Immortal

26

According to the ancient tales, the path to Kunlun once lay unhindered. Any adventurer could attempt the journey, and many had, seduced by dreams of eternity. Most failed to find it, some perished on the ascent. As for the few who vanished without a trace—it was whispered that they’d died at the threshold of the Immortal Realm, divine punishment for daring to reach above themselves. How cruel this would be, destroying a dream at the cusp of its fulfilment.

Back then, the Celestial Emperor had commanded the immortals to distance themselves from our world. Magic had upended too many of our lives, ruining some upon a whim while elevating others without merit. The immortals who ventured to our world were governed by strict rules of conduct, those that kept them hidden, that kept us safe.

But everything changed when the Wuxin invaded, sowing catastrophe and chaos. It was the immortals from the Golden Desert who saved us, driving the Wuxin away. Queen Caihong banished them to the Netherworld, crafting a powerful spell to seal the gateway that lay in Kunlun. Since then, Kunlun was barred to all except our ruler, the only mortal permitted to enter its grounds. It had been Grandfather’s duty to watch over this place—and now it was mine.

Zhangwei and I rode in silence. My face was numbed from the wind, my head throbbing from the incessant clomp of hooves striking the ground. I had learned to ride as a child, a skill one didn’t forget. How did Zhangwei ride with such grace, his horse obeying his every command? When he’d suggested this means of travel, part of me had hoped to see him fall flat on his back.

We halted by the edge of the forest, bordering the foothills of Kunlun. The trees towered, folding into one another like the bars of a cage. “I didn’t think immortals knew how to ride,”

I said as we dismounted. “Are there horses in your realm?”

“No.”

As he stroked the stallion’s mane, the creature leaned into his touch. “But I find joy in the sport, beyond its need. A slower pace allows one to appreciate the passing scenery.”

He looped the reins loosely around a shady tree. “It would be a waste of eternity should one choose to stand still in life. Few things are more satisfying than the pursuit of knowledge, to better oneself through study or reflection.”

“The God of War possesses the heart of a scholar,”

I remarked after a moment’s pause.

His eyes slid to mine. “You sound surprised. What did you think of me?”

Warmonger. Killer—

I flushed, quelling such thoughts. I was wrong, used to thinking of him within such narrow confines, filling in his character with my own prejudice and the tales I’d heard. There was a time all I did was look for his flaws, to ignore all he was. Ill-advised, for it meant I’d underestimated him.

“Silence is an answer in itself.”

He sounded amused rather than angered.

“My grandfather taught me courtesy.”

“Yet you’ve shown no restraint, insulting me to my face.”

Laughter crept up my throat. “I had good reason.”

As he grinned, an unexpected lightness lifted me. These rare moments when we let down our guard . . . somehow, they felt so right.

“This is the first time I’ve been here,”

I admitted to Zhangwei. “Grandfather always came alone.”

His gaze held mine. “Does it look different from how it was afar?”

“Everything looks different when you take a closer look,”

I said quietly.

Even now it didn’t seem real that I was standing in the shade of Kunlun. A towering mountain of bluish-purple stone rose from the jade-green grass. Snowy mist embraced the slopes, clouds enveloping the peak. The ground was carpeted with tiny flowers, the petals pointed at the tips like stars. Cypress trees lined a narrow pathway that wound up the mountain, then vanished from sight.

“My soldiers should be near.”

I looked around, but there was no sign of them.

“They are further west,”

he told me.

Suspicion stirred. “You knew where they were all this while,”

I accused him. “Did you take this route to avoid them? Did you maintain this relentless pace so the guards from the palace couldn’t catch up?”

“Of course,”

he replied unrepentantly. “My time alone with you is precious. And we are also in a hurry.”

I scowled but couldn’t fault the latter. “Where do we go from here?”

“First, to the gateway. The way to the Ancient Grandmaster’s place lies there too.”

“Who is he?” I asked.

“One of the oldest and wisest immortals. His place is well hidden, as the way there changes—few find it, unless he wishes them to. He can help us get word to Queen Caihong.”

“Perhaps he can help us against the Wuxin,”

I said hopefully.

Zhangwei shook his head. “He doesn’t like to involve himself in such matters.”

“But this affects us all.”

“The Ancient Grandmaster has lived unscathed through countless wars; he will emerge untouched from this one. His greatest love and only care is the Tree of Everlasting Life.”

“A tree?”

I repeated in disbelief.

“This tree existed long before the immortals. Some whispered that it was first spark of life, but who knows? Regardless, it possesses great power—not as a weapon but of protection.”

As we walked up the slope, Kunlun seemed a wilderness, shaded by unkempt stalks of bamboo, the pathway pitted and worn, wildflowers blooming in tangled profusion. Yet with each step, my spirits rose, the rich fragrance of flowers and herbs invigorating my senses, a rare tranquility filling me.

The rough stone beneath my feet morphed to amethyst, veined with iridescence. The bamboo grew more evenly, tall and straight, interspersed with clusters of peonies. Ahead, the trail forked, the wider path on one side broken in the distance, large cracks running through the stone—while the other led to a narrow opening in a stone wall. A strange energy thrummed from it, my chest pulsing with sudden awareness.

“This is where the gateway lies.”

Zhangwei’s voice dropped in warning. “Be on your guard.”

I pointed to the other side. “Where does this lead?”

“Once, toward the skies,”

he said solemnly. “But after the Wuxin descended to your world, the Celestial Emperor decreed this pathway too dangerous and it was destroyed. Now it leads nowhere. You could wander these mountains for eternity and never find your way out.”

I shuddered as Zhangwei and I turned onto the smaller path, slipping through the gap in the stone. It opened into a wide clearing, the soft ground blanketed by moss, glistening with dew. Pale birch trees rose like icicles, encircling a vast lake that stretched out beyond my sight. Tendrils of light curled from its crystalline waters to spear the sky, its surface crowded with lotuses in vivid hues. At the far side, a large pavilion rose from the waters—an unusual shape, like three round pavilions joined together, the interior concealed by panels of brocade that hung straight down. The gilded roof was crowned with a sculpture of a dragon facing a phoenix, a luminous orb trapped beneath both their claws. How could such a place exist here? Yet after seeing the wonders of the realm above, nothing seemed impossible with the might of the gods.

The warmth in my chest intensified, my scar throbbing now. “This lake doesn’t seem real . . . it doesn’t feel a part of my world.”

“Some believe this place was formed when a dragon and a phoenix fought over a pearl,”

Zhangwei told me.

“A pearl seems a small prize.”

“Not when it possessed great magic,”

he replied. “These powerful creatures fought ferociously to claim it, crashing into mountains, gouging chasms with their claws. Evenly matched, they battled until the heavens shuddered. In the tussle, the pearl was dropped, striking the ground to form this lake. Desolate at the loss of their treasure, the dragon and the phoenix chose to remain here. According to legend, their bones lie at the bottom of this lake, their blood fused with these waters.”

“Do legends exist in your realm?”

I asked. “Or is this ‘history’?”

“Our stories are more truth than myth,”

he acknowledged. “Dragons swim in our seas, phoenixes fly in our skies—yet they still strike awe into our hearts. It grieves me to imagine these majestic creatures losing their lives over such a thing, that the beauty here sprouted from strife. I would rather think of it as a legend.”

I fell silent, mulling over what he’d said, the feelings this place roused in me. “The pearl’s magic—was this how the Divine Pearl Lotus formed?”

“Yes, from the remnants of the jewel, watered in the blood of the dragon and phoenix.”

If only the lotus could have healed them, too. My eyes were damp as I stared at the waters, imagining my grandfather standing here.

Zhangwei gestured to the pavilion on the lake. “Both the gateway and the path to the Ancient Grandmaster lie there, but we’ll have to examine the gateway first.”

“There is no bridge across. Do we swim?” I asked.

In the silence, my gaze followed his, trailing over the lotuses. As a dragonfly landed on the petals, a root sprang up, curling around the creature and dragging it below—the waters rippling in its wake.

“Let’s not swim,”

I corrected myself hastily.

“I will carry you,”

he offered.

As I nodded stiffly, he slid his arm over my back and the other beneath my knees, lifting me effortlessly. Heat jolted through my body, as I stared ahead—anywhere but at him. With a powerful bound, Zhangwei leapt into the air. Wind surged into my face, thick with the intoxicating fragrance of lotuses. As we soared across the lake, my hands instinctively locked around his neck, my head pressed to his chest. A shudder seemed to course through Zhangwei as he tensed, his arms tightening around me. It felt like flying but for the dips in his rhythm, the feather-light steps he took upon the leafy pads—barely grazing them so they wouldn’t sink beneath our weight. Magic was not his only strength.

He landed by the side of the pavilion, then set me upon the floor. My heart raced as I moved away, adjusting my robe. As we drew aside a brocade panel to enter, the beauty of the ceilings struck me—painted to resemble the skies, the azure blue interspersed with clouds of white. The floor was tiled in an intricate mosaic pattern, circling a small hollow in the center, its border inlaid with amber. A solitary stalk rose from the waters beneath, silvery white, its tip withered like its bloom had been snapped off. Something slid into place inside me, the scar above my heart searing. This was where the Divine Pearl Lotus had grown, the one Grandfather had harvested—then given to me.

I followed Zhangwei to the next chamber, where the ceilings were painted a deep midnight, set with glittering white stones. One of the entryways was connected to a slender bridge that was concealed from where we’d entered—arching over the waters toward the far side of the mountain.

We hurried across the bridge to a shimmering wall that was frosted over like a pane of ice. Here, the air gleamed as though suffused with magic, one that seemed to extend beyond the mountain itself. Thick ropes of vines hung over the surface, thorns glistening from their stalks, entwined with clusters of wisteria. As the wind blew, the petals quivered but did not fall. The place appeared untouched, almost pristine in its desolation.

“The gateway to the Netherworld.”

Zhangwei studied it, his forehead creasing. “Something feels different.”

I pointed to a scattering of petals in a corner. “They’ve withered here but nowhere else.”

His frown deepened. “While the gateway appears intact, this part feels thinner, like a patch of fabric worn-out.”

“This must be how the Wuxin entered Tianxia.”

I stared at the gateway, growing cold inside. I’d imagined it to be more secure, stronger—not this translucent pane that appeared far too delicate, easily snapped. How could this hold back the Wuxin? If the gateway was broken, my kingdom could be engulfed in a day.

“Why weren’t they sealed further away? Was there nowhere else the Wuxin could be held? Is this why the wall around Tianxia was erected—to keep us all in, mortals and monsters?”

Fear made me lash out whether it was deserved or not. One thing was clear, that my people deserved better. “You immortals don’t care what happens to us. We are dispensable, your first line of defense, paying the heaviest price for any conflict.”

I shoved at him, unable to control my anger, my pent-up resentment against his kind.

He caught my hand in his firm grip. “Kunlun is the only way to the Netherworld, but it’s not close, even though it might appear that way. The gateway bridges the distance between, like a fold. And the Netherworld was the only place the Wuxin could be sealed away, where they wouldn’t starve, because the Wangchuan River fulfils their needs. As long as Her Majesty’s enchantment holds, they cannot cross the gateway, whether above or under. She wove this spell at great cost to her own strength to keep them away, to keep Tianxia safe. Our guards patrol the grounds to keep watch—”

“Where are they?”

I yanked free, stepping back from him.

“Perhaps they couldn’t come because the skies are sealed.”

My anxiety spiked, my mind imagining the worst. “The Wuxin were in my land, my home. The immortals can’t help us; we’re facing this alone. How can there be a crack in the gateway now? What if it breaks?”

“The loss of the Divine Pearl Lotus could have weakened the seal; its magic was entwined with this place,”

he said. “Despite this, the gateway still holds—else the Wuxin would have already swarmed your lands. Their small numbers mean only a few can cross at a time. Once Queen Caihong learns of the situation, our warriors will come. Tianxia won’t be left to fend for itself.”

He paused, before adding, “But we must get to the Ancient Grandmaster first. It’s the only way to send word to Her Majesty.”

Emotions warred inside me, my habitual caution rearing up. Were these assurances part of his plan to gain the lotus? I wanted to trust him without reservation . . . but I didn’t dare.

As we headed back to the pavilion, Zhangwei clasped my shoulder, drawing me to him. His hold was gentle, soothing me despite the coolness of his touch. “I know you’re afraid,”

he said. “But we will find the Ancient Grandmaster. We will get word to Queen Caihong. I will protect you and your people.”

The last was spoken as a promise, one I drew strength from. But suddenly Zhangwei stiffened, releasing me, his hand flying to the hilt of his sword. Footsteps sounded from the pavilion. The brocade panels before us billowed, then parted, as a group of soldiers headed toward us. Sunlight glinted over their gold armor, that of the immortals, relief piercing me at the sight.

As they bowed to Zhangwei, he asked, “Where were you before?”

One stepped forward. “Lord Zhangwei, we were waiting for our replacements for the change of shift. When they didn’t appear, we went to check if there was trouble. But we can’t get word to the palace, like the skies are closed to us.”

“Has there been any sign of disturbance around here?”

Zhangwei asked, his hand remaining on his sword.

The soldiers shook their heads in unison. “None, my lord.”

I edged closer to Zhangwei. Their manner was too calm. The sealed skies should have evoked alarm, curiosity at least . . . unless it was no surprise.

“Have you been on duty long?”

Zhangwei’s deceptively mild tone set my nerves on edge. “Since the last change of shift at midnight?”

As the soldiers nodded, Zhangwei’s hand swept out so swiftly, it was a blur—drawing his sword to press its edge to the guard’s neck.

His eyes rounded in shock. “Lord Zhangwei, how have we offended you?”

Zhangwei’s face seemed carved from ice, his tone of iron. “The change of shift here is always at dusk. Never midnight. Who are you? Where are the soldiers that guarded this place?”

They grinned insolently as their hair faded to white, their features morphing to form new faces. One of them was Captain Rao, and others I recognized from the attack on my home—though Miss Lin was absent.

The captain’s smile widened. “Your soldiers offered little sport, not as well trained as we’d believed.”

Zhangwei’s jaw clenched, his throat convulsing. “You will pay for hurting them.”

“No, God of War,”

Captain Rao replied, staring at the waters. “It is you who will pay today.”

I spun toward the lake, once calm, now undulating like windblown silk. A monstrous serpent reared up, shattering the mirrored surface. Silver-bright scales, eyes glowing like embers. Crescent-shaped fins fanned from the sides of its head, its jaws parting to reveal needlelike fangs.

Light gleamed from Zhangwei’s hands, the air thrumming with his magic. As the Wuxin advanced, his flames arced wide, forcing them back. Terror seized me; he hadn’t recovered from the attack on my home.

The serpent shrieked, its tail lashing the waters behind us. Zhangwei swung to face it, his blade outstretched. “Stay behind me,”

he warned.

I glared at him, trying to banish the tremor in my voice. “I didn’t train to stand behind you.”

He didn’t reply, his attention on the serpent. The lake churned violently, waves cresting higher—then crashing down. Water sprayed all around, stinging and cold. As the creature darted toward us, the god slammed his sword against the serpent’s body. Its scales fragmented like shells, shards flying up to scrape my face. It seared, but I tightened my grip on my sword, holding my ground.

The serpent reared back, gnashing its fangs. As it loomed above us, its jaws opened like it would swallow us whole. But Zhangwei leapt to thrust his sword into its neck, flames surging along his blade, pouring into the serpent’s body. It shrieked—an eerie, high-pitched sound—as it swooped down to rake its fangs across the immortal’s shoulder. Zhangwei did not flinch as he knocked the serpent’s head aside with a brutal blow. Panic surged as I swung my sword at the serpent, trying to shake the numbing disbelief that I was battling this monster. My blade sank into its cheek, slicing through the scales, even as I fought to stop my knees from giving way.

As the serpent spun toward me, diverted from the God of War—Zhangwei sprang forward, his sword raised in both hands as he plunged it into the serpent’s chest in a seamless strike. His eyes flashed as he twisted the blade once, wrenching the flesh apart. There was not a trace of pity as he drove the blade further in until its tip slid from the other side, coated with blood. As he yanked it out, an unearthly cry erupted, riddled with anguish. The serpent shuddered as it fell back into the waters.

Yet the air thickened ominously around us. A movement from the side startled me, the Wuxin circling us now. Three soldiers blocked Zhangwei—another faced me. As his blade fell upon me, I blocked it with mine, my arms burning from the force of the Wuxin’s blow. He drew back for another strike, but Zhangwei’s sword arced high, slicing the soldier’s throat. Blood sprayed wide as the soldier fell back, clutching at his neck.

Captain Rao struck then, his fist crashing against my head. Pain bloomed, my skin splitting as a warmth trickled down my cheek. As I staggered back, Zhangwei swore viciously and lunged toward the captain. But more soldiers circled him now, forcing him backward. A panel of thick brocade swung between us, blocking Zhangwei from my sight. The soldiers had divided themselves, most surrounding Zhangwei—Captain Rao and another two closing in on me . . . edging me farther away.

They’re herding me, separating us. I couldn’t see Zhangwei anymore. As the soldiers drew nearer, a keen chill sliced the air, laced with an earthiness that was coupled with a metallic tinge. Was this the scent of the Wangchuan River? Hair sprang up along the back of my neck; I could not fight them all.

The clamor of battle intensified from within the pavilion. Zhangwei was fighting the soldiers, yet he was outnumbered, still injured—my blood freezing at the thought.

“Come with us,”

Captain Rao ordered me, triumph ringing in his tone.

I took a step back toward the edge of the pavilion, desperately seeking a way out. But there was none, just the waters beneath, those murderous roots awaiting new prey.

“I will never go with you,” I swore.

“Foolish mortal,”

the captain sneered as he moved toward me. “What makes you think you have a choice?”

“There is always a choice,”

I snarled as I sheathed my sword, leaping over the balustrade to dive into the churning waters.