Page 13 of Immortal

“We will continue to watch over the place. We can protect Kunlun, with or without the wall,” I replied.

A wistful look crept into Chengyin’s eyes. “I’ve always wanted to see what lay beyond these walls.”

“You will,” I promised him. “We will.”

“What do you propose, Liyen?” Aunt Shou asked, her brow creased.

“I don’t intend to pledge us to another lifetime of service. I’ll use my time in the Immortal Realm to search for the Shield of Rivers and Mountains,” I said slowly. “To learn all I can about it, to secure any advantage that might help us stand against the immortals.”

Silence fell. “If you do this, you must be very careful,” Aunt Shou warned me at last. “Never forget what the immortals are capable of, the cruelty in their indifference. Our titles mean nothing to them; your rank there will be less than the lowliest immortal. Do nothing to earn their wrath, don’t draw their attention. If you rely on their mercy, you will find none.”

“Liyen, are you sure you want to do this—to challenge the immortals? We’ll never be as strong as them,” Chengyin said.

My hard smile hid my own uncertainty. “Then we’ll just have to be smarter.”

After Aunt Shou and Chengyin left, I lay awake in my bed for a long time, thinking of my Grandfather and how he’d tell me stories before I slept. My favorite tales were those of the Immortal Realm, which he’d visited after ascending the throne.

“Is it very beautiful there?” I’d wanted to know. “Did you want to stay?”

He’d laughed, rumpling my hair. “Why would I? The land of immortals is enchanting—but it’s not home.”

“Tell me about the realm above?” I’d asked eagerly. “Aunt Shou said there are eight kingdoms, and that the Celestial Kingdom is the most powerful.”

“It is,” he agreed. “The Cloud Wall is a close rival, and there is also the Phoenix Kingdom, the Golden Desert, and the Four Kingdoms of the Seas. The Golden Desert used to have no ruler, but they united under Queen Caihong—except for the Wuxin, which led to the war.”

At the look of fear on my face, he’d patted my arm. “Don’t be afraid. The Wuxin are sealed away in the Netherworld.”

“What is so dangerous about them?” Maybe if I knew more, I wouldn’t be so afraid. Ignorance often makes cowards of us.

“It seems harmless that they thrive on emotions, yet it became dangerous when they wanted more than what one was willing to give—when they took what was withheld.”

“How could they do that?” I struggled to understand. “Our feelings are our own.”

“Our feelings are often a response to another’s actions or words. We are happy with our loved ones, angry when disappointed. The Wuxin learned to harvest emotions . . . fear and grief above all.”

I shuddered. “Why not happiness?”

Grandfather’s eyes had creased, his cheeks sunken. He’d looked older than his years then. “Sorrow is powerful and unabating, more easily reaped than something as elusive as joy. With this, the Wuxin strengthened, gaining magic that even the immortals knew little of.” He had pulled up my blanket and tucked it around me. “But you don’t need to fear them anymore. The Wuxin are banished, and the immortals keep us safe.”

I’d wanted to ask more, but he’d stood then. “Sleep now, child. The time will come when I’ll share all with you, when you are ready to ascend the throne.”

I’d nodded then, not knowing the day would never come—that I’d be floundering in the court I was meant to rule, grasping at any scrap of knowledge to stay afloat. Maybe it was better this way. A new beginning, unbound by the ties of the past . . . one that dared to imagine a new future.

5

The escort to the Immortal Realm was late, a discourtesy that was hardly surprising. A few courtiers exchanged impatient glances—their disdain for me evident in such looks, their shallow bows and increasingly brazen demands for lands and titles, anything they might grasp while the soil was still loose over my grandfather’s grave. They would never have provoked Grandfather so, but a girl they had all but written off?

I was fair game.

They didn’t care that my health had improved, that I was able to withstand a full day in court without flagging when I couldn’t bear half a day of lessons before. They wanted me to be weak, it suited them to pretend nothing had changed, that I’d never recovered from the poisoning. On the surface, I looked the same—my skin more pale than radiant, eyes the color of ink, a heart-shaped face framed by black hair that curled at the ends. A few stared at the lock of white hair left by the waters of death, then looked aside like it made them uneasy. I should have tucked it away, as I did most days. But none knew how my chest pulsed with new warmth, or the way I woke feeling rested each morning, ready for whatever the day might bring . . . rather than being afraid I couldn’t keep up.

I took nothing for granted, haunted by the times when the simplest things were a struggle. I went on long walks, grateful when I did not tire. Some evenings, I trained with Captain Li of the night patrol, learning the basics of weaponry and combat. While I’d hidden the sword the God of War gave me, it was now strapped to my side. No one seemed to notice it; perhaps it was enchanted that way. I’d never be a warrior, but I would grasp any chance to strengthen myself. Life felt new, alive with possibilities—more precious because I’d come so close to losing it. If only Grandfather were here. But all the wishing in the world would not turn back time, it wouldn’t restore what had been lost.

“We wish you good health, Your Ladyship,” someone called out from behind me.

I turned to see the crowd of people that had come to send me off—not the nobles or courtiers who were obligated to be there, but those who’d traveled from the towns and villages. They stood a distance away, behind the line of soldiers. I smiled at them, feeling lighter than I had in weeks.

As I strode toward them, Minister Dao moved into my path. “Your Ladyship, you should wait here in case the immortal escort arrives.”