Chapter 33 Àn’yīng
àn’yīng
Kingdom of Rivers
The soft dawn light coats the blossom in hues of gold. My breath plumes before me as I brush aside a dusting of snow and bend to examine the flower.
It’s a red scorpion lily. The petals taper to sharp edges, unfurling like a crimson star and gleaming like a ruby in the snow.
A beautiful flower for a beautiful maiden.
A flower foretelling a tragic fate? You can keep it.
I blink, glancing around me, half expecting to find him there before me, dressed in his bright red cloak and wearing that wicked smile.
Yet as the ghosts of voices past fade, I find that there is no one else in this section of the Imperial Palace gardens.
No one and nothing but me, the blossoms, and my footprints in the freshly fallen first snows.
It’s been one month since the Battle of the Imperial City.
The palace is being rebuilt, much like the rest of our kingdom.
Hào’yáng summoned our remaining mortal practitioners to journey with him throughout the realm, repairing the wards the Kingdom of Night broke past over a decade ago.
Word of our victory has spread throughout the Kingdom of Rivers, spinning it into tales and legends of the crown prince and the Lotus Immortal; of the Day the Dragons Danced, heralding a long and prosperous reign for the new emperor of the Kingdom of Rivers.
The immortals, too, have reclaimed their realm since the mó were driven out.
Shortly after the battle, I bid farewell to the Eight Immortals who stood with us.
We are soon to be reunited when I attend a ceremony before the High Court of the Kingdom of Sky to officially seal my title and position among them.
All is well; the valiant warriors have been honored, the fallen soldiers paid their due respect.
Except for one.
I kneel before the scorpion lily. I had another dream last night—the same one, in the forest, where I search for something. For someone.
Dark magic leaves signs behind, he once told me. Unnatural growths of flowers, birds, and animals that don’t belong…
As his voice echoes in my mind, I catch movement in my peripheral vision.
A butterfly, flitting between the branches of snow-kissed plum blossoms. Its wings catch the early morning sunlight, reflecting patterns of red and black. It flies toward me, circling the scorpion lily.
In disbelief, I hold out a hand. Chest tight, hope drumming a wild heartbeat inside me, I can’t help but wonder…
“àn’yīng!”
A cheerful shriek pierces the peaceful silence.
I turn as a whizzing pink blur rams into me, tackling me onto the snow.
Méi’zi is cackling as she draws back. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright; her chin is tucked into the thick fur of her new winter cloak.
By her side, a familiar little white fox with amber eyes and a bushy tail yips in what sounds like laughter.
“We’re finally doing it!” Méi’zi squeals, clasping my hand as I right myself, brushing snow from my hair and shoulders. “Mā and I are packed, and our carriages are arriving this afternoon!”
I can’t help grinning. As soon as Mā and Méi’zi arrived from the Western Province, they enlisted in the recovery efforts across the kingdom.
As seamstresses, they will travel the realm, distributing blankets to those in need ahead of winter, helping patch up broken paper windows and curtains, and sewing sheets and pillowcases for bedding.
The sun and the wind were good for my mother, who returned from her journey stronger.
She is now able to spend most of her day on her feet—and most importantly, that spark to her eyes is back, as though traveling healed her body and soul.
I ruffle Méi’zi’s hair. “Make sure to send word every day. Who knows, I may join you should our paths cross.”
Méi’zi taps the plum blossom hairpin clasped over her braids; its bright fuchsia gemstones glint in the sunlight.
In my own hair, I wear a matching cherry blossom hairpin.
With some help from Hào’yáng, we enchanted these with the same talismans my father used on the pair of jade pendants.
Now Méi’zi need only speak my name into hers for me to hear her and respond.
A yip catches our attention. With a swirl of snow, the little white fox waiting at our feet vanishes and Lì’líng returns to her human form, wide-eyed and dressed in a cream-colored winter coat.
She stretches, yawning in a manner extremely reminiscent of her animal form.
“I’m hungry! Let’s go have breakfast. Tán’mù and your mother are waiting for us; I asked the kitchens if they had any lotus-wrapped glutinous rice.
” She bares all her teeth in a wide grin. “They do.”
“Race you!” Méi’zi squeals, and she takes off, dashing through the snow, Lì’líng streaking by her side in her fox form again. Their laughter echoes through the palace gardens.
I’m smiling as I watch them round a pavilion, where I make out two figures seated at a table laden with food.
Mā waves to me, then laughs as Méi’zi flings her arms around her shoulders, shrieking that she’s won.
Leaning against a pillar, Tán’mù watches this with the slightest curve to her lips.
Lì’líng bounds up to her and leaps into her lap, transforming into her human form.
She’s giggling as she pecks a kiss on Tán’mù’s cheek.
Sunlight spills golden and crisp upon them, and all around us, the plum trees in the garden are blossoming beneath the snow.
I look down at the scorpion lily. The butterfly is gone.
I heard you dreaming of afternoons beneath your plum tree with your mother and Méi’zi. I wanted to gift you that.
I press a finger to the petal of the scorpion lily. Perhaps there are traces of magic that linger on this earth, but wherever he is, I hope he is happy, and I hope he is free. I hope he has found the life he so wished for, beyond the Nine Fountains.
I hope he knows that in the end, his choice not only defined his life; it changed the world.
My fingers brush against the scorpion lily’s petals—but unlike in the myths, they do not cut me. They are gentle, soft velvet.
“àn’yīng.”
I turn, my heart and spirit lifting at the sound of that voice—one I’ve been waiting to hear for weeks.
Hào’yáng leans against one of the mahogany pillars of the walkway leading from inside the palace.
He’s dressed in a long brocade gown the blue of rivers, woven with patterns of golden scales.
Silver lamellar armor pads his body, and at his waist is Azure Tide.
In the sunlight, his hair shifts colors, ink-black to mercurial grays, like liquid starlight.
I’m on my feet, running to him, and then in his arms, my face buried in the crook of his neck, in his familiar scent of oceans and sword metal. “I missed you unbearably,” I say, and kiss him.
“As I did you,” he murmurs. “I came for you as soon as I returned.”
I draw back, only long enough to say, “Never leave me for so long again.”
He captures my lips again, grinning this time. “Is that an order, Empress?”
Empress. By the end of the week, we are to complete our coronation ceremony, where we will also be married—not just beneath the Heavenly Order but also by the laws of the Kingdom of Rivers.
Ambassadors from all provinces—East, West, North, and South—will be present as we reestablish the government.
Villages have been asked to nominate their representatives, who will cast their votes for regional officials.
Then Hào’yáng and I will embark on a tour of the kingdom, enacting policies across the land as the kingdom rebuilds.
One policy I will be leading has to do with the acceptance of halflings. Under a new law, we will abolish the presence of yāo’jīng slave pens like those where Lì’líng, Tán’mù, and so many others were held. And slowly, we will reeducate the kingdom on the topic of halflings…beginning with me.
I search Hào’yáng’s face. His eyes are bright as he gazes at me, but the shadows beneath reveal his exhaustion.
“The wards?” I ask.
“Strong enough for now. We’ll keep mending them—and teaching future generations how to preserve them.
” He smiles at me and kisses my hand. “There is so much I wish to do, àn’yīng.
I want to bring back schools of practitioning.
I want to reopen exchanges between our realm and the Kingdom of Sky, bringing the Immortality Trials back to what they were meant to be when they were first established.
” Hào’yáng cups his palm to my cheeks, his face open with joy.
“I want to do it all; I want to see this world and rebuild it, with you by my side.”
I gaze into the eyes of my boy in the jade, and in that moment, I myself feel nothing but hope.
There are nights when I still wake with a gasp, certain a mó lurks outside my windows or terrified that Mā is slipping away from me.
But those nights, the bad nights, are beginning to fade. With time, the good days will triumph.
For once, with Mā and Méi’zi off on their own callings, the future lies wide open before me. No more family to protect. No more duties to fulfill.
My life and destiny as bright as silk waiting to be woven.
I understand the words my mother and sister once said to me: that I’ve lived my entire life chasing the shadows of the past and fulfilling Bà’s wishes. But now it is as Mā said: I must look to the future and choose how I wish to shape it.
I lean forward and kiss Hào’yáng again, slowly and softly. “I wish to see the oceans with you,” I tell him. “I want to see all the realms, everything this world has to offer, by your side.”
Hào’yáng reaches into his storage pouch. “I brought back gifts for you,” he says, and presses something into my palms.
It’s a lacquered sewing box, decorated with fine golden patterns: dragons and oceans, mountains and forests, and a great river winding through it all. When I open it, I gasp in delight.