and enemies I fought in the service of the Celestial Army.
Better by far those monsters, than the ones that dwelled in my mind.
Ping’er shuddered at my description of Xiangliu, as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Were you afraid?”
“All the time.” Some might think me a coward, but I felt no shame in admitting it. I was not one of those valiant heroes who plunged into danger so fearlessly. I had been terrified of getting hurt, of failure, and most of all—of
death. To never see my mother again, or my loved ones. To regret all the things left unsaid or undone. To leave my
life . . . unlived. I had been lauded for my bravery, yet I knew the truth—that I had done these things despite my fear. Because not doing them frightened me more.
They were stunned to hear of how I had saved Liwei’s life. I did not tell them of the vicious things Lady Hualing made us do; I was not keen to unearth those painful memories, nor did I wish to distress them further.
Although, my mother’s face turned ashen at the reveal of my identity and the bargain I had struck with the emperor.
“How could you do such a thing? Take such a risk?” She shot to her feet and paced the room, her hands clasped so tight that their knuckles were white. “What if you were
sentenced to prison? To torture? To death?”
“Those were all very real possibilities then,” I laughed.
But my mirth vanished, at the sight of her grave face. “Mother, I had won the Crimson Lion Talisman. The emperor’s favor. There was no better time to ask this of him. If I did not, I would not be here today. I would be
spending my days ruing this lost opportunity, wishing I had tried. And that would be a worse fate.”
I paused then, searching her face. “You risked yourself, too, Mother—when you drank the elixir.” She went so still, so quiet, I almost regretted the words. “You saved me then, and I thank you for it.”
A faint smile formed on my mother’s lips, even as tears slid down her cheeks.
“Ah, enough with this sadness,” Ping’er said, wiping her eyes with a corner of her sleeve. “This is a happy day. The happiest. We will weep no more.”
“And as you can see, I’m well,” I assured them, rising to my feet and stretching out my arms. Their eyes lingered on me until they were satisfied that I was not suffering from
any apparent injury. Though I said nothing of the web of white scars splayed across my chest. My wounds, still tender, from the emperor’s Sky-fire. I did not think they would ever go away; I was forever marked. But what did that matter? A few scars were nothing to what I had regained.
When my mother heard that the honorable Captain Wenzhi was from the Demon Realm, she recoiled with horror.
“Xingyin, how did you feel?” she asked with piercing insight.
I shook my head, at a loss for words—his deception was still hard for me to bear. Now that I was safe, the weight of Wenzhi’s betrayal had sunk in fully. A different pain from
when Liwei and I had parted, not that I would have suffered either willingly. With Liwei, it had been circumstances
which tore us apart. He was the Celestial Crown Prince with obligations to his kingdom. While with Wenzhi . . . it had been his duplicity and choices which wounded me so.
My hurt was laced with remorse that I had been so careless, so imprudent as to fall for his lies. And there was bitterness, too, that he had shaken my trust in myself. That he had brought me low, to the depths of his own deceit—
when I feigned my affection to drug him to escape. I was not ashamed of what I had done, but neither did I take
pride in it.
Fortunately, Ping’er had more pressing questions to ask. “What happened to the pearls? The dragons?”
I fumbled for the words to do justice to their unearthly beauty, their power and grace. When I spoke of restoring
the dragons’ essence, my mother’s hand covered mine.
There were no recriminations for endangering myself and her freedom, just pride glowing in her face.
“The dragons are free,” Ping’er whispered. “I had believed them lost forever.”
I kept on with my story, answering their questions as well as I could, only demurring when it would hurt too much— when I was unable to conceal my feelings. By the time I finished, the sun was high, the sky an azure blue.
It was then, I untied my pouch, reaching into it. My fingers closed around the seal the Celestial Emperor had given me, as cold as a fistful of snow. My heart beat so
quickly I could barely breathe as I slid from my chair and sank to my knees before my mother.
“Xingyin, why are you kneeling?” She sounded confused as she leaned forward, her hands outstretched to lift me up
—
But I raised my hands to her instead. Cupped between my palms was the seal, shimmering like sunlit ice. I was trembling so hard, I did not even know why—was it with
fear, excitement, hope, or all of it? Would this work? How I prayed it would.
She took the seal from my hand and held it up. “What is this?”
Before I could answer, something sparked in the metal— beams of silver-white light streaking from its depths,
engulfing my mother in dazzling radiance. Ping’er and I shielded our eyes, almost blinded from the glare—which faded abruptly, the seal now darkening to a lump of dull coal.
My mother went as still as marble. When she turned to me, her eyes brimmed with wonder, shining brighter than the thousand lanterns lit.
“The enchantment is lifted. I am free.”
As Ping’er scrambled to her feet, exclaiming in delight, my body went limp with relief. Until this moment I had
feared a cruel trick by the emperor. But he had kept his word. A torrential rush of emotion swept through me that untangled the knots buried deep, dispelled the lurking shadows, pried away my sorrow—my entire being filled with nothing in this moment except a soaring, blazing lightness.
Finally, our lives could begin anew.
