Chapter 25 Àn’yīng
àn’yīng
Realm of Dragons
When the sky darkens and evening deepens into night, we rise to dine on platters of sea fruit and steamed fish and soups to replenish life energies.
Then, seated at the elegant rosewood table in the living room of this house, we plan.
The magic of this realm has gifted us with cups of steaming tea that refill with each sip, as well as parchment, ink, and brushes.
“The Temple of Dawn is the only part of the Kingdom of Sky where the wards will admit mortals,” Hào’yáng says.
He’s bent over the parchment, sketching out a map of the kingdom.
I lean forward, observing the fine lines on his face, the way his brows crease and his expression is wiped clear of any emotion but cool concentration. “I must enter through there.”
I glance up sharply. “ ‘I’?”
He doesn’t stop his work, his wrists flicking in elegant motions as he writes. “You’re half immortal, àn’yīng. The wards may let you through no matter where you enter.”
“Or they may stop me,” I counter. “I’m only half immortal. A halfling.” I pause at the word, at the inevitable memory of the one it conjures. “What are you suggesting—that we split up?”
“The Temple of Dawn is the place where the Kingdom of Night first breached the Kingdom of Sky’s wards. It’s their stronghold in that realm. It will be the riskiest point of entry.”
“And you’re going to try it? By yourself, and without Meadowsweet this time?”
Hào’yáng looks at me now. “I don’t see that I have much of a choice.”
“Absolutely not.” I hold his stare. “You’re the entire reason we can still fight for our realm, Hào’yáng. Your life must be protected at all costs.”
“And you are our cause’s only chance to rally an army, àn’yīng,” he shoots back, and then sighs. “The point is, we do not have a choice. I failed to obtain the dragons’ allegiance. I have no army, no support, and no way to get a message to my former allies. I need to do this myself.”
I straighten suddenly, pressing a hand to my wrist. At first, I don’t feel anything—but a moment later comes a sensation like a soft brush of fur against my skin. “We might have allies yet,” I say, and I tell Hào’yáng about how Lì’líng left one of her tails with me before we parted ways.
Hào’yáng looks faintly amused. “I’ve heard stories of nine-tailed fox spirits leaving one of their tails behind.
They say that tail always makes it back to them.
” He taps his brush against his chin. “If we have Lì’líng and Tán’mù and a few of the former Immortality Trials candidates, that gives us a lot more resources to leverage. ”
“At least a few of them would need to remain with my family and the villagers,” I say, “but even half of them would be enough for your protection.”
Hào’yáng stops tapping his brush as he realizes what I’m getting at.
“Even if the wards do admit me, the warriors are mortal and can’t go through them with me,” I say. “You would all have to go through the Temple of Dawn, as mortals did during the Immortality Trials. Which is why I have a proposition.”
A wary look crosses his face, and he resumes the tapping of his brush as he says, “Go on.”
I lean forward. “I go into the Kingdom of Sky first, alone. I claim my title and army as Lady Shī’yǎ’s daughter.
And I bring word to your immortal allies that you’re ready to fight.
Meanwhile, you remain in the Kingdom of Rivers and make for the Western Province to find Lì’líng, Tán’mù, and rally our troops.
Together, you travel to the Kūn’lún Mountains, where you can access the gateways to other realms to seek alliances.
We all meet back in the Central Province, at Xī’lín, ready to march on the Imperial City and take it back from the mó. ”
We stare at each other from across the table.
“It’s the most logical and efficient approach,” I press.
“I understand that, àn’yīng,” Hào’yáng says calmly, “which is why I’m trying to think of a more logical and efficient approach than sending you into the tiger’s lair alone.”
I raise an eyebrow. A challenge. “And?”
“And you’re right. This is the most logical and efficient approach.”
“Then we proceed with this strategy.”
He presses the tip of his brush against his lip, eyes narrowing slightly as he continues staring at me. “You,” he says slowly, “have boxed me in with no way out.”
“I had the impression you prioritized logic and calculation.”
“When it comes to you, I can’t,” he replies sharply, putting down his brush and turning his face to the windows.
An ocean breeze stirs the gauze drapes, spilling starlight into pools at our feet.
It’s several heartbeats until he speaks again, his voice quiet.
“Your mother had foresight. She predicted a life like this for me: always needing to choose between kingdom and love.”
“Hào’yáng,” I say, and something in my tone pulls his gaze back to me.
“It was never your choice. It is mine. For half my life, I’ve been trying to stay alive; the choices I made were all just to survive.
” I reach for his hand, and his grip is tight, his stare unwavering.
“When I met you and Lady Shī’yǎ, a different choice opened to me.
A choice to do more than just survive; a choice to fight. I’m choosing that today.
“I know why Lady Shī’yǎ’s lotus would not answer to me before.
I was afraid and uncertain. But when I watched my village burn down…
when Mā and Méi’zi escaped the jaws of death…
when I thought I’d lost you”—my voice breaks—“something inside me snapped. And I knew I would rather go down fighting than turn my back on this war again.”
Hào’yáng’s eyes soften. “Come here,” he says quietly, pulling me toward him. When I round the table, he draws me into his lap. I drape my wrists over his shoulders, marveling at how I feel so at home with his touch.
His eyes rove my face, and he takes my chin in his hand. “I agree to proceed with your strategy.”
I grin. “Then teach me everything I need to know about the Kingdom of Sky—about your allies and their hideaways, about how the immortals conduct their affairs and how the rules work in that realm—so I may claim my title and army.”
We strategize deep into the night. He fills parchment after parchment with maps of the Kingdom of Sky, lists of all the immortals whose support he and Lady Shī’yǎ gathered over the years.
For his part of the plan, we sketch out maps of the mortal realm, the path to the Western Province and, deep within, the fabled Kūn’lún Mountains, said to hold gateways to so many other lands: the Realm of Phoenixes, the Realm of Flower Fairies, and more.
When the moon is high in the sky and we have recorded every last detail of our plan, he carries me to our bed.
We make love to the song of the tides and the silvery glow of the moon, then lie tangled beneath the starlight and trade stories of the moments in each other’s lives that we missed over the past ten years.
And when we fall asleep in each other’s arms, I find myself hoping fervently that we’ll have a lifetime of nights like this.
—
At the crack of dawn, we rise. A meal sits on our dining table: sweet wine-soaked prawns and scallops, abalone soup, and braised bass, accompanied by fresh spring water. Hào’yáng and I break our fast as the sun rises over the horizon.
I left the white dress Méi’zi gifted me back in Xī’lín, but the replica that the magic of this realm conjured for me comes with fitted straps for my crescent blades—the ones that remain. Most significantly, there’s a samite belt, onto which I strap my lotus sword.
The sky is waking when Hào’yáng comes to me and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Ready?” he says against my hair.
“Ready,” I reply. Together, we grasp the pearl necklaces gifted to us by the Dragon King and blow on them.
A sudden wind gusts outside, stirring the blossoms and great camphors.
The sound of rushing water fills the air, and ocean currents begin to seep through the cracks of the doors, pooling across our floor.
As the water rises, the floorboards beneath turn to sand and kelp.
I wrap my arms around Hào’yáng as the water laps over our knees, then our waists.
Fish dart past our ankles, and when the waves reach our necks, we take deep breaths and let them submerge us completely.
The chambers, the furniture, the table upon which we took our meals and the bed upon which we slept—it’s all gone, swept away by the rush of water. I taste salt, and when I look up, it’s no longer the ceiling of our house but the distant surface of an ocean. Far away, sunlight glints.
Together we swim against the currents. When we finally break through the surface, we gulp down fresh, brine-laced air, and I can tell immediately that we have left the Realm of Dragons.
Now the water is dark, the sun is pale behind shifting clouds, and the air is cold and woven with winter’s breath. Everything is a little less saturated in color, a little less radiant and perfect.
But it’s home.
Here, too, it’s dawn. A cliff wall rises before us, so high that it vanishes into fog. Out on the sea behind us, a series of stone pillars soar skyward, vanishing into distant clouds that loom over the horizon.
When the realization hits me, I let out a startled laugh.
“The Immortals’ Steps,” I say to Hào’yáng.
“I crossed these to reach the Temple of Dawn for the Trials. They’re also known as the Dragons’ Pass.
” So the myths are true—they do lead to the Realm of Dragons.
I look down at the water we tread, dark and flecked with foam, and I think I can make out a faint aquamarine glow, the glint of scales, or the flash of a golden palace deep, deep down…