Immortal

25

The cold was startling after the warmth of the bond with Zhangwei. As I swayed, Chengyin slid an arm across my shoulders, steadying me.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

I shook my head. Yet part of me would never recover from the brutality of tonight, the young soldier’s death.

“We must go. The Wuxin will return in greater force.”

Zhangwei’s tone was curt as he looked at Chengyin and me.

Chengyin angled himself to shield me from Zhangwei’s sight. “Do you want to go with him?”

he whispered.

“No, but—”

Before I finished, Chengyin straightened. “The Lady of Tianxia needs to remain here until the physicians assure us of her health. Her well-being is of the utmost importance.”

Zhangwei’s eyes narrowed. “Yet you allowed her to fight at the front?”

“Chengyin knows that I can take care of myself,”

I retorted.

“Oh, I know you can.”

Zhangwei’s gaze flicked toward the cut on his arm, the one I’d inflicted.

Remorse flashed—morphing into a grimace at the sight of Minister Dao and Minister Guo striding toward me, eager to stake their presence now the danger had passed. Somehow, they’d found the time to dress in their official robes of state. Other courtiers and ministers followed them, including Aunt Shou, though she remained at the sidelines, unlike those who were pushing their way through the soldiers.

I turned from them deliberately, facing Captain Li and the soldiers. They had fought valiantly, risking their lives. More than anyone, they deserved an explanation.

“You must have many questions,”

I said to them.

Captain Li clasped her hands and bowed. “Your Ladyship, Honored Immortal, if those creatures were the Wuxin, how did they escape? We’d believed them locked away.”

Whispers coursed through the crowd, quietening when Zhangwei raised his hand. “They are sealed in the Netherworld with our queen’s most powerful enchantment. We will examine the gateway to learn more, to stop the Wuxin from entering again.”

“Will Queen Caihong send reinforcements?”

Captain Li asked.

I glanced at Zhangwei, unwilling to hide the situation—it would be more dangerous to rely on aid that never came. As he nodded, I cleared my throat. “The skies are sealed; no one can cross them. Until this is resolved, we can’t get word to the immortals, nor can they descend here.”

Gasps broke out, louder this time. Minister Guo stepped forward, bristling as though someone was to blame. “How could this happen? The immortals have abandoned us—”

His voice trailed off abruptly as Zhangwei straightened to his full height.

“You have not been abandoned. Queen Caihong would send aid at once if she knew,”

Zhangwei said sternly.

Minister Guo bowed swiftly, mumbling an apology as he slunk back into the crowd.

“No one is to blame,”

I said slowly, trying to sound calm when inside, I was as frightened as all of them. “However, we cannot expect the immortals’ help for now. We must protect ourselves should these enemies return.”

“Why did they come?”

Captain Li asked.

“I don’t know.”

I couldn’t mention my suspicion about the Divine Pearl Lotus; too many were present for secrecy.

“The Wuxin have always coveted the Mortal Realm,”

Zhangwei said, “It is the greatest source of their strength, where they feed best.”

“What do they feed on?”

Minister Hu asked, raising his voice from behind.

“Misery.”

Silence fell, woven with dread.

“A poor diet,”

Chengyin said weakly.

“To those who have to provide it,” I agreed.

Zhangwei glanced at the silhouette of Kunlun, almost drowned in the dark. “The Wuxin believe they have found the ideal victims among your people. A wealth of emotion, in a land devoid of magic—unable to withstand their attacks. Prey who cannot fight back.”

Captain Li shook her head, and when she spoke, her tone was respectful but firm. “Honored Immortal, we aren’t victims, nor are we prey. We are well trained in combat, adept at weaponry and fighting. Now that we’re aware of the danger, we will prepare accordingly. They will not take us by surprise again.”

Pride surged through me at her words, underscoring our strengths rather than our weaknesses. Some believed the ruler needed to be the pinnacle of wisdom, but the truth was, I was learning from my people every day. Captain Li was braver than most; it was no easy thing to correct the God of War.

Zhangwei did not reprimand her as I almost expected. “Your training is evident, as is your courage. You have much to take pride in. But it’s not a fair fight if one side possesses magic and the other does not. While you can undoubtedly hold your own in combat, what can you do against spells of fire, wind, and ice? What if your weapon cannot inflict harm on your enemy? You will fall, through no fault of your own.”

I hated the truth in his words, how vulnerable we were. Tianxia should not be the stage for the battles of gods and monsters, ill equipped as we were. My people would suffer, they would die, all for a war we’d never sought. A reminder of what was at stake for our future, and what I was fighting for.

“What can we do?”

I asked. “We may be weaker, but this doesn’t mean we’ve lost—just that the battle is harder.”

Zhangwei inclined his head to me, then Captain Li. “Make what preparations you can. I will craft a barrier to help protect those within the palace that will give you a little time.”

I stared at him, a little of the wall I’d built around my heart falling away. This couldn’t be easy for him, already much weakened. I’d thought mortal lives mattered little to him, and yet he was risking himself to help my people.

“How can we prepare? What about those outside the palace?”

Chengyin asked.

“Gather all the immortal weapons we have. Send more patrols out, closer to Kunlun to watch for any unrest. Each must carry at least one immortal blade,”

I instructed. “While the danger is present, any who wish can shelter within our walls.”

“We need more weapons from your realm, Honored Immortal,”

Captain Li said gravely. “With this attack, we are at the brink of war, if not already knee-deep. We must be able to protect ourselves—to better guard Kunlun, to keep the realms safe.”

“I have reached an agreement with the God of War,”

I assured her. “He will speak on our behalf.”

“Things cannot continue as they have,”

Zhangwei agreed. “Once the skies are unsealed, I will confer with Her Majesty. For now, we must make do with what we have.”

“Will your queen agree?” I asked.

“Her Majesty is wise; she will listen to reason. Peace spoils the victor. We grew careless, content with the way things were—believing the enemy safely locked away while they were hard at work, gaining on us. Strengthening your kingdom will help us, too.”

Zhangwei addressed the soldiers now: “Rest assured, I will do all I can to keep you safe.”

“Thank you, Lord Zhangwei,”

I said. This time I didn’t use his title to set him apart, but to honor the God of War who protected us.

“There is no need to thank me,”

he said softly. “I’m not doing this just because of our pact, but because it’s right.”

“I know,”

I replied. “And that is why I’m thanking you.”

It was like everyone else had faded away, and it was just us in that moment. His eyes had never seemed so dark, so unfathomably deep—and though I might drown, I didn’t want to look away.

Zhangwei raised his hands, shimmering with his power. Bands of crimson light surged forth, knitting together. They circled us, stretching wider across the grounds, shining like sunstruck copper. His breathing was uneven, but when he spoke, his voice remained steady. “This barrier will guard the palace. It will hold against minor incursions and alert you should the Wuxin attempt to enter again.”

As my people bowed to him, Zhangwei held out his hand to me. “Come, we must leave now.”

“Where are you going?”

Minister Dao asked, his voice shrill. “Will the God of War not stay to defend us?”

He shook his head. “The Lady of Tianxia must come with me to Kunlun, to secure the safety of the realms.”

The ministers stared at me, afire with curiosity, yet none dared to question Zhangwei.

“Let me come with you,”

Chengyin offered. From the side, Aunt Shou was scowling—she didn’t want either of us plunging into danger.

“I must do this alone. No other mortal is allowed into Kunlun,”

I reminded him.

“A troop of soldiers is always stationed close to Kunlun, to patrol the foothills and surrounding areas. More can accompany you from here, Liyen.”

Chengyin dropped my title in his urgency. “They can help protect you if need be.”

“His attentiveness is beginning to grate,”

Zhangwei said icily.

I glared at him. “Chengyin is right. Who knows what enemies lurk? But we can’t wait. The soldiers can follow after us and catch us on the way.”

“I’ll make the arrangements,”

Chengyin said. “I can accompany them—”

“I need you here, as does your mother,”

I told him, though I wished he could join me. “As the First Advisor, I grant you the mandate to rule the court in my absence.”

Chengyin hesitated, but then he bowed. “As you wish, Your Ladyship.”

I crouched down by the bodies of my fallen soldiers, beside the one who had died defending me. I made myself look at the gaping hole in his chest, his vacant gaze. I would never forget this; his death wouldn’t be in vain. An unspeakable weight fell over me as I laid my hand over the soldier’s eyes to close them. How tired I was, wishing I could fold over and weep. But with everyone watching, I had to be strong.

“What was his name?”

I asked Captain Li hoarsely.

“Wang Pengyu.”

“Does he have family?”

“A wife. A daughter, just turned three.”

A child too young to understand her loss. A widow struggling to make ends meet. My hands balled into fists at this needless death, at how little these monsters cared for the lives they’d destroyed tonight.

“Grant them a generous pension. I will bear all funerary expenses—not just for him but for the fallen today.”

It would not replace a beloved member of the family, but it would secure their futures, allowing them to grieve unhindered.

“When will you return?”

Chengyin wanted to know. “Will you be safe?”

“Right now, no one is,”

I said in a hollow voice.

Except it would be safer for everyone once we left, drawing the Wuxin away. A chill shrouded me at the thought. How bleak it was to be surrounded by enemies, with little hope on the horizon. Yet as I looked up at the God of War, I found myself remembering that at the end of every night, no matter how long, comes the rise of the dawn.