After the Eastern Sea, Wenzhi and I went from one campaign to the next, at times not returning to the
Celestial Kingdom for months at a stretch. We fought
terrifying monsters, ravenous beasts, and—most recently— the fearsome spirits that plagued the eastern border, close to the forests of the Phoenix Kingdom. I was exhausted
when we finally arrived at the Jade Palace, eager to retire to my room. Yet when news reached me that Shuxiao had been awarded a promotion, I set off in search of her at once.
I knocked on her door, expecting to find her celebrating with friends. But when she opened it, her smile lacked her usual warmth; she seemed a pale copy of herself. A solitary lamp lit the dark and there was a porcelain jar of wine on
the table.
“Is this how you’re celebrating? Drinking by yourself?” I shook my head in mock disbelief as I entered and sank
upon a stool. “Aren’t you glad that I came by?”
“More than you know.” She tugged off the red cloth stopper from the wine jar and poured me a cup.
I lifted it in a toast. “Lieutenant Shuxiao, may this just be the beginning.”
She drained her cup in a single gulp. I stared at her, my hand frozen mid-air. Shuxiao was usually a restrained drinker, but maybe this was a special occasion. When I
refilled her cup, she emptied it again. Shrugging, I decided to accompany her. We drank in companionable silence—
until a flush bloomed in our cheeks, the sweet scent of osmanthus infused our breaths, and the lamp took on a hazy glow. Yet Shuxiao’s eyes remained blank as though
her mind was far away, and not someplace pleasant either. “What’s the matter?” I finally asked, unable to restrain
myself. “Is it your family? Bad news?”
Her fingers clenched around the cup. “I want to go home.”
Simple words which struck me deep, which had echoed in my mind each day and night. I knew Shuxiao missed her family; she spoke of them with such longing. But she was a Celestial, and I had thought she was happy here, that she
had chosen this path.
“Isn’t this your home? Don’t you want to be here?” I asked tentatively, wondering if the wine had dulled my mind.
“No. Home is south in the countryside, shaded by
crabapple trees, a river cutting through the fields.” A small smile played on her lips. “My father never sought a place at court or the emperor’s favor. While our family is not weak, we are without allies. It would not have mattered if a
powerful noble had not taken a liking to my younger sister. He approached my father, asking for her to be his concubine. An insult. Even if he wasn’t both lecherous and ancient, with over a dozen concubines and three wives.”
Such things were common among the nobility, yet the idea repelled me. How could love thrive in so unequal a circumstance?
“My sister refused the match. My father supported her, as not many would have done. The old goat was furious
that we spurned the great honor,” she snarled. “He
threatened my family with ruin. That he would blacken our reputation to the Celestial Court. Who would defend us
when none knew our name?”
“Is that why you joined the army?”
She nodded. “To stop the threats and bullying. To prevent this from happening again. Few would dare malign us
without proof now I have General Jianyun’s ear. But this is not the life I wanted, among the crowds of the Jade Palace. I want to be home with my family and friends. Maybe fall in love. Yet the higher I rise, the more I am bound. The more we have to lose.” Grabbing the jar, she emptied the last of
it into her cup, some of the wine sloshing onto the table.
I did not know what to say. Perhaps I was failing her
through my continued silence, but neither did I wish to give misguided advice. I had always thought Shuxiao thrived here; liked by commanders and soldiers alike. Perhaps it was as Liwei had said: Everyone has their own troubles;
some lay them bare while others hide them better.
I could not tell her to follow her heart. I could not tell her to be selfish. This was her choice to make, though I would gladly support her however she decided. We each had our own burdens to bear and we alone knew their true cost,
and whether we could pay it.
“Maybe you’ll find someone here?” I teased, trying to lighten her mood.
Her nose wrinkled. “Hah! You’ve got the best one— among the men, at least.” She rummaged in the chest behind her to pull out another jar of wine.
Did she mean Wenzhi? Heat prickled along my neck yet I held my tongue, feigning indifference.
After a pause, she nudged my arm. “Xingyin, there’s something I’ve wanted to ask you for a while now.”
I took a long drink, letting the wine burn through the
sudden tightness in my throat. Did she suspect anything of my family? My identity? She would not betray my
confidence, but I could not risk a chance indiscretion.
“What’s that ornament you always wear by your waist?
The one with the teardrop-shaped stone. I’ve seen it on Prince Liwei, too.”
I released a drawn-out breath, relieved that my mother’s secret was safe—even as my insides clenched with a new anxiety. My past with Liwei was another secret buried deep, but I would not lie to Shuxiao. Not for this.
“It was a gift. From Prince Liwei.” I hated the way my voice shook over his name.
As her lips stretched in a knowing grin, I added hastily, “It was nothing, just a token of friendship. He’s engaged.” A statement as obvious as the color of my hair.
She squinted, as though struggling to remember
something in her befuddled state. “Prince Liwei is never without the tassel. And his attendants say that your song, the one you played at his banquet, is often heard drifting from his room.”
He kept the shell, still? It means nothing, it changes nothing, a voice inside me hissed.
My fingers toyed with my cup. This time, it was I who
drained it first. “I didn’t think you listened to idle gossip,” I told her.
“Only when it concerns my friends,” she said, with a grin.
I did not speak again, and neither did she. So, we drank in companiable silence for the rest of the night, the air
between us heavy with past remembrances.
My head throbbed mercilessly the next morning. I
thought a walk would ease it but my feet led me back to a familiar courtyard. I hesitated, before entering the pavilion and sitting on a stool. Yellow and orange carp darted
around the lotus blooms as the waterfall cascaded into the pond with a soothing rumble. I closed my eyes, inhaling the sweetness in the air. My old room was a few steps away— was it occupied by another? This was my first time entering the Courtyard of Eternal Tranquility since I had left. It was just as I remembered, yet everything had changed.
A girl, passing through the courtyard, halted and bowed to me. In her hands was a tray of pastries, the kind which flaked and crumbled when you bit into them to get to the
sweet bean filling. When she looked up, I recognized her at once.
“Minyi, it’s me!” I laughed. “Why are you being so formal?”
Two dimples appeared in her round cheeks. “Who hasn’t heard of the First Archer’s accomplishments over the past year?” she said, coming to sit beside me. “Did you really
strike down twenty spirits during your last battle?”
My lips twitched, remembering her fondness for gossip. “Twelve. They fly fast.”
“What of the Bone Devil? What did it look like?”
I shuddered at the remembrance of the malevolent
creature that had broken free from the Celestial prison. “Hair and pupils so pale, they were almost translucent. Powdery skin stretched as taut as a drum.”
She clutched my sleeve. “How did you kill it?”
A memory flashed across my mind: Wenzhi’s sword
arcing through the air, sinking into the creature’s neck. Its jaws—crammed with silver needles for teeth—had snapped at him viciously. As Wenzhi evaded its attack, the monster’s claws flashed above his neck, toward the throbbing vein
where his lifeblood flowed. Gripped by fear, I had released an arrow that plunged into its skull. Thick, white liquid
oozed from the wound, a piercing shriek stabbing the air. Its claws had clutched the shaft once before they fell away, as it collapsed onto the ground. Gone were those days
when my heart had twinged with pity, though their faces haunted me still.
“Captain Wenzhi and I fought it together,” I told her.
At the mention of his name, Minyi sat straighter, her eyes brightening as whenever she scented a new tale.
To forestall her next question, I hastily asked, “What news do you have of the palace? How is His Highness?” Too
late, did I bite my tongue. Last night’s wine must have addled my senses, to have spoken of him aloud.
Someone approached from behind me. Had the roar from the waterfall muffled the footsteps? A throat was cleared
and just from that sound, I could tell who he was before I turned. Beside me, Minyi leapt to her feet and bowed.
Without another word, she grabbed her tray and hurried
away, leaving me alone with the intruder. Except he was no intruder; he had every right to be here. It was I who did not belong.
“Please forgive the trespass, Your Highness. I will leave at once.” Formality was a shield I clung to against my own weakness.
“Why don’t you ask me how I am yourself?” There was a warmth to his tone which I had not heard for a long time.
I would have left then, but he moved into my path. As I looked up at him, I could not deny it was there still—that
ache in my heart, that thread which tugged at it whenever he was near . . . no matter how I wished it did not. A soft breeze blew through the courtyard, sweeping a lock of my
hair against his cheek. He caught it between his fingers, his eyes as inscrutable as pools of night.
“Have you been well?” he asked. “Yes.”
“Why are you here?”
“Curiosity. I wanted to meet my replacement,” I said with a flippancy which fell flat.
“Who could have taken your place?”
His tone, his words, affected me still. But I wrenched myself away to leave.
“Are we not friends anymore? Since the Eastern Sea, I’ve seen you less than a handful of times and each time you run away.” He gestured toward the stools. “Why don’t you sit down? Let’s talk as we used to. Unless you’re afraid?” A
note of challenge rang in his voice.
My sense warred with my pride. The latter won as I sat back down, goaded by his taunt. “I can’t stay long. My
training—”
“Yes, the valiant First Archer,” he interjected cuttingly. “Who else would protect the Celestial Kingdom? Still ‘First Archer’ after all your accomplishments though. An
honorable title but without rank or power. Why not seek a command of your own instead of trailing in Captain Wenzhi’s shadow?”
I clenched my teeth. “That’s my choice. I want the
freedom to take on the campaigns I wish. I have no desire to climb higher for ambition’s sake alone.”
He stared at me like he was searching for something. “Or is there more behind your relationship? There are many rumors about the young captain and the gifted archer he favors. The two brightest stars in the Celestial Army. It’s
fortunate you don’t hold an official position in the army, otherwise this would be most improper.”
His accusation stung. “How dare you speak to me of what’s ‘improper’ when it’s you who is betrothed yet
baiting me this way. You have no right to ask such things of me. It’s no business of yours what I do and who I see. As for me, I couldn’t be more indifferent to you now.”
Such reckless words I spoke, uncaring of the storm which swept over his face. Yet I would not stay to be berated by him. I’d had enough of such entanglements and the way
they twisted me into knots. Rising to my feet, I stalked away—but he caught my wrist in his grip.
“I do care,” he ground out. “Despite my sense, my judgment and honor—I cannot help but care.”
Light blazed from his eyes, as scorching as the sun.
Pinned by his gaze, I could not move—only noticing, too late, when he drew me to him. I should have pushed him
away yet there was no strength in my limbs. His confession roused something in me which I had thought long dead. I
had never seen this side of him before, filled with passion and jealousy, and a reckless part of me reveled in it.
He bent his head—slowly at first—and when I did not flee, his hand loosened over my wrist, gliding up to encircle my waist. Something smoked in the depths of his eyes, a
moment before his lips pressed against mine with a hunger as though he was starved, with an urgency that stirred my blood. There were no thoughts in my mind—no anger, no shame, no fear of what this meant. Nothing beyond this
heady lightness, this glittering fire that coursed through my veins. My fingers were already winding around his neck to pull him closer as I tipped my head back, drowning in the
sensation of his touch and warmth, even as his arms
tightened around me, locking me into an embrace from which I no longer wanted to escape.
This courtyard . . . it had been my haven once. The
soothing thrum of the waterfall, the fragrance of spring blossoms in the air, the joy I had known here. Yet while the aching familiarity of this place brought back such sweet memories, the one seared deepest in my mind was when I had sat frozen and alone the night of his betrothal.
With a wrench, I shoved him away—hard—as he
staggered back, his arms falling away. I fought for breath, struggling to gather the shreds of my composure. “No, Liwei. It is over. We are over.”
He ran a hand through his hair, his chest rising and
falling in an uneven rhythm. “Let us not lie to each other, Xingyin. We’re not over. Your heart still beats to mine. You still feel something for me, just as I do for you.” He spoke quietly, with no trace of pride. Just a certainty which was a hundred times more galling.
“What do you want of me?” I cried out, furious both at
him and myself. “You are promised to another, yet you seem intent on humbling me to admit my feelings. Does it give
you satisfaction? Would it appease your royal pride to hear you were not so easily forgotten? Or do you intend to follow
in your father’s steps, with a concubine in every corner of the palace?”
“Never, that.” He recoiled as though insulted.
I did not believe those harsh accusations myself, but a
part of me—a bitter, vengeful part—wanted to strike out at him, to wound him as he had me. We glared at each other, neither of us speaking. My heart pounding so hard I prayed he could not hear it.
At last, he turned away, his hands clenched by his sides. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he said in a low voice, akin to a reluctant confession. “My mind tells me to stop, to let you go—yet I can’t. I see you wherever I go, you’re with me
in everything I do; at my table while I eat, in my room when I awaken. Your voice in the air, your smile in my eyes. I
can’t forget you, no matter how I’ve tried.”
Neither of us moved, neither of us spoke. How weak I was, that I did not leave now, that his confession moved me so. I did not know how long we would have stood there, as still as the stone lions which guarded the entrance, if the doors to the courtyard had not been thrown open. I stepped away from Liwei, just in time, as a messenger ran toward him. His black hat had been knocked askew and his robe flapped in the wind.
He bowed, panting a little as he spoke to Liwei. “Your Highness, Their Celestial Majesties request your immediate presence in the Hall of Eastern Light. An urgent matter requires your attention.”
Liwei frowned. “I’ll go at once.” He glanced at me as though wanting to say more, but then he strode away.
I fled back to my room, trying to settle my churning emotions. Yet they were roused anew at the sight of Wenzhi, sitting by the table.
“Weren’t you with General Jianyun this morning?” I asked, taking the stool beside him.
“Our meeting ended early.” He sounded strained.
Hesitant, which was most unlike him. “Xingyin, there is
something I must tell you.”
I clasped my hands in my lap, a chill spreading through me in anticipation of ill tidings.
He leaned toward me, his voice rough with sudden emotion. “I’ve resigned from the Celestial Army. This week will be my last. I have important family matters to attend to, far from here—and I don’t expect to return.” He spoke with deliberate measure, as though wanting to be sure I
grasped his meaning.
“You’re leaving? To the Western Sea?” I managed to ask.
A terse nod. “My final assignment will be to inspect the troops at the border of the Golden Desert. They’ve been unsettled of late.”
My chest was so tight, I found it hard to breathe. Since the Eastern Sea, something had changed between us. My
heart beat quicker at the sight of him and his smile warmed me like wine. Sometimes, I thought I caught a kindling in his eyes as he looked at me. We were circumspect in our interactions, never a touch or word beyond the bounds of
propriety. Yet we had become more than friends, on the
cusp of something entirely new and thrilling. Or had all this been my own delusions? I dropped my gaze to the floor,
feeling oddly dismayed. Disappointed. Hurt, even? Though I had no right to be, guilt stabbing me at the memory of Liwei’s lips on mine.
Wenzhi was staring at me, as though waiting for my response to a question I had not heard, his voice finally infiltrating the haze of my misery.
“Will you come with me?”
“To . . . the border of the Golden Desert?” I stammered. “That, too, if you wish,” he said gravely. “I meant, would
you come with me when I leave?”
My tongue darted over my dry lips. “What do you mean?” I dared not mistake his intent.
A smile lit his face, it lit the very room.
“Don’t you know how I feel about you?” His voice shook, the first crack in his iron composure. “I could not speak before, but I’m free to now. I want you to come with me—to my home, to my family. For us to share our lives together.” He lowered his head to mine, our brows almost touching, his breath warm on my skin. “Your dreams will be my dreams, too.”
Joy coursed through me like the ripples on a pond after a burst of rain. I had thought I was done with love . . . its
breathtaking beauty, its tumultuous agony. I had been
happy before and believed I would be content again once I made my way home—to my true home, not this one here
built upon a web of lies. Now, a future with Wenzhi beckoned, with clear skies and not a dark cloud on the horizon. One with no broken hearts or past entanglements. One where blood had not been spilled between our kin, our ties unsullied by hatred or past grudges—where I could be whole and free from guilt, remorse, and sorrow.
Only now did I dare to admit to myself, my fear that I had failed. That in my arrogance, I had miscalculated the worth of my talent, the value of my deeds. For despite my service to the Celestial Army, my hope of winning my mother’s
freedom was fading away, like a silk painting left out too
long in the sun. A pardon from the emperor was the surest way to securing her release. However, while my accomplishments had earned praise and gifts, which I’d declined, not even a whisper of the Crimson Lion Talisman had ever been uttered. I should have heeded General Jianyun’s warning, yet in my pride I believed I knew better.
The emperor was not known for his generosity in
dispensing such favors. Nor had anyone sentenced to
eternal imprisonment ever been pardoned. So, perhaps it was time to seek a new path to help my mother. Perhaps I would find the way in Wenzhi’s homeland, in the Western Sea.
Wenzhi’s hand on my arm startled me now. He was still waiting for my reply, perhaps wondering at my prolonged silence. As I stared into his strong handsome face,
something shifted in my chest. I cared for him, I know I did.
My dismay at his leaving was proof of that. And was it not said that love would grow between well-matched minds, over the months and years? We had eternity before us.
“Is this what you want, too?” His tone was no longer uncertain but brimming with newfound confidence, as though he had already sensed my answer.
Yes. The word formed on my lips and yet I could not say it. Something tugged at the edge of my heart, a small voice within pleading with me to reconsider. I would have asked him for more time then, except the crunch of gravel
startled us. Someone was running toward my room with undue haste, as Wenzhi threw the doors apart.
A young attendant halted in the entrance. “Captain
Wenzhi,” he gasped. “I’ve been searching everywhere for you. Their Celestial Majesties have requested your
immediate presence in the Hall of Eastern Light.”
How strange, I thought to myself. He was the second messenger I had seen today relaying pressing news.
Wenzhi’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “I’ll come shortly.”
The messenger shrank away but did not leave. His
courage was commendable, particularly in light of Wenzhi’s evident displeasure. “All the other commanders have
already gathered. I . . . I was instructed to accompany you there the moment I found you.”
Wenzhi sighed as he drew me aside. “Let’s speak tomorrow.” He might have said more, but the messenger shuffled his feet, throwing a nervous glance at us. With an impatient shake of his head, Wenzhi stalked away.
Alone in my room, I sat by the table until the golden fire of the sun dwindled to a glowing ember. If not for my lapse of weakness this morning, I had believed my heart whole, freed from the ties that had bound it. A glorious future
beckoned on the horizon. Yet I still clung to a shred of my past, as a flowering peach blossom tree yearning for its
fallen bloom.
