Immortal

21

Someone was knocking on my door. Was it Yifei? It was still dark, too early to rise. My mind was fogged with sleep, drifting off once more—but then the doors were pulled apart as someone entered my room. My eyes flew open, staring into Zhangwei’s, as black as midnight.

I scrambled up, glaring at him. “Why are you here?”

“You asked me to train you.”

He pulled a robe from my wardrobe, tossing it onto my bed. “Get dressed.”

My fingers crumpled the silk, resisting the childish urge to fling it back at him. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Today, all day, I will be telling you exactly what to do.”

He leaned against the wooden bedframe, a slow smile spreading across his face. “If you prefer not to get dressed, I have no objection, though you might scandalize your court.”

As his eyes flicked toward me, then traveled down my robe—I grabbed the covers, yanking them to my neck. All I had on was a thin garment, as I’d slept with the windows closed.

“Vile wretch,” I swore.

He cocked his head, adjusting his sleeve. “Is this how you greet your teacher? Shouldn’t you call me Master?”

“Never,”

I flung back. “Now, get out so I can dress.”

He stalked to the end of the room, turning his back as he looked out the window. Quickly, I thrust my arms through the dark-blue robe, knotting a sash around my waist. I cleaned my face and teeth, then combed my hair and tied it back with a ribbon.

“Is there a place we can train around here?”

he asked. “Somewhere secluded?”

I bent to slip on my shoes. “One of the old practice grounds for the guards. It’s not been well tended; we’ll have to make do with the weeds. But it’s outside the palace, so we won’t be disturbed—yet close enough, so we’ll be safe. Some of the guards will follow us too.”

An almost foolish consideration when I was with him.

He shook his head. “Leave your guards here. This will be pointless if you keep crying out for help.”

I picked up my sword from the table, the black jade scabbard cool to the touch. It felt right in my hand somehow, like it fit. “I will not cry,”

I told him.

“Then you’re not trying hard enough.”

* * *

Yellowing bamboo trees ringed the abandoned grounds, their stalks sloping at the top. A wide river ran along the edge, the rush of water a soothing murmur. I’d heard the soldiers used to swim there after a grueling day, the waters deep enough. A red-roofed pavilion had been built in the middle of the field, where the instructors would stand to observe those training. After years of neglect, the wood had weathered, paint peeling from the columns.

Zhangwei examined the place, hands clasped behind his back. Raising his arm, sparks scattered from his fingertips like a drizzle of rain—a whisper of magic compared to the surge I’d sensed from him before. As the lights faded, so did all sound beyond: the rustle of leaves, the thrum of the river.

“This way no one will hear us,”

he explained.

“Can your shield be sensed?”

I didn’t want to draw any monsters to my home.

“If enemies are close enough to detect this, then it’s already too late.”

Fear pooled in my gut. My gaze shifted to the sword he carried, the one I’d returned to him. “Shall we begin?”

He gestured to me. “Show me how you hold a sword.”

I unsheathed mine, holding it as firmly as I could, its tip pointed at him.

“Now, attack me.”

I thrust the sword toward him, the point quivering as it halted just before his chest. Zhangwei didn’t bother to flinch or evade. Next time, I just might run him through—not all the way, but a little.

He grinned. “That’s a fine move if your enemy was a tree, considerate enough to stand still while you attacked.”

“Then teach me how to do it better,”

I snapped, lowering my arm. “Why do you think I asked you to?”

He frowned. “Weren’t you trained in combat, like most of your people?”

“I didn’t learn as quickly as the others,”

I replied stiffly. “I wasn’t born strong like you; I couldn’t run as fast, nor could I hold a sword for hours on end.”

“I didn’t know.”

A brief pause before he asked, “Was your life here hard?”

“No,”

I said at once. “I don’t need your pity or anyone else’s. I was lucky. I was not as strong as the others but had family who loved me, a secure place in the world. Since I was young, I’ve had a dream, something to live for. Some people go their whole lives looking for these things, never finding them. Nobody’s life is perfect, it’s just what we choose to see when we look at ours.”

“You are wise,”

he said in a quiet tone.

“I’ve been called many things before, but never wise.”

I smiled, echoing what he’d said to me once when I’d called him a beast.

“Then you’re surrounded by fools.”

His stare unnerved me; I looked down at my feet. Careless, to lapse into speaking to him in this familiar way. It was easier when we were fighting . . . because then, I wasn’t fighting with myself.

“Did taking the Divine Pearl Lotus strengthen you?” he asked.

“Yes.”

I turned back to him. “I’m also aware that may change once I give it to you, but I’ve accepted the price.”

“What’s cured will not be undone,”

he assured me. “But any other advantages the lotus yielded will vanish. If you change your mind—”

“I won’t.”

He straightened, moving toward me. “Then let’s continue. If you could hurt a Winged Devil with a dagger, you have some skill—but while such a weapon might work for the element of surprise, you’ll lose against the reach of a sword.”

He tapped the hilt of my blade. “Show me your stance again.”

As I held the sword, he stood behind me, leaning over to adjust my grip. He seemed unaffected by our closeness like he’d slipped effortlessly into his role of the queen’s general, training me as one of the troops. Except I was struggling to set him from my mind, to ignore the brush of his chest against my shoulders, his hand clasped over mine.

“Don’t grip the sword with all your fingers like you’re clutching a stick,”

he told me. “Wrap your thumb over the middle two—your remaining fingers should be used to support and guide, but not to grasp.”

The sword slid from my hand to the ground, narrowly missing slicing my toe. “Isn’t it less secure this way?”

I asked, picking it up again.

“You need to be able to use your sword against an opponent. By clutching it so tightly, you can’t wield it as well—and when you lack flexibility, it becomes easier for an enemy to disarm you. To block or strike, you have to react quickly,”

he explained patiently. “Holding it this way, the hilt glides in the hollow of your palm while still in a steady grip. Practice this until it comes naturally to you, until the weapon becomes an extension of your arm. Don’t worry about using it to attack just yet—that will come.”

I did as he instructed, repeating the moves. It was easier to listen when he spoke in this manner, his measured tone that of a teacher.

Once he was satisfied, Zhangwei stepped back, spreading his arms. “Attack me.”

I lunged at him at once, not wasting a moment. My sole advantage lay in surprise, though I doubted my blow would land—already flinching as the sword hurtled toward him. Zhangwei held his ground till the last moment, spinning aside—until somehow, he was behind me. His scent suffused my senses, his robe brushing mine. A moment’s distraction was all it took as he caught my wrist and flipped it up, my sword falling to the ground. I snatched my hand back, glaring at him.

“Don’t be upset, whether with me or yourself,”

he said. “When I trained, I was disarmed and knocked to the ground countless times.”

Satisfaction coursed through me at the thought. “Who knocked you down?”

“My teachers. Other students.”

A smile lit his face, one that irked me for some reason. He continued, “Failing is an essential part of learning. Each time you’re beaten or outmaneuvered, study why, learn the signs—you won’t be as easily defeated next time.”

Zhangwei picked up my sword and handed it back to me. “You can wield a weapon well enough, but you’re still treating it as a tool. When you hold your blade, it should be a part of you, each movement connected to your body. Don’t doubt yourself. If you believe you’ll lose, your arm will falter. Don’t depend on luck, a fickle ally. All you can trust is your hand, your strength of mind, your own resolve.”

I nodded, trying to remember all he’d said.

“Most of a fight is in here.”

He tapped his head, then his heart. “Be ready for the unexpected. You imagined that I would evade; you didn’t think I would counterattack without a weapon. Yet in a real battle, a moment’s carelessness can be fatal, and second chances are rare. A strong opponent is never a predictable one.”

He moved behind me again and caught my wrist. His fingers closed around mine, guiding it to swing the sword in a series of strikes—his other hand splayed against my ribs, moving my body to the pace of his footwork. His rhythm became mine, both of us locked in synchrony like a dance, but far more intimate.

Zhangwei seemed aggravatingly unaffected, even as this strained my concentration to the brink. My body was afire, his touch searing through my clothes, my heart racing. If he’d released me, I might have fallen. If an enemy affected me so, I would be dead.

Again and again I repeated each move, mimicking his stances—swinging the sword until my arms were throbbing, every bit of me aching.

Finally, Zhangwei nodded in approval. “Are you ready for the next lesson?”

I was not, unused to such exertion. “You’ve ordered me around a lot but have yet to show me what you can do.”

I spoke this as a challenge, while seeking an opportunity to rest. Part of me also hoped he wouldn’t be that good. Reputations were hard to live up to, particularly the God of War’s.

He lifted his sword over his head, the blade aligned with his other arm, held straight. The pose was graceful like a dancer’s, if not for the deadly calm in his gaze. His eyes narrowed as he spun, his sword sweeping through the air, darting as quickly as a fish in water. Sunlight glinted over his blade as he sprang up, diving with his arm outstretched—almost seeming to fly as he drove his blade into an old archery board. The thick wood cracked, then splintered apart loudly. It was fortunate we were shielded, else my guards would have rushed over at once.

He continued, his sword spinning and weaving like a living creature, his breathing calm like this was no exertion. “When you attack, focus your strength, keep your weapon aimed at your enemy—but always out of their range,”

he said. “Move with purpose, deal each blow with an aim. It’s a delicate balance to always know exactly what you’re doing, yet to never lose awareness of your enemy.”

I was hanging on his every word, unable to take my eyes from him, attuned to the sound of his blade slicing the air, the forceful grace of his every move. Something shifted in my chest like a piece dislodged, then forgotten abruptly, as he swung his sword back again, the flat of the blade now aligned to his face. His body dipped without warning, the weapon falling seamlessly into rhythm as he plunged through the air, the length of the sword across from him like part of his arm.

“A sword isn’t just for attacking but is also vital as a shield,”

he told me. “To defend yourself, wield your weapon with intent to deflect each blow, and guard yourself at every moment. Your body must flow like water, no matter what lies beneath the current. Master this skill, and not even the rain can touch you.”

As he lowered his sword, turning to me, only then did I realize I had been holding my breath. I buried my admiration, feigning indifference. “A fine display. However, the wooden board was hardly an inspiring opponent, just as much as a ‘tree’ would be.”

His eyebrows lowered ominously. “Set your challenge.”

I strode to the riverbank and gathered a handful of gleaming stones, each roughly the size of my thumbnail. “Are you ready?”

As he nodded, I drew my arm back and smiled. “You spoke of rain . . . then let it hail.”

I threw the stones at him, all at once. As they flew toward him, he didn’t flinch. I found myself bracing, not wanting him to be struck—almost as much as I wanted him to be humbled. Zhangwei’s sword spun so quickly, it was a blur as it struck the stones down with dazzling speed. They fell to the ground, each marked with the force of his blade, some cleaved apart, until the earth beneath him shimmered darkly.

It was over in barely the amount of time it took to draw a breath. Such speed, such precision, to not miss a single one—even among the gods, there could be no one his equal.

Slowly, I brought my hands together and clapped. He’d earned this respect, the sheer mastery of his swordplay shining through, unmarred by threat or danger.

He strode toward me, his eyes bright. “I like the way you’re looking at me.”

I shook myself from the stupor, folding my arms across my chest. “You were showing off.”

“You are hard to impress.”

He grinned, not denying it. “Now, show me what you’ve learned.”

“I could never do what you did.”

After his demonstration, it felt impossible. And I was already tired, aching all over, my spirits low.

“Try what you can; not everything at once. Break a problem into smaller pieces and it won’t intimidate you anymore.”

“How can I do this—whether here, or in a real fight?”

I looked down at my sword, hating this doubt. “I’m not a warrior like you, staring danger in the face. I just want to run from it.”

“Yet you don’t,”

Zhangwei said gravely. “You asked me to train you. You chose to defy tradition, challenging our queen for a better future for your people. You are stronger than you think.”

He lifted a hand to my face, and this time I didn’t draw away.

“Heroes are not born but made through their choices. One could be given the greatest gifts in the world and choose to do nothing with them. Or someone with nothing could forge their way to the pinnacle of power. Whether mortal or immortal, our destiny is in our hands.”

His words struck a chord inside me. “I don’t believe in destiny—that it’s been set or determined from our birth. I don’t believe it is written in the stars.”

His gaze was that of an endless night. “Then write your own.”