Immortal

13

My reflection here was clear and sharp, unlike the yellowish tinge of the bronze mirrors in my realm. My eyes appeared darker after I’d lined them, and my lips were painted red. The pale lock of my hair gleamed, framing the curve of my face. I didn’t tuck it away as I usually did—this was a part of me now. Plum-blossom trees were embroidered on my pink robe, a blue sash wound around my waist. Soft colors, pretty ones—chosen to lower the god’s guard. The first bright colors I’d worn since Grandfather’s death.

It didn’t feel right, but I had to overcome my unease. Queen Caihong had sent a magnificent dress to my room for the pledging ceremony tomorrow, one I had no choice but to wear. I was running out of time. Regardless of whether I found the shield or won Lord Zhangwei’s support—I couldn’t pledge myself and my kingdom as things stood. My people needed to be freed of our obligation, to have the choices the other mortals did, not confined within our walls.

It was early yet, but Zhangwei was already waiting outside my room. His white robe shifted in the breeze, the light color startling against his tanned skin. Red hawks were embroidered along the hem, their wings seeming to flutter, one taking flight toward the wide black sash that was knotted around his waist. A jade ring bound the immortal’s long hair, which fell across one shoulder to frame his coldly beautiful face. Despite his lack of armor, his sword was slung across his back.

“You always carry your sword,”

I remarked. “Are you planning to fight someone today?”

“No. But danger often comes without warning, causing most harm when unexpected.”

“Should I bring my sword then?”

I was still unused to carrying one around, just my dagger.

“I will keep you safe,”

he told me.

I shouldn’t rely on him; I shouldn’t trust him, nor feel the warmth that I did at his assurance. Yet being with him made me careless, stirring unfamiliar emotions that were becoming harder to suppress . . . to pretend they didn’t exist.

I smiled instead. “Then I’ll leave mine. Who would harm me with you here?”

Flattery, woven into a claim to his protection that I hoped to extend to my kingdom.

He returned my smile, then let out a sharp whistle. His phoenix descended toward us, the one we’d ridden before, its rainbow-hued tail flaring wide. Zhangwei helped me onto its back, then climbed up behind me, leaning forward to stroke the phoenix’s head. The great bird spread its wings as we took flight, the wind surging into my face. My initial fear had vanished, a wild exhilaration seizing me as we flew. This time, when his body pressed against mine, I didn’t lean away even though it would have been wiser to.

A growl rang out behind us, frantic and low. I twisted around to find an enormous creature flying toward us, even larger than the phoenix we rode upon. Silver antlers reared from its head, its body covered in coppery scales. A red mane encircled its face, from which curved tusks emerged. Black hooves gleamed at its feet, curled beneath the creature as it soared with swift grace.

Fear flickered, underscored by something else—was it curiosity? Fascination? This being was otherworldly and magnificent—a mystery—unlike the dragons and phoenixes I’d often read about. “What is this creature?”

I wanted to know.

Zhangwei’s eyes narrowed. “A qilin. She should not be here.”

“Why? Are they dangerous?”

“They can be,”

he replied tersely.

The creature must be more vicious than it appeared. Before I could ask more, Zhangwei raised his hand, the tips of his fingers aglow with his power. The air thickened with a tension I was growing attuned to, a translucent shield sweeping around us that rippled with the wind. The qilin howled as it flew past, like it could no longer see us. I instinctively covered my ears with my hands, unsettled by the fury in its tone.

“It’s gone now. Don’t be afraid.”

Zhangwei caught my hand, his touch searing me.

“Why did you hide us from the qilin?” I asked.

“You mean instead of killing it?”

He paused, then replied, “Violence should never be the first answer.”

“Sometimes, not even the last.”

I was glad he could not see my face. Maybe it was time to stop making assumptions about him when I was so often wrong. “Violence should be avoided at all costs, the reckless reaping of innocent lives.”

“Yes,”

he agreed. “Yet there are rare times when the lines are blurred, when it’s your life against your enemy’s, when you need to protect those you care for.”

His voice rose above the wind, clear yet low. “I didn’t want to hurt the qilin. They are wondrous creatures: powerful, intelligent, fiercely loyal—though they can turn aggressive when challenged or provoked.”

“It flew so swiftly,”

I said. “Can the qilin be ridden as the phoenixes?”

“Many have tried. But the qilin have little interest in accepting riders.”

Beneath us, the mountains rose like a ridge of islands from the glittering sand. The sun beat down, a pleasant heat that glided off one’s skin rather than settling like a cloying weight. Lush forests loomed on the horizon, a steep cliff appearing from their midst, its sheer face gleaming like beaten copper sliding into the azure ocean. Flowers bloomed from the branches, vivid reds and yellows, until they seemed afire from a distance. As our cloud descended, an exquisite melody filled the air—pure, sweet, and strong. Such lightness filled me, unseen burdens falling away. Here I could breathe easier, smile without restraint, a rare peace stealing over me.

We landed upon the grass, silken-soft beneath my feet. After Zhangwei helped me down, he unfastened a basket from the phoenix’s side. A breeze sprang up, infused with the warmth of summer. As a shadow swept over us, I looked up to find a phoenix soaring above, its bright tail rippling through the skies. Another flew alongside it, spiraling through the air—this one with a scarlet crest and silver-tipped feathers.

How easy it would be to lose oneself in wonder, to forget why I was here. Yet those soft feathers came with talons that could rend flesh like silk, and a mortal here was nothing but prey.

“This is the domain of the Phoenix Kingdom,”

Zhangwei said as we walked. “It’s a privilege to hear their song; not many beyond their borders have the opportunity. Their songs possess a rare quality that aids in healing, especially the mind—the wounds that can’t be seen.”

“Do you come here often?” I asked.

“The Phoenix Queen doesn’t look kindly upon trespassers, but she granted me permission to visit when I wish.”

“She must think highly of you.”

“It was more a repayment of a debt.”

His tone hardened. “The Golden Desert bore the brunt of the war with the Wuxin. We protected the Immortal Realm when the other kingdoms did not, claiming it was an internal conflict. Maybe they believed it was safer to not take sides—to wait until the dust settled, until it became clear who would win.”

My anger flared. “A costly mistake that both our people paid for.”

“The other kingdoms underestimated the danger of the Wuxin, not knowing enough of them,”

he said. “They only became a threat under their new ruler—one who taught them to seize, to destroy.”

“If the Wuxin had won, the other immortals would have been next,”

I said bitterly. Selfishness lay at the root of this, those who jostled for gain rather than for the good of the realm. “Why didn’t your allies help you?”

“Our kingdom was newly formed, without allies, those willing to help shoulder the burden of war.”

Unlike Tianxia. “Why did Queen Caihong want to unite the Golden Desert?” I asked.

“Back then, the Golden Desert was the only domain in the Immortal Realm without a ruler. It isolated us, keeping us friendless, weakening us with petty infighting and rivalries. We’ve learned that we’re stronger together. Since then, the other kingdoms have also welcomed us.”

He looked around. “I was glad to be able to come here. This place was vital to my recovery after the war.”

While I’d heard murmurs of his injuries, this was the first time he’d spoken of them. “Were you badly hurt then?”

“Yes,”

he admitted slowly. “Some days I still feel its shadow.”

He appeared so strong and indomitable, it was hard to imagine him weakened. “Is that why your skin feels cold?” I asked.

Zhangwei reached out, lacing our fingers together, his touch no longer startling me. “I’m not cold anymore,”

he said in a low voice.

Nor am I. But I didn’t say it aloud as I drew away, my heart beating far too quickly.

It was easier to examine our surroundings, the phoenixes perched upon the trees, their beaks tearing through a reddish fruit as they dug out wedges of ripe flesh. “I’d imagined their diet to be more hearty.”

“I wouldn’t anger a phoenix,”

he warned. “They might eat fruit from the trees and drink the purest water, but they won’t hesitate to rip your head from your neck if they think you’re a threat. Or a nuisance.”

As we sat on the ground, Zhangwei lifted the food from a basket: a roasted duck carved into slices, thin flour pancakes, a small dish of plum sauce, and curls of spring onion. Hungry now, I folded the pancake around the duck, dipped it into the sauce, then took a bite. The crisp skin melded with the sweet plum as I chewed slowly, savoring the taste.

Zhangwei filled my cup with tea. “My mother taught me to serve the guest first.”

With the barest glint of humor, he added, “Though she didn’t say what to do when the guest served herself so quickly.”

I laughed, folding another slice of meat into the pancake. How strange to imagine him as a boy, learning manners from his parents, those that stayed with him till today. “Where are your parents?” I asked.

“They live in a village far from the palace. They don’t enjoy court life,”

he told me.

“You are lucky that you can see them whenever you wish.”

A trace of envy slid into me. This was the greatest blessing the immortals possessed—not their magic or the riches of their world—but that they weren’t destined to be parted from their loved ones.

“I know,”

he said quietly. “I am sorry for your loss.”

I swallowed, fighting down my emotions. “Is there anyone you miss? Anyone you’ve lost?”

I wanted to shift the discussion from me.

His gaze turned up to the skies, shrouded in memory. “Just one.”

“How fortunate that immortals don’t die as easily as mortals,”

I remarked, a little too sharply.

He shook his head. “That is not why. You have to love someone to miss them.”

A shiver ran through me at the emptiness in his words. “All these years . . . and you’ve only loved one person? What is the point of eternity?”

A beat of silence. “I didn’t say I only loved one person, just that I lost them,”

he corrected me gravely. “One is enough, if they are the right person. It doesn’t matter how often you love, but how well.”

There was an ache in my chest that I was fighting to suppress. Whether it was jealousy or envy, it was stupid and futile.

“You’re not who I expected you to be,”

I admitted after a pause.

“Maybe you should look a little deeper,”

he suggested. “Don’t just see what you think you should.”

I had known him as the God of War even before I’d known his name. Maybe that had colored my perception of him. “Have you killed as many as they say?”

“It depends on what you’ve heard.”

His voice dropped. “Maybe more.”

“Monsters? Villains?”

What was I hoping for? A reason to not be afraid . . . or one to stay away?

“Some; not all. But never lightly.”

His voice was raw, like the ghosts of those he’d killed haunted him still.

I softened my tone. “Is it hard?”

“There is never joy in the taking of a life. But my people are safe,”

he said. “If those you love are threatened, if it’s between you or them—would you choose otherwise?”

Was I not doing the same? Making hard choices, those that went against myself, for the sake of my people. Playing on his emotions though it hurt me too, because I needed his support for Tianxia. And what of my grandfather? For my sake he had betrayed the queen he’d dedicated his life to serving, by stealing what she desired above all.

Maybe we were all monsters inside, waiting to be unleashed once pushed too far.

I wouldn’t run from it. I would embrace it, hone it into a strength as he had done. Steeling myself, I looked up at him. “When you took the punishment for me, was it out of honor? A sense of duty?”

“No.”

“Then why did you do it?”

My heart raced, my throat tightening. Part of it was to edge him into a confession, but I also simply wanted to know.

His head dipped toward mine until I could see myself in his eyes, his hair brushing my shoulder. “I think you know. Isn’t that why you’re asking?”

We were both hovering on the brink, neither willing to fall first . . . or were we just waiting for a reason to?

I lifted my wrist with the red thread—the constant reminder that I did not belong here, and only death awaited me should I stay. “I will be leaving your world soon. Will I see you again?”

“If you want to see me, nothing will keep me away.”

How bright his gaze was. Until now, I’d never known the shades of black that existed in his eyes: the sharp glitter of onyx, the tender brush of ink, the unfathomable depths of midnight. Each one drawing me closer, fraying my restraint.

I leashed such thoughts. It was not about what I wanted but what I needed from him. This was the moment to be bold, to claim what I sought.

“I would welcome you to Tianxia,”

I told him. “For myself, not from duty. Not because we are bound in service.”

I let my face fall, my voice trailing away. How I hated this pretense, such low trickery.

“What is troubling you?”

he asked, as I knew he would.

I waited a moment like I was afraid to share my mind. “While it’s our honor to serve the Queen of the Golden Desert, it was my grandfather’s wish—and mine—that Her Majesty will free Tianxia of the obligation we’ve borne since the war, to bring down the wall so we can rejoin the world we belong to.”

He didn’t pull away, nor did he appear shocked. “If you serve Her Majesty well, she might be persuaded to consider it.”

I shook my head. “Every ruler before me has tried. Nothing ever sufficed.”

“Why not broach a smaller request first, a loosening of the binds?”

His advice was sound—but I didn’t want the binds loosened, I wanted them gone. The path ahead would be difficult, not the life of ease I might have chosen—but I knew deep down that this was right.

“Instead of the pledge, I want to ask Her Majesty to release my kingdom, to return the Shield of Rivers and Mountains to us.”

I watched him carefully. If he recoiled, if he refused to help, it would be far harder to convince Queen Caihong.

“These are difficult things you ask for,”

he warned. “What do you offer in return?”

Of course the immortals would demand payment; they do nothing without gain.

The only thing I possessed that they desired was the Divine Pearl Lotus. Yet if Queen Caihong knew I’d had it all this while, that Grandfather had lied to her—she would be enraged, she might take my life. It comforted me that the lotus could not be seized, that it was mine until I surrendered it.

I hid these perilous thoughts. “The Golden Desert is strong and powerful. What more do you need from us?”

“It is not that simple.”

“Maybe it should be.”

The fact he’d not refused outright gave me the courage to plunge onward. “Would you speak for us? Her Majesty values your opinion; you are much respected at court.”

“You don’t need to flatter me,”

he said. “I’ve been thinking on the matter. After all, the Wuxin are sealed away, and it would ease tensions with the Celestial Emperor, who prefers the Mortal Realm to be united. We have also formed strong alliances with the other kingdoms that will help keep us safe.”

He added firmly, “But Kunlun must still be protected; this duty cannot be shirked.”

“We will; we want to keep our realm safe too,”

I assured him. “Though our people should be armed to face any danger that might emerge from Kunlun.”

In the silence, I clasped my hands—afraid to hope, yet unable to repress it. “I will speak for Tianxia,”

he said at last.

Excitement surged, entwined with relief. “Thank you,”

I said fervently, meaning it more than anything I’d said to him before. “I will never forget your kindness and generosity.”

“I have something else for you, a gift to remember me by.”

His expression was grave as he reached into his sleeve and drew out a comb of lacquered sandalwood. Gold filigree adorned the frame, studded with small red stones.

“It’s beautiful, but you don’t need to give me anything. You’ve already given me so much.”

I felt like a thief, having already won what I most wished from him.

Zhangwei’s gaze darkened. “I want to. Will you wear it?”

As I nodded, he slid the comb into the side of my hair. My skin burned, bright with the awareness of his touch—so assured yet gentle, his hand sliding down to graze my neck, to smooth my hair away. A fire kindled that I fought to tether. The God of War awoke a dark craving within me of desire edged with fear—one that threatened to set everything ablaze.

He tilted his head back, his tone lightening. “It is customary among my people to exchange tokens to mark a promise.”

My mind went blank as I glanced down at my dress, the bracelets around my wrists. “I have nothing here that is mine.”

“What about a lock of your hair?”

he suggested with a smile.

I nodded, pulling out my dagger to cut my hair. As the black strands fell away like shorn grass, he gathered and bound them with a silk cord, then tucked it between the folds of his robe.

This simple exchange seemed to bind us closer, startling in its intimacy. Something shifted in my heart, the intensity of the heat softening to a radiant warmth that spilled through me. I would have given him almost anything he asked for, as long as he kept his word to help Tianxia.

What were we now? What was he to me? I no longer knew, just that this moment felt real, precious . . . and, weak creature that I was, I did not want it to end.