Though the southern monks control much of Tianjia’s most fertile land, spirits generally avoid their territory, for those who enter seldom return. The methods of defense used by these reclusive monks remain a mystery, but it is said that when confronted by one, a spirit would sooner choose iron than dare challenge them.
—Lost Journals of an 8th-Century Lixia Scholar, date unknown
After Sky left me, Winterrequested my presence in the plum blossom grove. He awaited me beneath a wax plum tree, its yellow blossoms at their brightest in the depths of winter. As he inclined his head in greeting, a few petals drifted softly onto his white robes. The gardens, typically brimming with life, lay barren in winter. In an effort to fill the void, the gardeners had meticulously arranged potted camellias and narcissus, brought in from the south. But the lush, colorful flowers only called attention to the bare, frost-kissed landscape beneath.
“Walk with me?” asked Winter.
A party had gathered just beyond the plum blossom grove. Instead of steering us away from the crowd, Winter led us toward it, where the resonance of the zither, mingled with laughter and lively debate, would mask our conversation.
“Yuchen is meeting with the Imperial Security Commissionertonight,” Winter murmured beneath the music. “Palace security is outside his jurisdiction—and he’s never publicly allied with Lord Xu before.”
Lord Xu oversaw the security of the Forbidden City, a role that granted him considerable influence. Typically, he coordinated only with the Imperial Commander. But with Liu Zhuo’s health failing, Lord Xu might now be looking to align himself with a more favorable faction.
The army’s loyalty lay with the Imperial Commander, and with Sky. If Yuchen needed rival forces, Lord Xu would be the perfect ally. But what leverage could Yuchen use to bribe a man as powerful as Lord Xu?
The Saiya gold mines.
“A secret army would certainly explain the need for the gold mines,” I said, and Winter nodded. Prince Yuchen was playing both sides. He had collaborated with Princess Yifeng to eliminate me while simultaneously plotting against the crown prince. If he was amassing a secret army beyond his father’s watch, it was clear he had no intention of honoring his succession plans. He was preparing to take the throne—by force if necessary.
“I can send a spy to tail him tonight. Or”—he paused, casting me a sidelong glance—“I can ask Sky.”
My skin tightened at the thought of Sky knowing our machinations. “Don’t bother,” I said. “I’ll go.”
He raised a brow. “Are you certain? You’ll be vastly outnumbered.”
“I don’t plan on fighting,” I said. “Besides, this job is too important to delegate.”
“And you trust yourself to handle it?”
I met his gaze. “There’s no one I trust more.”
Winter inclined his head, his attention sliding past me to the party sitting beneath the Rain-Listening Gazebo. Captain Tong stood at the edge, looking bored out of his mind until our approaching footsteps caught his attention. He raised his head, and though Winter barely acknowledged him—just the faintest quirk of a smile—a rosy flush crept up Captain Tong’s neck before he quickly looked away.
Winter’s pace remained even. As we rounded the bend, the rest of the party came into view. I spotted a few finely dressed imperial advisors, familiar faces from the Anlai treaty delegation. But then, in the corner—my skin crawled. Lei was slouched against a bench, one arm draped lazily around a striking girl with porcelain skin. Her crimson lipstick was smudged, half of it transferred to the underside of Lei’s jaw.
As the zither performance drew to a close, the girl twisted to whisper in Lei’s ear. He smirked, one hand lazily stroking her shoulder.
You have no right to be jealous.
“Interesting,” said Winter. “That is Lady Tang Liqing, whose father just happens to control the Anlai treaty delegations.”
“Did I ask who that was?” I snapped. “I don’t care.”
“Of course not,” said Winter, but his eyes were appraising. Sputtering an excuse, I made my exit.
As I waited for nightto fall, I forced myself to read my mother’s diary in its entirety. I had been avoiding this task, knowing it would stir painful memories, but I could no longer afford to remain in the dark.
Lei was right: the diary was almost entirely illegible. But unlikeLei, I recognized my mother’s handwriting, and moreover, I recognized certain characters that only appeared in women’s writing.
He is comforted by my beauty, and does not perceive me to be a threat.
The new warlord is an intelligent fool. He does not suspect a thing. I can only thank the skies Emperor Wu has been deposed, for surely he would not have let me live.
Broke into the imperial library today. It was a near miss; I am becoming too old for this sneaking around. No new information—a waste of time.
The myth of the eternal spring taunts me. It is just credible enough that I cannot keep from dreaming. But just fantastical enough that every lead turns insubstantial. And yet I must believe, for if it is but a fairy tale, then all hope is lost.
A new lead—a traveling lixia scholar from the east. She claims to be seeking a heavenly peach vendor in Chuang Ning. According to legend, she tells me, the heavenly peach takes its life from the healing powers of the eternal spring. If we find this vendor, perhaps it will lead back to…
