In a daze, I stepped out of the Hall of Eastern Light.
Several of the palace servants stared at me curiously as they polished the stone balustrades and swept the
immaculate grounds. Shuxiao strode toward me as though she had been waiting for me all this time. I had told her of my summons, never imagining today’s events to unfold the way they had.
“Is it true?” she asked. “About your mother?”
I blinked at her, surprised. I had not taken more than five paces from the hall. “How did you know?”
“Ah. Most royal audiences are terribly dull. When it was reported that raised voices were heard—” She grinned as she looked around. “You’d be surprised at how many found something that required urgent attention here.”
Her smile faded as she pulled me aside, away from keen ears. “Is your mother really Chang’e, the Moon Goddess?”
Was there anger in her voice? Resentment? All those times she had spoken of her own family, I had not said a word, letting her believe mine were deceased. I could not blame her if she never wanted to speak to me again. It
might be better for her if she did not. Coupled with the disfavor of Their Celestial Majesties, I was both an
unworthy and dangerous friend to have.
“Yes,” I said, bracing myself for harsh words.
Instead, she reached out and hugged me. “I’m sorry
about your mother,” she said, releasing me. “But I’m mad at you, too. I would never have told anyone.”
There were other things I had told her in confidence, things she guessed that she kept to herself. “I couldn’t say anything, not until I knew it would be safe.”
She nodded, slowly. “I understand. Though I doubt your news was pleasing to Their Celestial Majesties.”
“As pleasing as a zither with a snapped string.” I frowned, recalling the empress’s hissing rage, the emperor’s . . . he had been angry at first, to be sure. Yet he had seemed
oddly satisfied when I left. He should be, I told myself, getting twice the labor for a single wage.
“And now, I must somehow persuade four dragons to surrender their pearls to the emperor, if I want a hope of seeing my mother again.” I could not help wondering then
—if I failed, if I proved myself of no further use to the
Celestial Kingdom, would the emperor’s promise to me still hold? Would my mother be safe from the empress’s malice? Would I, even as far away as I would be in Wenzhi’s homeland?
“Why the pearls?” I asked aloud. “Isn’t the Imperial Treasury overflowing with jewels?”
“All I’ve heard is the dragons guard their pearls well, that they’re precious to them though the stories don’t say why.”
Shuxiao gestured at the golden dragons which gleamed
from the jade roof, a luminous orb resting securely within each jaw.
I blanched at the thought of those curved fangs sinking into my flesh. Was this a cunning plot to get me devoured, Crimson Lion Talisman and all? Would that not solve the emperor’s dilemma, in one stroke ridding himself of my
troublesome presence and, yet, honoring his word? My gut twisted at the thought.
Shuxiao tapped my arm. “Are you all right?”
“I’m not sure.” I was numb inside. In the span of a
morning my heart had soared with hope, been sunken by fear, and now rocked in a sea of turmoil.
“Well, don’t get yourself killed yet. I’ve always wanted to visit the moon,” she told me with a laugh.
“I’m not planning to, although the dragons might decide otherwise,” I said darkly.
“Then we’ll have to ensure they don’t.” “We?”
She folded her arms across her chest. “I’m coming with you.”
Hope flared in me before it was abruptly doused. She was a Celestial; her loyalties lay here. She served the army to
protect her family—how could I so selfishly undo her sacrifice, exposing her to the emperor’s wrath?
“No, you can’t abandon your position.” When she started to protest, I continued, “Listen. My father slew the empress’s kin. My mother defied the emperor. I’m in disfavor, too. You can’t get drawn into this; you have your own family to protect. What if Their Celestial Majesties took their anger out on them?”
Her face fell. “I couldn’t bear that.”
“Neither could I. Because we are the same,” I said
somberly. “We will do things for our family—our loved ones
—that we would not for ourselves. I only learned this about myself after I left my home. Some might call us fools. Those who don’t understand, never will.”
She did not protest, although she seemed troubled still. “You can’t go alone. It’s too dangerous. What if I joined you without anyone knowing?”
“I’m just asking the dragons for their pearls.” I spoke
with an assurance I did not feel. “Those of the Eastern Sea claim the dragons are peaceful. The worst thing they can do is refuse.”
My composure wavered as the emperor’s words echoed in my mind: Use whatever means necessary. Not a
suggestion but a command.
“And you won’t be alone,” Wenzhi said, coming forward.
How long had he been there? “I will go with you.”
It was not in my nature to lean upon another but, oh, how relieved I was to hear this. He was not vulnerable like Shuxiao; he would be leaving this place soon. More than that, we had fought together so many times, I was glad he would be with me for this.
Shuxiao sucked in a breath. Recovering herself, she bowed hastily to Wenzhi.
“Lieutenant, would you excuse us?” he asked. “I have something to discuss with Xingyin.”
She tilted her head at me in an unspoken question. I
loved her for it, that she watched out for my needs first. Yet that was precisely why I could not risk her joining me, I
could not risk her angering those who had the power to retaliate and hurt her.
“Shuxiao, I’ll be fine.”
“If you change your mind, I could tell General Jianyun I’m feeling ill for the next few days. Old fox spirit bite acting up, and all,” she added earnestly.
Wenzhi scowled. “Lieutenant, I hope you don’t make a practice of such irresponsible behavior.”
“No, Captain.” She bowed to him, again. “Only for special occasions.”
I stifled a laugh as she left, sobered by the thought of
what lay ahead. Wenzhi and I walked in silence, entering a familiar garden surrounding a tranquil lake. Without warning, he took my arm and drew me across the wooden bridge into the Willow Song Pavilion. I cast aside those
unwanted memories of all the times I had sat here with Liwei.
He released me then, turning to stare at the mirror-like surface of the water. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I closed my eyes, thinking of the night I had fled my home
—stricken with grief and terror. The urgency in my
mother’s voice as she had sworn me to secrecy. “I made a promise to my mother.”
“After all we’ve been through, don’t you trust me?”
“Of course, I do. But this was not a secret I could share
on a whim. It would have endangered us all.” I reached out to touch his wrist. “Does it matter? I’m still who I’ve always been.”
He turned his hand around to clasp mine. “You’re right; it doesn’t matter. Though I wish you had told me before.
Maybe I could have helped. Maybe I still can.”
It touched me, his unflinching acceptance of my past. His unwavering support. Until this moment, I had not been
sure of it. I leaned against him, resting my head on his chest as his arm slid around my shoulders. The scent clinging to his skin was fresh and evergreen.
“I wanted to tell you. One day, when we were far from here.”
His heart thudded against my ear, quicker than before. “Does this change anything? Will you still come with me?” “Yes.” A thrill coursed through me that now, there was neither hesitation nor doubt. “But I must help my mother first. I must fulfill the emperor’s task. Will you wait a little
longer?”
Wenzhi’s arms tightened, holding me closer. “As long as you are mine as I am yours, we have all the time in the
world.”
We stood, unmoving, until a prickling at the back of my neck roused me to recall where we were, in plain sight of anyone passing by. Pulling free, I twisted around. My gaze slammed into Liwei’s as he stood on the bridge, as still as one of its wooden columns. His eyes were wide, his hands fisted by his side. Something in me wrenched apart at the
expression on his face—not guilt, but sadness, for the hurt I had inflicted.
With measured steps, Liwei entered the pavilion. “May I speak with you?” His manner was cold and formal, like I
was a stranger, one of those courtiers he was always trying to avoid. When just days ago, we had defended each other with our lives. Was it always to be so with us: one step forward, and then three back? No, I told myself. We no longer walked together; our paths had diverged.
I nodded, even as my insides curled. More than to anyone, I owed him an explanation.
“I will come to you later,” Wenzhi said to me.
I thought he would leave then, but he took my hand in his again, sliding his thumb across my palm in a deliberate stroke. My pulse quickened and despite my mortification, I did not pull away. Wenzhi’s lips curved in the shadow of a
smile as he released me. He bowed to Liwei, more a curt incline of his head, before striding away.
“I’m sorry,” I said haltingly to Liwei. Though I owed him more than this crude apology. For all that we were to each other, for our friendship alone, he had not deserved my
dishonesty.
“You lied to me from the day we met.” The bleakness in his tone cut me. “Why did you tell me your parents were dead?”
“I didn’t! It was you who assumed it and I . . . I let you think that way. I had no idea how to correct you, not
without more lies. I promised my mother I would keep this secret. I had to protect her. Can you imagine her
punishment if your parents discovered her deception? If
they learned she had concealed me, too? They would have sentenced her to torture or death, as they might have done today if I had not won the talisman. If I had not secured her safety before the court.” My words tumbled out harsher
than intended. I was sorry to have deceived him and yet I had little choice in the matter, driven to this by his family. “Why didn’t you tell me after we grew closer?” His eyes
held mine, so dark and unyielding. “You are not who I believed you to be.”
His accusation stung, rousing my ire. “I’ve always told you the truth about me. It was just my parents whom I concealed, and I’ve told you why I did so. I was separated from my family; they are lost to me. Knowing the truth
would have changed nothing, except endangering my mother. So, why does this matter? Why does it bother you so? Is it because they were mortal? Disgraced, for
disobeying your father?” These words of mine were hateful, nor did they quite make sense. I knew him better than that. But riled now, I spoke without thinking, wanting to hurt as much as I was trying to explain.
He recoiled, glaring at me. “That means nothing to me. I just never thought you would lie. You accepted my trust
and never yielded me yours.”
My anger dissipated. Though I wanted to deny it, there was truth in his words. I had been selfish, shuttering myself away, taking what he had to give. “I wanted to tell you, so many times, but I was scared. At first, I didn’t know what
you might do. And later . . . I didn’t want to be a burden.” “Xingyin, how could you ever think I might have harmed
you? I would have helped you in any way I could.” He spoke more gently now.
“Liwei, I didn’t want to hide this from you. I was afraid of your parents finding out, afraid of what they might do—to my mother, to me, to you even, if you angered them. Do you think Their Celestial Majesties would have been inclined to mercy?” My lip curled in distaste.
His eyes narrowed. “Why come here if it brought you closer to those you despise? Were you seeking revenge? Was everything calculated to advance yourself?”
I did not look away; I was not ashamed of what I had done. “Not revenge. Not everything. Yes, I wanted the
opportunity you offered, I wanted to better myself. Only the strong are favored in the Celestial Kingdom, only then
might I get what I wanted. Can you blame me for seeking a new future after mine was snatched away? It didn’t occur
to me, until I entered the palace, who your parents were.
Even then, I never wanted to set you against them. I
wanted to free my mother—more than anything—but only through my own efforts, as I did today. Never through
harming you or yours.”
“More than anything?” he repeated, with a catch in his voice. “As it turned out, I was just a stepping-stone in your ambition. How well I served your needs when I urged my father to grant you his favor today.” He bent his head to mine, almost tenderly, and yet his words were steeped in bitterness. “Your gamble has paid off handsomely. Now you have what you wanted, First Archer—fame, respect, the
Crimson Lion Talisman. Your mother’s freedom, almost within your grasp.”
“All I wanted was what was taken from me!” I snarled. “You have no idea what I went through. How my mother has suffered!” My temper snapped as my hand flew up to strike him.
He caught it in his grip, his fingers burning against my wrist. For a moment we stood still, glaring at each other. Our breaths quick and shallow, my heart pounding between my ears.
“I earned all this on my own, serving the Celestial Kingdom—your kingdom—with my blood. As I will earn my mother’s freedom with this final task.” I yanked myself free, stepping away from him. “I’m sorry for deceiving you, I am. But I never meant to hurt you and I don’t deserve your accusations.”
I was almost shaking in my rage and disappointment as I added, “No matter what we had lost, I always believed we would have our friendship. Maybe I was wrong.” At this moment, I could not help thinking of Wenzhi’s and Shuxiao’s unreserved acceptance of me. Yet, of the three, it was Liwei whom I had hurt most with my lies.
He glanced away, at the calm lake, clasping his hands behind him. When he spoke, his tone was steady once
more. “Ah, Xingyin. My disappointment has made me vicious. I am a jealous fool, the sight of you both just now
—” He shook his head. “This was not what I wanted to say to you when we met again. I had it all planned out—a
heartfelt speech about how grateful I am that you did not leave me to die at Lady Hualing’s tender hands. Although,
you might be regretting that now.” A rueful smile tugged at his lips.
“Perhaps,” I said stiffly, unwilling to let go of my anger even as it unraveled with his words.
“In the Eternal Spring Forest, in that wretched cave . . . I rejoiced to see you, yet was terrified that you might die.” He spoke slowly as though the memory pained him. “I owe you my life. Thank you for saving it.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” I said. “It was my choice.
My decision.”
“You could have saved yourself, yet you stayed. While in return, I . . . I almost killed you—” His words cut off, his
chest heaving. “I will never forget the look on your face
when I struck the first blow. It will haunt me for the rest of my days.”
A part of me—a faithless part—wanted to pull him close.
To let us comfort each other until we had ripped away
those vile remembrances of his sword spilling my blood. My magic, draining his life.
My chest burned like it was crammed with hot coals, but all I said was “I know it wasn’t you. I know you didn’t mean to.”
He fell silent then, even as his eyes held mine fast. “Did you mean what you said in the cave? That you loved me?” He spoke so softly it was almost a whisper.
“Yes.” I inhaled deeply, trying to quash the twinge in my heart. Perhaps it would always be there; I was learning that love could not be extinguished at will. “But I meant what I said after, too, that I will always cherish what we had. And I
wish you joy in your life, though I will no longer be a part of it.”
His nails dug into his palm, a drop of blood falling upon a heron’s golden wing. “I thought if we survived Lady Hualing, we still had a chance to find our way back to each other. But I was mistaken, arrogant beyond belief in
thinking your path led only to me.”
I started at his words. Was it possible . . . did he think I might have asked for him, as the reward for the talisman?
He continued, his voice laden with regret. “I wish you
every happiness. Though he does not deserve you. Though I cannot help wishing things were different between us.”
“Thank you.” The words were awkward on my tongue.
Chilled, despite the sun, I crossed my arms in front of me. “Do you still hate me for not telling you?”
“I could never hate you. And it was I who was stupid, refusing to let go when I had no right to hold on.” His
throat worked as though he had more to say. “You leave tomorrow?” he finally asked.
I nodded.
“I’ll come with you.” “Why?”
He shrugged, his tone reverting to the polite detachment which hurt more than I cared to admit. “For the same
reason you came with me to the forest. You are entwined in my life, whether we are together or not. I’ll help you
because I want to, not because I must. And there is no need for any accounting; what you owe to me, what I owe to you, such debts are meaningless between us.”
Long after he had left, I remained on the marble stool. A gust of wind swept the willow trees down, their branches rippling the lake. The leaves rustled as though whispering
the secrets I had just spilled to the world. This had seemed an impossible dream, that I would reclaim my identity and liberate myself from the pretenses of the past. And now, I was one step closer to freeing my mother, to returning
home. I had believed this opportunity would bring me unmitigated joy, yet I found it was laced with an
incomprehensible bitterness.
