In my childhood, our isolation was no great burden. I had no friends or companions, and little need for them; my mother and Ping’er had sufficed for me. But now, after a few weeks immersed in such tranquility, I found myself
longing for my friends in the Celestial Kingdom and beyond.
My wish was granted sooner than I imagined. Before the sun rose the next day, Ping’er called out that Liwei had arrived. My eyes were heavy with sleep, but a pulse rippled through me at the thought of seeing him. I leapt out of bed and washed my face quickly, before pulling on a blue robe— his favorite color, my treacherous mind observed before I
silenced it. Dragging a comb through my hair, I coiled part of it up. My steps were quick and impatient, and I told
myself it was because I was glad to see a friend—any friend
—after this solitude. When I entered the Silver Harmony Hall, I found my mother sitting with him as they conversed with easy familiarity. Ping’er stood beside them, pouring their tea. As we usually served ourselves, I suspected her
attendance today was to glean a closer look at the Celestial Crown Prince.
My breath caught in my throat at the sight of him. His dark blue brocade robe was fastened with a length of black
cloth, tassels of silk and jade hanging from his waist. His
long hair was gathered into a gold ring, swinging down his back. He sat with his palms resting over his knees, with an ease to his bearing that I had not seen for a while. As he
rose to greet me, his smile was more radiant than the sun. “You . . . you are here,” I stammered, all coherent
thought having fled me.
“Uninvited. But not unwelcome, I hope?” He reached out to take my hand.
Such intimacy caught me unaware, as did the
unrestrained warmth in his gaze. “No, never that,” I finally managed.
With precise timing, my mother and Ping’er declared
they were needed elsewhere. By leaving me alone with him, my mother signaled her wholehearted approval of Liwei,
despite her earlier reservations. He had a way with people, a sincerity that drew others to him even before they knew who he was. Just as when we had first met.
“Have you been well?” he asked.
“Better than expected,” I replied truthfully. Restful sleep undisturbed by nightmares. A carefree existence without responsibilities. No one to set my heart alight or drown it with despair. Such luxuries could work wonders on one’s constitution. Since my return, my lifeforce had been strengthening, too. The moon possessed a powerful
rejuvenating energy which I was unaware of before, perhaps because my magic had been suppressed. It would take a while before I regained my strength, but it might be sooner than I had anticipated.
Though my body was healing, my spirit was restless.
There were only so many times I could walk through the osmanthus forest. Only so many hours I could while away in reading and music.
“Have you been well?” I echoed his question. Dread gripped me as I recalled his defiance of his father. And
shame seared me, too, that I had left him to bear the brunt
of his parents’ wrath alone. All that consumed me after that wrenching confrontation had been a desperate eagerness to return home, to leave the Celestial Kingdom, half fearing that the emperor might change his mind and demand the
return of his seal.
Liwei’s hold tightened, his dark eyes pinning me where I stood. “Nothing I haven’t been through before.”
I bit my lip, wanting to ask more. And yet the intensity of his stare, his nearness, gave me pause. Was there
something different about him today? It was almost as though he had reverted to the Liwei of old, before . . . I
discarded the thought. He was here, I was glad for it. And I had a favor to ask of him today, to take my mother and me to the Mortal Realm. To take us to my father.
Selfishly, I had waited to tell my mother the news. To let us enjoy a few days of unadulterated happiness, basking in our reunion and her newly regained freedom. But I knew
that she longed to fly to the Mortal Realm to seek my father at the first opportunity. One evening, when I could delay no more, I had clasped her hand in mine.
“Mother, I have something to tell you.” Unwelcome words filled with foreboding. Or had it been the tremor in my
voice which turned her face to ash?
Her cold hand slid from my grasp. “I don’t want to hear it.”
Her childlike plea had pierced me. I wondered, should I let things go on as they had? Half in hope, half in denial?
Something in me reared away. Better to cut the cord clean, than to let it fray toward the inevitable end.
“I’m sorry. The Black Dragon told me . . . Father is dead.” My voice had cracked over the words as my throat closed tight.
She had crumpled then, her body heaving as it folded over. I held her fast, trying not to flinch from her choked cries. My words had struck all hope from her as a knife
cutting down an ailing plant still clinging to life. I had lost a
father I never knew, but my mother lost a husband she loved still.
Together, now, the three of us flew to the Mortal Realm. My mother’s face was white as she plucked at her sleeves nervously. It had been too long since she had left the moon.
Fortunately, Liwei’s cloud glided as smoothly as a bird through the air.
The Black Dragon had described the place well. Where
the two rivers merged, we found the small hill covered with white flowers. At the highest point rose a large circular
grave crafted from marble. Characters inlaid with gold spelled out the name:
HOUYI
All around were paintings of my father’s achievements; the battles he had won, the enemies he had vanquished. It was a magnificent tomb, worthy of even a king in this world. Yet it grieved me that there was no mention of his family or descendants. Had he lived alone until the very end?
My mother clutched my arm, her step faltering. She stared at the grave, her face stricken with grief.
“We can leave, if you wish,” I whispered, through the ache in my chest.
“No,” she cried fiercely. She pushed her long sleeves up, picked up the broom, and began sweeping with a burst of energy. For a moment, I wondered what the mortals would think, if they saw the revered Moon Goddess sweeping as industriously as any common villager. In a flash it struck me, they more than anyone would understand the respect she wanted to pay to her husband. To show him that even in death, she honored him still. I crouched down, using my handkerchief to wipe away the dust and grime from the marble, polishing the characters until they shone once
more. Liwei stood apart at first, before bending to clear away the weeds.
When the site was immaculate, my mother brought out the offerings of fruit and cakes that she had prepared
herself, heaped onto porcelain plates. I lit the incense sticks and passed three to her, their tips crimson with
muted flame. Holding them before us, we knelt before the
grave and bowed thrice. A wife and daughter, mourning our greatest loss. After the final bow, I pushed the incense sticks firmly into the small brass censer. Thin trails of
fragrant smoke drifted into the sky.
I touched her hand, rousing her from her daze. “Mother, when you walk in the forest at night, what do you think
about?” I had longed to ask this so many times before.
She closed her eyes, a dreamlike smile on her lips. “You, as a child. Your father. Our life together. How I wish he
were with us, that he had not been left behind.” She bent her head then, broken whispers falling from her mouth. “Sometimes I wonder . . . what if the physicians were wrong? What if I had not drunk the elixir? We would have lived all these years together, in the world below. My hair would be gray now, but we would have been happy.”
Her grip tightened around mine. “As I ascended to the skies, I turned around once to see him by the window—his hand outstretched, such anguish upon his face. He had
returned too late. Some nights I torment myself, wondering how he felt as he watched me fly away. Did he understand why I did it? Did he feel betrayed? Did he . . . hate me?
Those nights, I hate myself, too.”
She stared ahead, her throat working before she continued. “In that moment when I held the elixir, all I
could think of was you and me, and how much I wanted us to live. When I drank it, I chose my husband’s death before mine. I chose a life without him. I chose—us.” Her voice
throbbed with sudden emotion. “I will never be free of my
sorrow. And yet, I would do it again, even knowing all which came after. Because it meant I had you.”
Tears fell from her like a scattering of rain. I cursed
myself for my thoughtless question. For asking it, despite knowing it would grieve her. But we could not keep hiding
and burying our hurt, especially from those we loved. I had learned that through the pain lay forgiveness, growth, and the eventual healing of our wounds. It struck me then, perhaps my mother and I were more similar than I had imagined. We had both seized the opportunities which
came our way, we had both chosen to live.
Slowly, her fingers slipped from my grasp like she had forgotten my presence. Her gaze fixed on the gleaming
characters of my father’s name on the headstone, her lips moving to mouth them in silence. His legacy and achievements carved into immutable stone. Forever
ingrained in the memory of the world he had saved, for as long as there were books to read and songs to sing. He
would never be forgotten. But it was an empty solace for those who loved him.
Rising to my feet, I joined Liwei by the bank of the river.
We stood in silence, watching the water glistening in the sunlight as the breeze toyed with our hair. The air in the
mortal world was filled with a myriad of scents; blossoming flowers, decaying leaves, the earthy river water thrumming with life.
He turned to me then. “I asked Princess Fengmei to release me from our betrothal.”
I stared at him in disbelief, unsure of what to say. “Why?
When?” I finally asked.
He shot me a rueful smile. “Need you ask why? After you left, I visited Princess Fengmei. I told her the truth, what I should have told her long before. She deserved more than what I had to offer: a heart that would never be hers. She was most understanding. And she asked me to tell you, she
hoped we would find happiness together. I think she knew since the day you rescued her.”
I recalled her clear gaze when it had fallen upon our Sky Drop Tassels, when she realized they were a matched pair.
I did not wish to hurt her . . . but oh, I could not deny the joy blossoming through me now.
“What about the alliance?”
“The Phoenix Kingdom reaffirmed its support for the Celestial Kingdom. While the tie will not be as strong as
one bound through marriage, they will remain our friend and ally. Both the queen and she remain grateful for our aid.”
He took my hand, pressing it against his chest—where his heart pounded as loudly as my own. His eyes shone with
unbridled emotion. As his other palm cupped the curve of my cheek, I leaned unconsciously against him, drawn to his remembered warmth. “My heart is yours; it has always
been yours,” he said. “You don’t have to answer me now. I know you need time to be with your mother and to think things through. I was wrong before; I did not fight hard
enough for us then. But I will never fail you again.” He spoke the last words as solemnly as a vow.
The emotions suffusing me left no room for speech. It was as though the sun had emerged from behind the clouds,
illuminating the sky. The shadows might return, but for now I would bask in its radiance.
As dusk crept up, we flew back to the moon. Before he left, Liwei helped me to set up the protection wards. Our home was no longer forbidden to immortals and while we welcomed visitors, we needed to exercise caution.
Together, we wove our magic into threads of power which stretched all around the Pure Light Palace. When I paused, exhausted by my efforts, Liwei took over. As he closed his eyes, his energy erupted in a surge of light, circling our wards before vanishing.
“I’ve added another layer of protection to detect those who conceal their form, whether Demon, spirit, or Celestial. While it cannot prevent their entry, it will
hopefully give you sufficient warning,” he explained.
At the gravity in his tone, the blood drained from my face. “Celestial?” I repeated, stumbling over the word. I had
thought we were done with the intrigue, the danger and fear.
Liwei’s face darkened. “There are no plots that I am aware of. However, my parents are displeased that the
army intervened to lend you their support. Whispers have reached their ears that their capitulation here is viewed by many as a sign of weakness. Some begin to question again the wisdom of their past decisions—imprisoning the dragons, exiling the Moon Goddess. Allowing the sunbirds to roam unfettered.”
A chill swept over me. “All I ever wanted was to go home and free my mother. I never intended any of this as a challenge. I just want to live here, in peace.”
“We cannot control what others fear. But you won’t be alone. I will be with you, for as long as you let me.” Liwei took my frozen hands, lifting them to his lips and blowing his warm breath over them. “I’m just being careful. These are rumblings and rumors, nothing to worry about for now.”
I nodded woodenly. Rumblings and rumors in the wrong ears could still bear dire consequences.
That night, after Liwei had left, I tossed and turned
before I fell asleep. And even in slumber I found no rest— lost in a vivid dream where I stood on the balcony, gazing at the sky. The clouds were a strange color, almost violet.
As a tall figure came to stand beside me, his green robe swirled in the breeze.
He stared at me with those silvery eyes, as though waiting for me to speak.
“Thank you for letting us go. But it does not erase all you did,” I said stiffly.
“I meant what I said. That I would never force you
against your will again.” There was a wistful note in his tone, one I had never heard before. “I did not realize what we had until it was lost. If only we could start over, I would do things differently.”
I did not answer him. I did not know what to say. “There is something I want to ask you.”
“You can ask but I may not answer,” I countered,
unwilling to be drawn deeper into a conversation that brought back too many unsettling memories.
Though he smiled, there was a hollowness about it. “Would you indulge me? I’ve missed your company.”
“I’ve not missed yours.” A half-truth, a half-lie. I reminded myself that whatever I missed was the illusion of our companionship, not the reality of his deception.
His eyes flashed. “On the rooftop, before the dragon carried you away—would you have shot me?”
I had asked myself that countless times before. And now, I finally knew the answer. “No.” His honesty deserved no less than mine.
At that single word, he let out a drawn breath, the
tension easing from his shoulders. “Could you ever care for a Demon as you did for the Celestial?”
“The Celestial never existed. It was the Demon all along.” Somehow, I kept my voice flat, ignoring the twinge in my chest.
He inclined his head gravely. “Perhaps. However you see me, I will wait until you do.”
“Do what?”
“Love me again.” His fingers brushed the side of my head, lightly stroking my hair. “Or at least, not hate me anymore.”
Before I could jerk away, a scathing retort on my tongue, he had disappeared.
I awoke the next morning, sandy-eyed and grim. My
dream was so vivid, the emotions it evoked so real—I was lost in thought for a long while. Alternating between
outrage that he might have infiltrated my dreams, and resentment that the thought of him still troubled me so.
Finally, I rose to get dressed. In front of the mirror, I froze at the sight of the silver pin in my hair carved with a
pattern of clouds. My fingers grasped the cool metal, plucking it out and hurling it into a drawer.
I picked up the Jade Dragon Bow, slinging it over my shoulder before leaving the room. My time in the army had taught me caution; to always have a weapon on hand.
Walking outside, I tested once more the wards which Liwei and I had woven. Threads of gold and silver knitted tightly together—as delicate as a spiderweb, yet stronger than iron. With a burst of defiance, I thought, if enemies lurked on the horizon, I would be ready for them.
That night, I did not dream of Wenzhi. I was unsettled, unsure of how I felt, though I sensed it was not the last I had seen of him.
My days fell into a routine. Since my mother’s punishment was lifted, many immortals came to visit us. Some to pay their respects, others to satisfy their curiosity—more
interested in the scandal of our tale than out of any true concern. I longed to show them out after the first cup of tea, but my mother’s glare restrained my ruder impulses. Yet beyond these slight irritations, it was wonderful to be home. To feel safe and free and loved. True to her promise, Shuxiao was a frequent visitor, often dropping by unannounced. I was always glad for her company and to hear her news of the realm. Minyi came, too, and even Teacher Daoming and General Jianyun. These were my
favorite times—sharing my home with the friends I had made, to hear their voices and laughter spilling through
our halls. Such company did not detract from the peace but enhanced it.
Yet no visitor was more frequent than Liwei. We took long walks through the white osmanthus forest, winding
between the glowing lanterns, beneath the starlit sky.
When I played the qin or flute, he sat beside me, sketching or painting. At times I looked up to find his dark eyes fixed on me with such intensity, my fingers would falter over the melody. But I no longer shied from his touch, nor felt that pang of guilt when my pulse quickened at the sight of him. And my mind, once more, dared to dream of our future.
Some nights, after Ping’er had gone to bed, I joined my mother as she stood on the balcony of our home. We were together, yet each of us lost in our own memories—hers, of the realm below, and mine of the skies above. I now understood, with startling clarity, why she had not wanted to be disturbed during these times. And though we did not speak, we found a kind of solace in each other’s company, in sharing our sorrow—a sorrow which I had no
comprehension of in my childhood. Often, I started to find myself alone, not noticing when she had left—so wrapped up was I in my own thoughts, in trying to answer the questions which whirled through my mind.
Could Liwei and I truly forget all that had transpired to tear us apart? Could the ties that were severed be remade?
In the tranquility of my home, I hoped to have the time to unravel these tangled knots of my life. Yet even though we were immortal, I could not walk this path forever—shying from love, wary of making the wrong decision, afraid to be
hurt. I had not believed myself fickle, but the truth was I no longer knew my own heart.
I had always thought life was a road, twisting and turning with the vagaries of fate. Luck and opportunity, gifts
beyond our control. As I gazed across the endless night, it dawned on me then, that our paths were forged from the choices we made. Whether to reach for an opportunity or to
let it pass by. To be swept up with change or to hold your ground. On the surface, my life had come full circle. Yet no longer did I have to hide in the shadows, burying my past
and fearing for my future. Never again would I conceal who I was, and the names of my father and mother. Word had
spread throughout the eight kingdoms of the Immortal
Realm that I was the daughter of the Moon Goddess, and of the mortal who had slain the suns.
In the darkness, the thousand lanterns flickered to life.
The sky was clear. The stars infinite. The light of the moon was full and bright. On a night as this, my heart was content, awaiting the promise of tomorrow.
