Immortal

35

The water glittered as the twin reflections of me lowered their heads in an eerie greeting—one I returned as I folded into a bow. The reflection on the left fragmented, sinking into the dark depths. The remaining image tilted her head to the side. Her hair gleamed, morphing into the silvery-white of the Wuxin, the copper rings shining in her eyes—the reflection I’d seen when I first looked into the pond. Her smile sent a shiver through me, a stranger’s, sharp and almost predatory—then the waters churned, breaking the reflection.

“Wait.”

I reached out to her. Though she frightened me a little, she was me, and I didn’t want her to go.

The ripples stilled abruptly, the surface a clear mirror once more.

A scene formed: the dark silhouette of the mountain against the radiant sky of the Netherworld.

Hundreds of pale boats glided across the Wangchuan River, halting before a narrow stretch of land.

Something shimmered in the distance: a white marble archway against obsidian stone, draped with thick vines.

Was this the gateway that led to Kunlun? As my reflection strode forward, a roar went up from among the Wuxin.

Light gleamed from my fingers, the vines of the gateway falling away, the shimmering wall vanishing—leaving the path to Tianxia unhindered.

“No.”

My hands clenched until they hurt. “You don’t want this.”

Of course she couldn’t hear me. Illusion or prophecy, this was not real . . . not yet. There was still a chance to stop this.

My reflection showed neither doubt nor remorse, watching coldly as the Wuxin marched through the opening. The mirror shifted to span a vast field, bordered by a river, the red wall of Tianxia gleaming in the horizon.

A battle was underway between the Wuxin and the mortals. Aunt Shou fought beside my reflection, along with Lord Dalian and Captain Rao. Captain Li led the Tianxia troops, her face streaked with blood.

My image raised her sword, cutting through my own soldiers without remorse—those who’d have given their lives to protect me. How heartless this manifestation was. Did she not remember?

Or maybe to her, the mortals stood in her people’s way. I hated her; in that moment I hated myself. This was an uneven battle, cruel and unjust. Where were the immortals? Were the skies still sealed?

Without them, it was a massacre—the Wuxin overcoming the mortals with ease, their weapons and magic scattering my people like sand.

As they wept and screamed, some pleading for mercy—the Wuxin fought with greater vigor, their movements swifter, their magic shining brighter.

“Monsters.”

My eyes were damp as I struck the ground in frustration, cutting my knuckles. I forced myself to keep looking at the reflection, though my stomach roiled. I had to see this through; I had to end it.

Flashes of light illuminated the skies in the mirror. Clouds were descending to Tianxia, bearing immortal warriors. Zhangwei rode at the front, his great sword unsheathed, his armor gleaming darkly.

When he landed, he froze at the sight of my reflection—a deadly mistake when facing a ruthless foe. She did not hesitate, attacking him relentlessly with her sword. Each move she made was one he’d taught her, that he’d taught me—the realization a punch to the gut.

Zhangwei did not fight back, his expression anguished as he tried to reach for her, but she struck him aside viciously. How I wished he’d strike her too.

Again and again, her sword thrust at him—and while he evaded most of her blows, those that landed drew blood. Meanwhile, Zhangwei’s attacks were halfhearted—to deflect, not to injure.

It sickened me, wrenching me apart. From behind Zhangwei, Lord Dalian appeared—had he been lying in wait all this while? My blood turned to ice as Lord Dalian raised his whip, lashing Zhangwei. As it coiled around his neck, Zhangwei clawed at it—but Lord Dalian yanked it harder, the whip glowing malevolently as it snapped Zhangwei’s head back.

I was screaming; I would have struck both Lord Dalian and my reflection if I could. She just stood there, a stony smile on her face as Zhangwei raised a hand to her, his fingers curled—a moment before he collapsed to the ground, the whip still biting into his neck. Dalian drew his sword then, and drove it through Zhangwei’s throat with enough force to pierce his skull—

I curled over and retched. I’d never believed some fates worse than death . . . until now. Tears were running from my eyes, my chest heaving, my heart breaking apart.

“No more,”

I whispered, almost pleading, my voice raw.

The mirror faded to an oily sheen, erasing the devastation it had shown. Relief swept through me that this needn’t be my destiny, that there was a choice—and after what I’d seen, it would be an easy one to make.

The other reflection, the one that vanished before—now resurfaced.

This manifestation of myself was clad in the gold armor of the immortals.

Her black hair was pulled high, the ends curling around her shoulders, not a fleck of copper in her pupils.

Zhangwei appeared in the mirror and took her hand.

A smile lit her face, such fierce joy, it warmed me inside.

A glow emanated from her skin, akin to his—an immortal’s aura.

The reflection undulated, shifting to show a battlefield in Tianxia once more, Kunlun towering in the distance.

Immortals fought alongside my soldiers, battling the Wuxin.

Zhangwei and my reflection fought together, their swords gleaming as magic flared from their hands.

Screams tore the air, an agonizing refrain—this time, as many wrenched from the Wuxin as from my people. Zhangwei’s sword flashed, cutting down Captain Rao—that young soldier avenged at last.

A savage satisfaction curled in my heart, though the violence repelled me even when inflicted on those I should hate.

They were our enemy; they’d killed so many of my people, tried to transform me against my will into one of them.

But then my gaze fell upon the body of a young Wuxin attendant—Mingwen.

The one who’d helped me.

A coldness enveloped me, deepening as I found Miss Lin next, her eyes vacant, a gaping wound on her neck.

The bodies were piling onto one another, their limbs twisted, their anguished faces blurring.

Were they immortal, mortal, or Wuxin? In death, somehow, they all looked the same. Who among them truly deserved this vicious end?

Someone was weeping, the sound—the voice—piercing my heart. Aunt Shou clung to a limp body: Lord Dalian’s. His pale skin was mottled with blood, his eyes closed. I should have felt triumph; I should rejoice in his defeat. But there was just a numbing emptiness within, a grief that had no name.

The reflection shifted once more, cheers erupting across the immortals. The soldiers bowed as Queen Caihong came toward me. Her bloodstained sword fell from her hand as she folded me in her arms. Such pride shone in her face, such love. In this moment, I almost believed she was my mother. On the surface, all seemed as it should be: I was among my people, our victory against the Wuxin was complete.

Yet why did it feel wrong? Why did this triumph feel hollow?

The answer lay before me among the bodies of the fallen, the earth dark with their blood. Horror set in that most of the dead were mortals . . . those of Tianxia: not just soldiers but the elderly and children, splayed on the ground, curled in terror, some still shielding their loved ones in their lifeless embrace. Death shrouded the land that I would have given my life to protect. The greatest losers of this war were my people after all, what I’d always feared. Vengeance had sown this field of death, and its cruel harvest should never have been reaped.

The nightmare faded, my two manifestations appearing side by side once more. But I could not unsee the devastation—weeping silent sobs that racked my core, tears that never fell. My arms wrapped across my stomach, trying to banish this chill within me.

One fate was preferable to the other, but neither felt right. Death marked them in despicable measure; both culminating in the destruction of Tianxia. What would be left of my kingdom? Just the ghosts of the dead. The banks of the Wangchuan River would overflow with their tormented spirits, their cries ringing through my conscience forever.

I would choose no path that led to this end; I could never live with myself.

“Why?”

I asked numbly. “Why does the future diverge this way?”

You are marked by both—a curse in its burden, a gift in its choice. The blessing from the Tree of Everlasting Life shielded your core, giving you the choice of the destiny you wish. Without this gift, the Wuxin would have claimed you entirely. You would not know anything of your life before . . . in some ways, maybe an easier path, never knowing what you’d given up?

“No,”

I replied furiously. “A coward’s choice. I’d rather know than to live as a fool in ignorance.”

A brief silence followed my outburst. Then choose well. Choose wisely. Once made, this decision cannot be undone.

It should be clear. The choice to become one of the Wuxin—to slaughter my people, both mortal and immortal, to kill Zhangwei—was utterly horrifying. Yet both fates were cruel, the blood of countless innocents staining my hands. If war broke out, Tianxia would be destroyed. If these were the fates written for me—I wanted neither.

Then write your own.

Zhangwei’s words resonated through me as I straightened, raising my chin. Calm spread through me, a precious clarity. “I claim neither fate. Return my memories, all of them—and I will make my own destiny.”

I tensed, expecting the mirror to rebuke me, to demand a choice—yet only a sigh rippled through the temple. A wind stirred, the waters of the pond frothing and churning, the two images of me shuddering—as they shattered, vanishing like they’d never existed.

So be it.

Closing my eyes, a tingling sensation rushed through my veins, into my head. An awareness surged to life deep in my mind, unleashing what was once bound—my body warming with a surge of power. Neither borrowed nor stolen but my own, answering to my command. Had my immortal lifeforce been restored along with the awareness of my true self? Gone was the confusion and uncertainty, my knowledge of magic returning in force—yet something felt different . . . a restraint, where once it had flowed free. I was weaker; my power diminished. Was it because I’d been poisoned and taken only part of the cure? Or was it because I was no longer wholly immortal?

The sensations softened into a glittering warmth that darted through me. Azure light flickered from my hands as I reached out to touch the pond. The water stilled at once, cold to the touch—my pale face staring back at me. I looked almost as before: just a slight shimmer to my skin, a brightness to my eyes, my lock of pale hair shining as it curled down my face. Yet inside, I was forever changed.

It is done, the Mirror of Destiny said solemnly. You are all, yet you are none.

“Then what am I?”

This time there was only silence. Maybe, at last, this was a question the mirror could not answer.

My mind was suffused with memories, too many to decipher at once. I struggled to piece my past together from the glimpses I’d caught, like figuring out a book with half the pages torn out. “There are still gaps in what I remember,”

I said haltingly. “Many things I don’t understand or recall, yet I know something is missing.”

If you were restored through the Elixir of Immortality, it would be a smoother transition. However, you regained your immortal awareness here. Your memories are still fragmented; it will take time to recall your years. Rest will hasten the process.

“Thank you,”

I whispered.

A brief silence. Don’t thank me; I gave you nothing. This path is of your own making.

* * *

The guards were waiting outside. They closed around me when I emerged from the temple, though I was relieved to find the loathsome Captain Rao had gone. We walked in silence down the stairs, back to the pier. Lord Dalian’s barge was no longer there, a small wooden boat in its place, the prow carved with a bird, its plume painted bright orange.

Aunt Shou sat within. At the sight of me, she rose to her feet. “Is it done?”

Her knowing tone hurt. She was Dalian’s accomplice; she had plotted to take my choice from me. But I hid my emotions, fixing a smile on my face. Aunt Shou would be hard to deceive; she had known me since I was a child.

“Yes,”

I told her, stepping onto the boat.

It set off at once. The vessel was small but swift as it glided along the river, heading back toward the palace.

Aunt Shou’s eyes flicked to my hair. A frown lined her forehead, but she returned my smile. After all, she had no reason to doubt; she knew nothing of the gift I’d received. “This is for the best. You are powerful now. Eternal.”

She was careful not to say “immortal,”

careful to avoid any mention of my true heritage, the one they’d try to steal from me. I swallowed my anger; I had to convince them their scheme had worked. It was the only way to gain their trust, to secure a chance for Chengyin and me to escape.

The void birds shrieked, a pair breaking away to soar toward me, their beaks and talons glinting like spear tips. I cursed in my mind, afraid they would attack me, revealing my farce—but light shot from Aunt Shou’s hand toward them, the birds flying away at once.

“They might take a while to get accustomed to you.”

She pressed a small amber bottle into my hand. “It’s our scent that they’re attuned to. Yours might differ from ours, given your transformation. Wear this fragrance for now; it will keep them away.”

“Thank you, Aunt Shou.”

Her expression did not waver, though I searched her for any sign of suspicion. I uncorked the bottle and shook out a drop of clear liquid, then rubbed it over my wrists—an earthy sweetness rising in the air.

“It reminds me of the fragrance of the desert,”

she said, a trace wistfully. “I miss it sometimes. Though we’ve made a new home here, part of us was left in the skies.”

As another void bird circled us, I stiffened—but it ignored me this time.

“Do you feel well, child?”

Aunt Shou asked.

I pressed a hand to my forehead, trying to hide my unease. “I’m tired, Aunt Shou. The mirror said I needed to rest.”

She patted my shoulder. “Let’s go home.”

Home? A chill shot through me. I fell silent, staring at the reddish skies in the horizon, the gleaming waters of the Wangchuan River beneath us.

“There was no taint in the pond.”

I was careful to keep the accusation from my tone.

“Not in the Temple of the Crimson Moon,”

she admitted, touching the bell by her waist. “But it’s true that the power drawn from the Wangchuan River has diminished of late. No one knows why, but this affects us all. Once, these waters satisfied our needs—yet now it must be rationed. We will weaken if this continues; this is why we need the Mortal Realm.”

I looked ahead, straining to appear indifferent. “How are the waters rationed, Aunt Shou? How do you feed from it?”

Aunt Shou bent to dip her hand in the river as she closed her eyes. The bell by her waist glowed, a soft chime ringing out as specks of greenish light rose from the water to settle over her skin. When she opened her eyes, the copper rings around her pupils gleamed brighter, her skin flushed. “Once you grow more adept at this, you can choose the emotions you wish. The Wangchuan River holds many memories—not just sorrow, but also joy and love so great it was hard to relinquish.”

Aunt Shou reached into her pouch, drawing out a gold bell like hers, like the one Lord Dalian and Captain Rao wore. As she tied it to my waist, it clinked against the seal of Tianxia. I suppressed the urge to tear the bell away. It did not belong there, just as I didn’t belong here.

“Why are ours crafted of gold?”

I asked. “Most of the others wear bronze ones.”

Her expression clouded, her mouth pursed. “Dalian devised this scheme to ration the river’s power. Different restraints are set upon the different bells. Once we reach our limit, we cannot feed from the river until the next week.”

“Who sets the limits?”

I already knew, but wanted her to acknowledge it—sensing her disapproval.

“Dalian.”

She continued quickly, not wanting to dwell on this. “Your hunger may be different because you were mortal; you may not suffer the same cravings as us. Let your body guide you. When you feel weak, you should feed as I did.”

“What if we don’t feed?”

“We fade. We lose our physical forms. We become little more than these spirits in the river.”

She glanced at the cuts on my hands where I’d struck the ground in the temple. “We have a few healers in the palace. Their power is limited but they can treat such injuries.”

“Can’t you heal me?”

I asked curiously.

“It’s not a skill that many of us developed. What need did we have to mend flesh and blood before?”

Silence fell over us once more. “Why was I sent to the temple, Aunt Shou? Why was this done to me?”

I wanted to hear her answer.

“Now you are a part of our family forever.”

There was such warmth in her voice, I might have believed her—if I didn’t know how well she lied.

“I want the truth,”

I said bluntly.

She sighed. “That was only part of it. We need you to open the gateway. Dalian has almost exhausted himself in his attempts. The crack he’s pried apart won’t hold for much longer. As the Lady of Tianxia, as one of us—you can open the gateway to secure our people’s future.”

I lowered my gaze to hide my revulsion. She was both cunning and careful in her answers, speaking only of my mortal past. But it wasn’t my mortal heritage they wanted. I was Queen Caihong’s daughter, the only one who had a chance of lifting the enchantment crafted with her magic—the one that ran in my veins. And they would never let me go, not until I’d done what they wanted.

“Can I open it?” I asked.

“Yes, with the power you now have.”

She spoke like she already sensed it. “Do you know how to use it?”

“A little,”

I said carefully. “It’s unfamiliar, though the God of War instructed me before, showing me his magic.”

I had to pretend I knew nothing of my powers, that they were new.

She nodded. “I will help you. What matters most is that you’re safe and well. I kept my promise to your grandfather to look after you; he would have been pleased at how things worked out.”

He would not. She was deluding herself, trying to excuse her deception. Grandfather would have throttled her for what she’d tried to do to me.

Live a good life, Liyen, he’d told me. He would not have wanted the blood of countless mortals and immortals on my hands.

“What of your appetites? How else do you feel different?”

she probed.

I repressed a shudder. “I don’t feel much right now. I’m more tired than hungry. My head hurts, my body aches.”

Aunt Shou reached out to brush the side of my head. The affectionate gesture sent a pang through my chest. “You are the first. No mortal has ever become one of us. If anything confuses you, come to me.”

So, she could craft more lies? The less I said, the better. They had no reason to believe their plan had failed—unless I gave it to them. Beyond Zhangwei, no one else knew of the Tree of Everlasting Life’s gift, the only thing that could have kept me safe.

“I’m not confused,”

I replied with a smile. “I remember Grandfather and Tianxia. You and Chengyin, too.”

She nodded gravely. “That is good. We should cherish such ties.”

“What of Chengyin?”

I pressed. “Will Lord Dalian release him?”

“I will protect Chengyin. You must trust me,”

she said. “Now that you are one of us, Dalian will feel more at ease.”

We didn’t speak for the rest of journey, and I was glad for the silence. Memories descended relentlessly, a confounding stream . . . years of recollections unfolding at breathless speed, one merging into the other until I could not pick them apart.

One question echoed in my mind: Who was I now? What had I become? Not even the Mirror of Destiny knew. Was I a mortal with an immortal’s spirit, or an immortal with a mortal’s heart? And as I touched my lock of silvery hair, I wondered at this trace of the waters of death that had marked me by the Wuxin’s treachery. It didn’t matter; none of it would control me. I was my past and my present—and I would forge my own future.