Chapter 26 #2
He sighed, placing his hands on the baluster and gazing out at the endless mist. “Do you remember that camphor tree, Siying? How you got stuck?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“I tried to protect you by preventing you from climbing any more trees. But your limbs weren’t the only things I wanted to protect. I wanted to protect your heart as well, and I thought I was doing that by staying alive. You’d lost a mother—I didn’t think you should lose a father too.”
I inched forward. “What are you saying? That you regret living?”
“No, I regret being dishonest.” He glanced sideways at me. “The truth, daughter, is that I was never as strong as you. I’d long grown tired—of the illness, of fighting. I held on only for you and Lilan. But then I began dreaming of your mother.”
“Mama?” I looked around for an apparition that wasn’t there. “Are you saying Mama told you to give up?”
“Of course not. I chose this path myself.”
“So you chose to leave us, to leave me. That’s why you gave Ren your qi?”
“I did what I had to, just like your mother.”
I frowned. “What does that mean?”
“Do you remember when I first fell ill?” At my nod, Baba continued solemnly, “Do you remember being ill yourself?”
I paused, taken aback by his words. They roused images in my mind, suppressed memories of heat and darkness. “I … remember a fever. But it was minor. I recovered quickly.”
“Not at first.” My father shook his head. “You were in worse condition than I. Your mother and I were certain you wouldn’t survive another night. So she gave you her qi—what was left of it, anyway.”
I stiffened. “What?”
Baba reached for my hand, but I pulled away. “Don’t blame yourself, Siying. She was already dying. That was a fact. But she made sure you didn’t have to join her so soon.”
I suddenly recalled Yuyan’s comments about my abnormally strong qi. I hadn’t thought much of it then, but now—
“How could you not tell me this?” I whispered.
“Because I didn’t want to add to your guilt. Your mother willingly offered her own qi to strengthen yours, qi formed from love for her family. That love lives in you, Siying. It’s part of what makes your spirit so strong. So forgive yourself, daughter. It was never your fault.”
Yuyan’s version of my mother had accused me of stealing her life. But no. My mother had given it to me—freely, selflessly. Baba had also implied it the last time we’d spoken on this bridge, when he’d pointed to my heart and told me how I carried Mama’s strength within me.
I finally understood what he’d meant. I should’ve felt grateful toward my mother, and I did. But I was still conflicted.
“If my qi is combined with Mama’s, why didn’t you let me save you?” I asked, losing myself in my frustration. “What you did for Ren I could’ve done for you, Baba, if you’d only warned me ahead of time. How could you secretly give Ren your qi, knowing you were giving away your own life?”
He stepped forward, reaching out to sweep his thumb across my cheek.
He waited for me to meet his eyes, then gently said, “Before consuming the poisoned tea, I spoke to the young prince myself. When I heard his story—of the trying adventures you’d experienced together—I knew only one of us could leave the monastery alive.
And I knew it must be him. Ren may be young, but he possesses a benevolence that is rare among his class, a vital characteristic that will bring wisdom to his decisions.
I suspect that might even be why he left the palace—not to escape but to better understand his kingdom.
” He exhaled. “My life was already fading, and the poison only ensured its end. I wanted to give what was left to someone who still had much to live for.”
“Were Lilan and I not something to live for?” I asked brokenly. “Why didn’t you tell me first, Baba? I would’ve chosen you.”
“I know,” he said. “But I chose you, my beautiful, clever daughter, and I chose the world you live in. As Sian’s future ruler, Ren will ensure that it’s one of fairness, peace, and opportunity.”
“But he refuses to be king!”
“You and I both know that isn’t really true, even if he won’t yet admit it to himself.
Those who shun power for power’s sake are those who wield it right.
” Baba held my face with both hands, his eyes soft with pride.
“Regarding your question of whether you’re worth living for, I say this: You don’t need me anymore, Kang Siying.
As a daughter, a sister, a priestess, and a woman, you’re enough as you are.
And I know you’ll thrive just as well without me, perhaps even more so. ”
His words were everything I’d wished to hear since the first time I accompanied him on a corpse-driving job and realized I wanted to be like him. I would’ve expected such words to warm my soul, solidify my purpose. But my heart broke at the earnestness in his gaze.
“You must not know,” I said, throat tight. “I did something reckless, Baba. I don’t think I’ll get the chance to thrive as Kang Siying.”
His eyes twinkled with amusement. “You’re not yet dead, daughter. It isn’t that easy to escape the struggles of mortality. Trust me, I know.”
“I … I’m still alive?”
“Yes.” He lifted his brows. “In fact, you’d do well to wake soon. Your friends are waiting for you.”
I reached up to grasp his hands, my fear returning as an ice-cold wave. “I can’t leave you, Baba. I’m not ready to say goodbye. Couldn’t we stay like this a little longer?”
“When you were a child, you used to clutch my hands so tightly like this.” Softly, he continued, “But you’re not a child anymore, Siying. It’s time for you to let go.”
I gripped his fingers like a lifeline. “Why must that be the only option?”
“We’re servants of death, not masters. Trying to control death is as futile as trying to control a river’s flow.” He smiled tenderly. “But you needn’t fear, daughter, for dying is only a beginning in disguise. Will you let me begin again?”
“Your happiness is all I’ve ever wanted.” My voice was a whisper as I said, “But I don’t know how to live in a world without you, Baba.”
“You do, and you will.” He pulled his hands from mine to enfold me in a fierce hug. I fit perfectly in his arms, my head tucked safely underneath his whiskered chin. “You and Lilan have been the greatest gifts of my life. Never forget that, Kang Siying.”
I mumbled into his shirt, “I won’t.”
He stroked the back of my head. “And never forget that your family’s spirits will always be with you, including mine and your mother’s. I promise that you’ll never be alone, even if we must say goodbye for now.”
I nodded against his chest, unsure how I could ever let go. But I knew I had to. My father was right. It was time.
I exhaled slowly and forced myself to pull away. Staring into his dark, familiar eyes, I said, “Goodbye, Baba.”
“Goodbye, daughter. May the heavens allow us to meet again as father and child in our next lives.”
He squeezed my shoulder, then turned to face the serpentine bridge before him.
I fought against the urge to chase after him as he took a step forward, then another, and another until he became a lone speck in the distance, quickly swallowed up by the mist. I imagined my mother waiting for him on the other side and the joyful reunion that would take place when they saw each other again. I desperately hoped that to be true.
But I knew these hopeful thoughts were only meant to distract me from the pain in my chest. My ribs felt as if they’d cracked and collapsed, piercing the lungs they were meant to protect. I can’t breathe, my mind screamed. How could you do this to me?
But I was tired of the anchor I’d wrapped around my own ankle, keeping me trapped at the bottom of a deep, lonely lake.
I was tired of the fear, the guilt, the need to control everything.
I was tired of drowning. So I ignored the voice in my head, the one that was so afraid of never being or doing enough.
I did the one thing I’d thought I couldn’t.
I breathed. And let go.