Chapter 31 Àn’yīng #2
Slow and steady comes the drip, drip, drip of his blood, seeping into the blue carpet and its gold dragons beneath us.
Over the throne, beyond the dais, the gateway gives a palpable shudder, like a ripple running across the surface of a lake.
Yù’chén falls to the floor. He is very still but for his chest, rising and falling in shallow breaths.
The cold light of the moon from his realm beyond the gateway spills over his figure as his veins darken and scales spread across his skin.
His demon’s form, revealed as his demonic magic works desperately to heal him.
I kneel before him. His clawed hands grip the hilt of Heart; his terrifying demon’s eyes, black with pinpricks of red, are focused on a spot on the floor.
Blood pools beneath his chest, and black ichor leaks from his wound, dissipating like smoke. The surface of the gateway shudders again.
Gently, I touch my fingers to Yù’chén’s cheeks. He flinches and closes his eyes, bringing an arm up to cover his face. “Don’t,” he rasps.
“You…” I don’t have the words. My voice catches; my throat is too tight.
“àn’yīng,” he pants. “Please. Grant me…some dignity.”
But I reach for his scaled shoulders. Pull his arm from his face. Take in every darkened vein running across his skin, the curve of his fangs, the length of his claws. The demon’s form that he has been so reviled for.
“Tell me this isn’t real,” I whisper. I’m cold all over, shaking; I keep looking to the hilt of Heart in his chest, the blood flowing from his wound that isn’t slowing.
The corner of his lip curves. When he speaks, his words are so faint, I barely catch them. “It’s real.”
The ichor leaking from his chest begins to slow. The dark veins on his skin are fading, the scales and claws and fangs retracting. And then I’m looking into a most beautiful human face—one that captured my heart once upon a time in the woods of the mortal realm.
Yù’chén’s chest rises and falls as his breathing grows labored. His lips are pale when he says, touching a finger to Heart’s hilt, “You meant it this time.”
The first time I tried using Heart against him, my own traitorous will stayed my hand. He lived and kept Heart with him.
“Did you know I would?” I whisper.
He blinks, then gives a single, slow nod.
“Then why?” My voice cracks. Somewhere outside, beyond these doors, freedom for the mortal realm is spreading its wings—but instead of victory, I feel in this moment as though I have lost everything.
“I promised you,” Yù’chén mumbles, “that I’d do everything in my power to give you what I can of the world you wanted.”
Warmth slides down my cheeks. I feel cheated: I thought our farewell in the immortal realm meant severing whatever we once felt for each other. That we’d both chosen our families and our kingdoms over each other.
Knowing he is choosing me after all feels like a betrayal. A debt I’ll never be able to repay.
“I’ll admit, I thought of doing the worst things you assumed of me,” Yù’chén continues.
“I thought of taking you away and making you mine. But you taught me that selfishness isn’t love; that true love is selfless.
That our fates can change because of the choices we make in our lives.
” His lashes flutter. “Those nights you spent in the Palace of the Aurora, I heard you dreaming of afternoons beneath your plum tree with your mother and Méi’zi.
I wanted to gift you that. And I realized there was only one way I could.
Because…because sometimes, love means letting go. ”
Words I once spoke to him beneath the stars of his realm. Words that are now breaking my heart.
Yù’chén lifts a hand and touches my cheek. Drops of my tears cling to his fingers when he pulls away.
“Thank you,” he murmurs. He blinks rapidly, his chest rising and falling fast. Too fast. “Stay,” he says suddenly, reaching for my hand. “Stay this time. Please.”
“I’m here, Yù’chén.”
His eyes search mine.
“I keep having a dream,” he whispers. “The same dream. I’m in a forest, and I’ve been searching my entire life for something, but I don’t know what it is. Then I hear someone say my name, and suddenly, I know in my soul that I’ve found what I’m looking for.”
I stare at him, my heart pounding. The same dream.
He stands in the clearing, turning toward me as though time has slowed—a painting in the rising dawn.
Hair, billowing like swirls of ink.
Eyes, flashing like golden embers.
The phantom of a smile on his face as his gaze lifts to meet mine—
Impossible.
“àn’yīng.” Yù’chén speaks my name with infinite gentleness. His lashes flutter, yet he gazes at me with something nearing serenity. “Can I…ask for one thing?”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
He tries to lift a hand to touch my cheek. Can’t. It falls to his side. “Will you smile for me?” he asks.
I realize I have never smiled at him, not truly. I’ve regarded him with caution, suspicion, sorrow, and hatred…I’ve kissed him and desired him. I’ve loved him.
But I’ve never smiled at him.
It feels monumental, in this moment, to lift my head beyond the sorrow in my lungs. But I somehow do. I hold his gaze and pull my lips into a smile, even as my tears fall on his cheeks, his neck, his lips.
Yù’chén breathes in deeply. A glow seems to emanate from his skin, warm as dawn, as the throne room around us fills with a great rushing sound.
Shadows dance on the walls, tendrils of darkness curling through the air, pulling gently toward the open gateway.
Red scorpion lilies bloom and fade against its opening, as though time is unwinding before our eyes.
The blues and golds of the carpet gleam, the marble walls and lapis patterns brighten, and suddenly, the night begins to lift.
The gateway behind me is collapsing. The edges dissolve like smoke, the red scorpion lilies braid in on themselves, as though stitching a broken seam between realms. As the ground and the air tremble around us, I gather Yù’chén in my arms. His head falls against my shoulder, his lashes casting perfect crescents against his cheeks. Like this, he could be asleep.
The gateway gives one last shudder. A great, sourceless wind blasts through the palace, shattering windows and breaking open doors. I close my eyes, curling my body over Yù’chén’s as sand and rubble from the ruins blow over us.
Then: nothing.
I open my eyes. The palace doors are open.
Sunlight spills through, bright, clear, and golden, pooling on the floors and warming the air.
Outside, the sky is the most brilliant shade of azure.
A winter-tinged wind kisses my cheeks, blowing flower petals from the gardens inside.
They drift toward the back of the room, onto a gleaming gilded throne framed against a great painting of the Kingdom of Rivers: white clouds and green pines, lakes and mountains, all drenched in the gold of the sun.
I look down, and there I find the greatest mystery of all.
Where Yù’chén’s body was is now a scattering of red scorpion lilies, petals bright and gleaming.
They face the sun, and as I watch, a butterfly lands on a petal.
Its wings, patterned in the most remarkable swirls of black and crimson, open and close.
It rests for several heartbeats, then takes off, circling once over my head before flitting outside and vanishing into the endless blue skies.