Chapter 32 Àn’yīng
àn’yīng
Kingdom of Rivers
I follow the butterfly.
Outside, the sun is too bright, too warm, as it caresses my skin. I close my eyes, and when I reopen them, the colors of my realm are effervescent. Everything is drenched in a gleaming golden haze, the realm at long last awakened from an eternal night.
I heard you dreaming of afternoons beneath your plum tree with your mother and Méi’zi. I wanted to gift you that.
I turn back to the throne room, convinced for a moment that I’ll see him there, red cloak stirring in the wind, smile curving his lips, as beautiful as the first time I met him.
But the hall is empty, the gateway gone.
I sweep a last glance across the chamber. Then I wipe my sleeves across my cheeks, turn, and step outside.
The liberation of the Imperial City turns the tides of the battle. Everywhere I look, mó are backing down, their powers waning beneath the energies of the sun. The immortals’ power, on the other hand, grows, the air filling with their spirit energies.
I charge through the battleground, lotus sword in hand, Fleet granting me speed. My spirit energies are buoyed by the presence of the sun, and on my chest, where my jade pendant once rested, I feel a tug in my heart drawing me forward.
He’s there. White-and-gold lamellar armor glinting, blue sword flashing, he fights astride She of the Moon-Frosted Sea. Somehow, across the entire battlefield, Hào’yáng’s gaze finds mine.
He flies to me, She of the Moon-Frosted Sea weaving gracefully through the battle, and leaps off when he reaches for me.
Gently, he tips my chin toward him, eyes searching mine, brows furrowed.
My eyes burn even as I whisper, “It’s done.”
Hào’yáng draws me into his arms and simply holds me, his heartbeat against mine.
I don’t know how to explain to him that what should be a moment of victory has turned, instead, to one of grief.
That I love him so endlessly and brilliantly as the sky loves the sun—but beneath, now, the shadow of another is carved into my soul.
But I don’t have to.
Hào’yáng places his palms on my cheeks and wipes the tears away. “I understand,” he says quietly, and that is all I need to hear.
We mount She of the Moon-Frosted Sea, who shoots up into the skies. Wind whistles past us as we soar beyond the raging battle, the walls of the Imperial Palace…to the glittering river encircling the city. The dragonhorse’s scales reflect on the water’s surface as we descend.
I squeeze Hào’yáng’s hand. “Go,” I urge him.
The waves of the river rise to meet him as he slides off his dragonhorse’s back. Hào’yáng steps into the tide, and the water wreathes him like a robe, lowering him to the surface of the river.
Then he sinks.
A tremor goes through the earth. Quietly, subtly, like the soft tap of a finger against a sheepskin drum.
Only those paying attention will notice how the surface of the river quakes, waters breaking into thousands of little ripples; how the leaves in the surrounding trees quiver in unison. How even the clouds seem to pause.
A second tremor runs through the land, and this time, it is unmistakable: a shiver, as if the ground itself is waking.
And then the river begins to undulate, rippling across its aquamarine waters, and in the center, a vortex forms.
The waters part for Hào’yáng as he emerges, armor glinting as though it holds the sun within. The river wraps around him, giving the impression that he glides toward us on the backs of two cerulean dragons.
As he approaches, She of the Moon-Frosted Sea does something I have never seen. She dips her head, bending her forelegs as though in a deep bow.
That’s when I know.
Hào’yáng’s smile is radiant as he holds both hands out to me. I take them as I step off the dragonhorse, and then I’m standing on the backs of the waves in his arms, embracing him tightly.
They are coming, She of the Moon-Frosted Sea announces in our minds. The dragons are coming.
I follow her gaze to the distant east—the direction of the Four Seas. At first, I mistake them for undulating clouds. Yet as they draw closer, I catch the gleam of scales. The flash of talons.
They are coming to support the crowning of the emperor.
Hào’yáng and I turn to face them. In his other hand, Azure Tide’s glow pulses, growing stronger and brighter like a heartbeat, a silent call. And answering that call is the light radiating from the dozens of dragons approaching us.
They soar through the skies, scales shimmering in jewel tones of sapphire and amber, cinnabar and amethyst and jade, forming a line like a gleaming rainbow.
Where they go, the air ripples, the clouds part, and plants grow from the soil, leaves turning from jade to a rich gold-red of late autumn beneath their serpentine shadows.
Hào’yáng takes my hand as we mount She of the Moon-Frosted Sea again. The dragonhorse takes off joyfully into the air, and soon, we’re flying amidst dragons, some as tall as mountains or as long as rivers, others the size of hills and streams.
In that moment, astride a dragonhorse with my boy in the jade, I am a little girl again.
I am the àn’yīng of Xī’lín, needle and thread in hand, dreaming of seeing the ocean.
Believing in fairy tales and the myths of old.
I am her, and yet I am also the àn’yīng of now: the warrior, the fighter, provider for her family and Lotus Immortal.
On the ground, the mó army is retreating at the sight of the dragons.
Throughout the battlefield, they open passageways back to their own realm—passageways that, now, can never be reopened from their side of the Kingdom of Night.
Those lucky enough to escape the clutches of the immortal army and the dragons flee through them, vanishing forever from our realm.
We alight before the steps of the palace. There, still engaged in battle with several of the Eight Immortals, is Sansiran. The power emanating from her crackles like a storm, and even Dòng’bīn is no match for her.
Hào’yáng steps forward, the sea-blue glow of Azure Tide flowing across the palace walls and grounds. Sansiran looks up—and stills.
“Demon Queen Sansiran,” Hào’yáng begins. “You have defied the Heavenly Order and waged war across the realms. Your insatiable greed has caused the suffering of so many, including your own.
“Today, the Heavens speak back. The dragons of old are here to declare their alliance with me. The gateway between our realms has closed, freeing my city of your grasp. Now I intend to take back the Kingdom of Rivers to return peace and prosperity to its peoples and its lands. Surrender and swear never again to wage war upon our realms, and we grant you amnesty and return to the Kingdom of Night. But continue…” Hào’yáng’s sword pulses with a sudden, fierce light. “Continue, and we will have no mercy.”
For the first time ever, Sansiran’s expression shows an inkling of fear. It yields quickly to fury as she bares her teeth in a snarl. “Yù’chén, come,” she calls, the power of her command ripping through the air.
But there is no one to answer.
I think of the scorpion lilies, bright and red in the sunlight; of the butterfly soaring out into blue skies.
“Yù’chén, come to me,” Sansiran repeats, her voice rising to a near-scream, perhaps to mask the fear slowly sinking into her expression. Her dark magic crashes through the crowd and surges into every corner of the Imperial Palace.
When she receives no answer from her son, realization twists the demon queen’s expression. Fury darkens the air around her like a storm, shadows whipping in an invisible wind as she rises from the ground, flanked by her two Perils.
Sansiran lashes out with her powers: a bolt of black lightning, aimed straight for Hào’yáng.
Hào’yáng raises Azure Tide, and around us, magic fills the air.
The dragons begin to glow, their energies pouring toward Hào’yáng.
The air thrums with the vastness of oceans; the churning of tides; the shift of seasons, the turn of realms and lives across time.
Power more ancient than this world, coalescing around us.
Hào’yáng steps forward, sword raised, an aurora of light splintering through Sansiran’s shadows. Azure Tide arcs through the air, sending the combined powers of the dragons tearing through the demon queen.
Sansiran’s mouth remains open in that furious shriek. As a blinding nexus of light explodes over her, the last I see is her face, distorted in hatred until the very end.
When the light fades, the marble steps are empty. Nothing remains in the spot where Sansiran and her Perils stood, not even a trace of shadows or a single petal of her red oleander. The sun gleams over us, and the Imperial Palace sparkles with remnants of the dragons’ magic.
Slowly, immortals, mortals, and halflings alike gather around us, forming a circle. Some are wounded and bloodied, some in disbelief at the sudden end to the battle—yet as they turn their gazes to their heir and rightful emperor, their expressions transform to reverence.
One by one, they kneel. Even the immortals follow suit, heads bowed in deference. A chant rises, soft at first but growing stronger: “Emperor…Emperor…Emperor…”
Hào’yáng’s eyes, however, remain only on mine as, before all his subjects and allies, he, too, lowers himself to one knee and inclines his head.
Toward me.
“Hé àn’yīng,” he says, his voice ringing across the grounds.
“Honorable Lotus Immortal. Without you, my life would be forfeit. It is you who pulled me from the gates of the Nine Fountains, who breathed life into me again. It is you who turned the tides of this war by destroying the gateway to the Kingdom of Night, which the mó used to feed on the energy and life of our realm. And it is you who secured the alliance with the Kingdom of Sky.” Hào’yáng’s gaze meets mine, and I find that I cannot breathe.
“The honor of winning this war, therefore, belongs to you.”
Murmurs ripple through the crowd, and I feel it, the moment their attention shifts to me.
Then, one by one, the warriors turn to me, heads bent, as they chant my name.
Behind me, the dragons rise into the skies, sunlight refracting off their colorful scales.
The air fills with their ancient, echoing song until they blend into the brilliant blue of the distant horizon, disappearing into the folds of another realm.