Immortal

45

Zhangwei held me for a long time, and I was in no hurry to break away. These days of ceaseless strain had exhausted me. All I wanted was to sleep, and to awaken to him beside me.

Aunt Shou was slumped on the ground beside Dalian’s body, his hand still clasped between hers. The tears had stopped, but the haunted expression in her eyes remained. How calm his face in death, stripped of bitterness, regret, and spite. I felt no pity for him. Dalian had died as he’d lived, sowing hate and fear. His legacy was devastation, wreaked upon his own people after the realms beyond were out of reach. This quiet death, in the arms of his mother, was far better than he deserved. Part of me hoped that he’d found peace at last, though the other part didn’t think he deserved it.

Captain Lai approached Aunt Shou and knelt respectfully. “Great Lady, now that Lord Dalian is no more, we ask if you might reclaim your position as the leader of our people? The Wuxin prospered under your reign; we seek the peace you once brought us.”

Aunt Shou shook her head, her gaze almost vacant, dulled with pain. “I have no wish to rule, I have no heart for it . . . it died with my children.”

General Fang, Lin, Mei, and the other soldiers fell to their knees before her, their red-gold armor gleaming like the setting sun. “There is no one else, Great Lady,”

General Fang said. “Chaos lies in Lord Dalian’s wake; we fear an opportunist will take advantage. Who can we trust with the throne during these precarious times? The people need a steady hand to settle the unrest and rebuild our kingdom.”

I broke away from Zhangwei reluctantly, walking toward Aunt Shou. My body tensed as I sat beside her, my resentment still unquenched. Yet in her own way she had loved Chengyin and me—she had tried to keep us safe here, hiding my secret, defying Dalian to help Chengyin escape. For that, I would always be grateful, and my heart was not so hard as to be numbed to her pain.

“Aunt Shou, when I took the throne in Tianxia, I did not want it either. It was you who guided me until I found my way. Your people need you now, as you need them.”

Aunt Shou remained silent for a long while. If she heard me, she gave no sign of it. At last she released Dalian’s hand and rose to face the soldiers.

“I will accept the position, but only until another leader is elected. Choose wisely—one who will serve the people rather than themselves alone.”

She spoke quietly, yet her voice resonated. “Power should not be inherited but earned.”

General Fang frowned. “It’s never been done this way before.”

“What if the leader is unfit?”

Lin asked.

“Then choose again,”

Aunt Shou said. “The mandate to rule should no longer be determined by bloodline alone, it should reflect the wish of the people. We cannot afford a recurrence of what happened before.”

She glanced at Dalian, her expression unreadable. “Don’t be afraid of change; it’s what helps us grow.”

The soldiers folded over in a bow, pressing their foreheads to the ground in an obeisance. As they rose, they dispersed, most heading back toward the mountains to begin their trek home. General Fang and Captain Lai remained, speaking to Aunt Shou in hushed tones. Her words lingered in my mind, awakening something in me. She had given her people a priceless gift—of freedom, of choice, a voice in their own future.

“We will return now,”

Aunt Shou said, to those left on the shore. “We must prepare for my son’s funeral.”

As we made our way to the barge, Aunt Shou stumbled once as she walked, but she refused any help offered. It wasn’t easy to feign strength when one felt weak—but sometimes, pretending was easier than reality. Sometimes you might even fool yourself.

“Will Chengyin be all right?”

she asked me dully.

“Yes. His wound is healed, he just needs rest.”

She frowned. “Our barrier will protect him, but how will he make his way home from Kunlun?”

“Once the skies are unsealed, the immortal soldiers will return. They will bring him back safely,”

Zhangwei assured her.

Aunt Shou bowed her head, her shoulders slumped. “What must Chengyin think of me? I’m not the mother he deserves.”

“He loves you, Aunt Shou. As you love him.”

I reached out toward her—hesitating—then took her hand.

“Thank you, Liyen.”

Her fingers tightened around mine as she turned to glance at the ruin of the marble archway, the shattered remnants of the gateway. “What will you do now?”

“Zhangwei and I will have to stay here until we find a way back.”

How heavy my heart was. We had won, yet lost so much. “Can we get a message to the Golden Desert? If the immortals know we’re trapped, could they restore the gateway?”

Aunt Shou shook her head. “There is no way to send a message between our realms.”

Zhangwei’s arm drew me close. “The magic that helped create the gateway is no more. Queen Caihong—your mother—was only able to craft the enchantment because the archway existed in the first place, the one that linked Kunlun to here.”

As we boarded the barge, the skies above were lightening to rose, the first shafts of daylight spearing the heavens. We traveled the rest of the way in silence, until the palace loomed ahead. As we drew to a halt, the shining lights of the waters beneath caught my eye.

“What about the Eternal Boatman? Could he help us?”

I was grasping at threads, but I wasn’t ready to give up, still fighting to find a way back.

“Only those who have surrendered all their memories are allowed to board the vessel,”

Aunt Shou explained, confirming what Zhangwei had told me before.

A bitter trade—to give up the one thing that gave home its meaning.

“How can we find the boatman? Maybe we can negotiate with him? Offer something else instead of our memories?”

I suggested.

Lin glanced at Aunt Shou. “The ruler of the Netherworld can summon the Eternal Boatman. However, he does not do their bidding—the choice to bear a passenger is his alone, and he is bound by his own rules.”

Aunt Shou’s eyes were bright as she turned to me. “Why not remain here with me? I will find a place for you and the God of War. You will want for nothing; we will be as family again.”

Her voice trailed away. The truth was, nothing could replace the family we’d lost.

“My home isn’t here, Aunt Shou—just as yours was never in Tianxia.”

I spoke gently, not wanting to be cruel; she had lost so much already. If there was the slightest hope of returning, I would not turn my back on it.

“I understand.”

Aunt Shou’s smile was sad but resolute as she strode to the bank of the river. Bending down, she dipped her hand into the water. White light trailed from her fingers, forming a silvery trail. Foam frothed on the surface, the fragrance of incense springing into the air. The delicate peal of a wind chime rang out, one that folded into the stillness instead of shattering it.

The wind strengthened, shifting its direction, tearing strands of my hair loose. Something gleamed on the horizon. A golden boat curved like a wedge of the sun floated upon the surface. The only vessel that could traverse the rivers and oceans across the realms, unhindered by any barrier, whether of stone or magic. It was ferried by a nameless boatman said to be as old as death—neither immortal, nor mortal, nor demon. A broad bamboo hat covered his head, leaving a silver beard peeking beneath. His cheeks were hollowed, his eyes as pale as pearls. A cloak was draped across his shoulders, the cloth so fine it seemed to be woven of ash and smoke. His callused fingers gripped a long pole that he thrust into the water with rhythmic strokes.

As he approached, Aunt Shou inclined her head. “Honored Boatman, thank you for answering my call.”

“Why have you summoned me, ruler of the Netherworld?”

His voice was rich and deep.

Aunt Shou gestured to me. At once, I stepped forward, Zhangwei beside me. As we bowed in greeting, my hands were clammy, my stomach knotted. “Honored Boatman, could you bear us back to the Mortal Realm?”

“There is nowhere I cannot take you, if you both will pay the price.”

He pulled out a pair of jade cups that he dipped into the river, now brimming with glistening liquid.

I fought the urge to recoil, the white lock of my hair tingling.

The boatman held out the cups to Zhangwei and me. “The water from the Wangchuan River consumes all memories,”

he said. “It gives as much as it takes, offering peace in place of misery—for many of the spirits trapped here suffer from the same thing: a broken heart. Whether a loved one lost, dreams unfulfilled, or betrayal—they are unable to move on, unable to forget.”

“Why would anyone want to forget someone they love?” I asked.

“Memories are cherished when they bear joy, but what if one was never loved in return? What if you lost a loved one in a great tragedy? Wouldn’t it be kinder to forget?”

The boatman’s lips stretched into a knowing smile. “These waters are a boon for those who need it, a curse when it is forced. Which will it be for you?”

“All memories have worth,”

Zhangwei said. “They form our character, give our lives meaning. Even the parts that hurt.”

The boatman’s hand remained raised, the jade cups gleaming. “If you do not drink, you cannot cross the realms.”

There was no cruelty in the harshness of his demand, yet I sensed no kindness in him either. Maybe he had grown numb to it, after all he had seen and heard and done.

He looked at me then, tilting his head to one side. “Who are you—with the waters of the Wangchuan in your veins, yet neither quite mortal nor immortal?”

I lifted my chin. “Why does it matter?”

The boatman paused before he replied, “Two sets of memories exist within you: the mortal and immortal. For you, I will only ask for the payment of the former, in return for safe passage to your realm.”

Ice formed in the pit of my stomach, spreading like a merciless winter. To give up one part of myself . . . it was like being in the Temple of the Crimson Moon again, except without the threat of war on the horizon, the clarity of my path then. In a way, this choice might be harder.

The boatman pushed the cup closer to me, sensing capitulation. How many desperate mortals had he faced? How many proud souls had wept before him? “The choice must be made, here and now. I never make the same offer twice.”

“What of Zhangwei?”

I asked the boatman hesitantly. “Will this cover passage for us both?”

“My price remains the same. It did not change for you, just that your situation is unique.”

His pale gaze bored into mine like he could see everything inside me. “If your hearts are connected, if you remember him—you will find each other again, whether in the skies or earth.”

As we had. Even as a mortal, without knowing anything of him before—I had fallen in love with him all over again.

“Can we do this?”

I asked Zhangwei, still undecided—the sliver of hope the boatman offered, clouded by fear and doubt. “What if you forget me? Us?”

“Even if I do, I will know you once we meet. Wherever we are, my heart will always be yours.”

His eyes pierced mine as his knuckles brushed my face. “But I do not want to forget.”

I let my mind drift to our future if I accepted the boatman’s offer. If I yielded my mortal memories, Zhangwei and I could return to our realm together, to be reunited with our families. Even if he forgot me, I would find him again—we would make new memories, building a new future together. It would be a good life, one that might even be worth this sacrifice.

My fingers reached for the cup—then stilled, as my grandfather’s face slipped into my mind. His love for me, how he’d nursed me throughout my illness, protected and fought for my place in Tianxia. How he’d risked everything to save my life. Love was the greatest gift any child could receive, and I had been blessed twice over. Even though my time in the Mortal Realm was fleeting, a ripple in the span of our existence—everything I had undergone there had been real. It had mattered. And how could I relinquish my duty to my people? They were a part of me too, they gave meaning to my life—not just a toy I picked up, then tossed aside when I grew bored.

Sometimes it wasn’t the number of years that gave a bond its significance, but how deeply it marked one’s heart. Grandfather. Chengyin. Even Aunt Shou. These ties were precious, not easily discarded. There were other memories too, those of Zhangwei. Our brief time in my mortal life was as precious to me as the years we’d spent in the skies. I had fallen in love with him again; we were bonded in a way we’d never been before. Our love and sacrifice, joy and hurt—all these were a part of me that I could not, that I would not relinquish.

“I don’t want to forget either,”

I said in a low voice.

His strong fingers closed around mine, his eyes dark and tender. “Not a day, an hour, or a single moment with you.”

The warmth—the knowing—that seeped into my chest was as bright and clear as summer. “Honored Boatman, we will not accept your offer. We cannot pay your price.”

Even though this decision felt right, it hurt to refuse. “But if there is another way back—”

The boatman shook his head. “The toll must be paid. This is the rule since the start of time.”

Silence fell over us, shadowed by despair.

Aunt Shou stepped forward. “As the ruler of the Netherworld, I ask you for one favor—to allow another to pay their price. In return, you may ask a favor of me, at a time and place of your choosing.”

I stared at her, unable to believe my ears. “Aunt Shou . . . why?”

Even if the boatman refused, the fact she’d tried was enough—more so because she wanted me to stay.

“We don’t cage those we love, we set them free,”

Aunt Shou said quietly. “Keeping someone against their will isn’t love but selfishness, weighing your happiness above theirs.”

The boatman bowed to her. “A favor from you, Great Lady, is not to be disdained.”

Aunt Shou nodded. “There is much I wish to forget.”

“I can’t let you do this, Aunt Shou,”

I protested.

“My children’s faces are dear to me, as are their memories. But their deaths . . . I would gladly wipe from my mind,”

she said fiercely.

“A sip, then, for a fragment of remembrance. If there are enough here willing to drain the cups, I will bear these passengers,”

the boatman offered. “Only once will I allow this, as my gift to the new ruler of the Netherworld. One who I believe is worthy of the title.”

Aunt Shou inclined her head as she accepted the cup he offered her. “I will remember your generosity, Honored Boatman.”

Lin called out, as she strode toward me, “I will take a drink, too.”

“As will I,”

Mei echoed, from beside her.

More of the Wuxin stepped forward, my heart swelling. “How can I let all of you bear this burden?”

My question emerged hoarse with emotion.

“The Wuxin pay our dues,”

Lin said with a smile, glancing from Zhangwei to me. “You saved us, protecting the Wangchuan River. We were your enemies, yet you stayed when another would have left us to our doom.”

I blinked back the haze that descended over my vision How strange life was. For as long as I could remember, I’d hated and feared the Wuxin—and now, somehow, we had saved each other.

“I don’t need payment—”

“A gift, then,”

Aunt Shou said. “In exchange for yours to us.”

“Thank you.”

On impulse, I hugged her tightly, then bowed to the others. Tears fell from my eyes, trailing into the river. “Thank you all.”

They lined up one by one, each taking a drop from the cups the boatman held out. Their expressions shifted, from surprise to peace to a trace of doubt. At times, there was a flicker of grief before it eased.

At last, when the cups were empty. Zhangwei and I boarded the golden boat. The boatman pushed away with one strong stroke of his pole. The waters were smooth and calm, the current unbroken. We stood there staring at the faces of those who remained to bid us farewell, staring at them until I could see them no more. I was going home, yet why did grief still cling to my heart?

Zhangwei wrapped his arms around me, holding me close. Together, we glided along this river of lost hopes and dreams, the stars fading with the promise of a new dawn, aglitter on the horizon.