Page 62 of Immortal

A week passed, each day like the one before. I rose early, spending my mornings at court hearing from the ministers, going through the petitions, mediating the disputes that cropped up. In the afternoons, Chengyin would take over as the First Advisor, leaving me free to train with the God of War. When I returned late at night, I would pore over the scrolls and notes that Chengyin had left in my study, for those matters that still needed my attention.

The hours flew by until I barely knew when the sun rose and set. My eyes closed the moment my head dropped on the pillow, and I woke each morning feeling like I hadn’t done enough the day before. I was beginning to regret my decision to train with the God of War at his unrelenting pace. Maybe it was enough if I left my protection to him, to my soldiers—but a voice whispered: What if they’re not there? What if you’re alone?

It wasn’t just my body that was tired, but I was emotionally drained. Each day as we trained, spending hours with each other—an intimacy was forming, one I tried to fight. To learn, I had to listen to him without suspicion, and there was much to admire in his lessons. When he touched me to adjust my posture—his hands on my arms, shoulders, and neck—it was like he was setting my body alight. It frightened me, yet I was beginning to want this; I’d never felt so alive.

There was so much I was learning about fighting, about magic too. Though it was of little use to me, Zhangwei indulged my curiosity, teaching me about the different elements of magic: Air, Water, Fire, Earth.

“Some immortals possess more than one Talent,” he’d said. “Some are also skilled in Life and Mind, specializing in healing injuries or even influencing thoughts. Often, the magic we are most proficient in stems from what is inherent in our surroundings.”

I recalled what I’d heard of his realm, all I’d read. “Are those from the Sea Kingdoms more skilled in Water enchantments? And do those from the Phoenix Kingdom possess the most powerful Fire magic?”

“In a way, but neither is it so simple. While magic has its rules, what can or cannot be done may simply be undiscovered. Those from the Golden Desert are strong in Fire and Earth. Yet immortals of the Celestial Kingdom do not follow a set pattern, drawing magic from across the elements.”

“How are some immortals more powerful than others?” I wondered.

“Why are you the Lady of Tianxia, and why do the people obey you?” he’d countered.

“Because of my family name, my birthright.”

He nodded. “Just as some are born with a stronger lifeforce than others, whether by heritage or by chance.”

“I didn’t earn the throne, but I want to be worthy of it.” It was a fear of mine that I didn’t deserve this honor, that I would fail those who depended on me. And I didn’t know why I was sharing this with him.

He regarded me intently. “Then you already are.”

Silence fell between us then, something fluttering in my chest. Why did his praise affect me so? I made myself pull away, though I’d regretted it. This wouldn’t last. Once our pact was over, once the God of War had gotten what he wanted from me, he would return to the skies and I’d never see him again. The more I guarded myself now, the less I’d hurt later.

It was a rare chance though, to learn from the God of War. Under Zhangwei’s tutelage, my skills vastly improved. While I would never be a celebrated warrior, I could hold my own in a fight. And at night, when it was quiet and calm—I began to wonder, was he helping himself too? He wanted the Divine Pearl Lotus, but my heart had been closed to him. Yet now, after spending time together, things were shifting once more. I found myself thinking of him more than I should, anticipating our sessions, even craving his touch. We had grown closer . . . and this time, it felt different, more real—and because of that, far more dangerous.

* * *

The morning dawned clear and bright. As there was no court in session, I would spend the whole day training with Zhangwei. Yifei brought a tray of food to my room: a bowl of noodles steeped in chicken broth, a side dish of eggs and one of beansprouts, along with sliced watermelon. I ate alone, though I could have invited Zhangwei. It was wiser to keep a little distance between us, though my restraint was rapidly crumbling.

From outside, footsteps drew closer; Zhangwei’s decisive yet quick tread. He was earlier than anticipated—and it struck me, was this our last day? Once Queen Caihong emerged from seclusion, the God of War would return to the skies to confer with her. Our time together was ending.

My heart sank as I picked up my sword and left the room. An urgency filled me to not waste a single moment. Zhangwei was waiting outside, his black hair held up by a jade ring, silver mountains embroidered on his charcoal gray robe. His dark eyes went to my face, then moved down my dress. It was a soft lilac, a color I rarely wore. My hair was pulled high, a flower-shaped pin slid into one side, a mother-of-pearl comb tucked in the other. As his gaze shifted to it, his mouth tightened. Was he thinking of the one he’d given me? The one I’d discarded?

The skies were still cast in rose and gold, the last breath of dawn lingering. We walked in silence to the training field, except this time, Zhangwei led me to the river that bordered the grounds. It was wide and deep, flowing into the vast lake at the heart of Tianxia. This was a rich source of food for us, and also pleasure—where I’d first learned to swim, one of the few activities that hadn’t tired me too much before, that I could enjoy at my own pace.

Zhangwei pointed to a flat rock in the middle of the river. “That is your training ground today. Practice your stances on the rock.”

I stared at him blankly. “Why?”

“You’ve made good progress learning the different stances. However, fighting a real opponent—one who wants to hurt you—is much harder. It’s crucial to keep steady under strain, to avoid mistakes. Precision and balance are vital.” He grinned as he dipped a hand into the river. “Nothing makes you more aware of it than the prospect of falling into cold water.”

While I could swim, it was a cool day, one of the last few of spring. I scowled, wanting to refuse. But I’d asked him to teach me, and this was the price of his lesson. I stepped gingerly upon the stones, making my way to the one he’d pointed out. My robe fluttered as shards of sunlight glinted over the water.

“First stance. Point your sword out and lean forward,” he called out.

I did as he instructed. He was right that out here in the open, with the water rushing all around, I felt more vulnerable, uncertain. My senses were alert, the stakes higher. How would it be when survival was on the line?

Zhangwei leaned against a tree, his eyes fixed on me. “Now, stand on one leg and thrust your sword forward.”

I swallowed, struggling to keep my balance as I lifted one leg up and pushed my sword out. I’d done this countless times over the past week, though not this way, balancing on an uneven rock.

“Good,” he said. “Now, sweep your sword to the right.”

I cursed him under my breath, not daring to look at him this time, all my attention on holding my balance. As he called out another command, I shifted again—then once more.