Before I know it, I’m shoving through the crowd of candidates. They part before me as though I am something theydo not wish to touch. I come to stand before the dais, holding Fleet and Healer in my hands.
“The invitation I received stated that the First Trial was to arrive here by sundown today,” I say. I point Fleet at the open doors, where the setting sun colors the skies and the clouds in shades of coral. “It is sundown. I am here. Therefore, I qualify for the Second Trial.”
Toward the center of the dais, an immortal leans forward. Her face was in the shadows earlier, but as the light strikes it, I see that her features are softer than the others’, her beauty subdued and pure. She holds a lotus; over its blush petals, her eyes rove up the crescent blades in my hands to my soaked white dress and come to meet mine. In the moment that they do, they light up my entire world.
Then her gaze passes easily over me, and I realize that, to these immortals, I am a drop of water in an ocean, a speck of sand in an unending desert.
“I agree with the mortal,” she says to the immortal next to her, at the center of the group. He is the tallest and most imposing; he wears a high gray scholar’s hat and matching somber robes of heavy brocade. At his hip is a red-tasseled sword. “Honorable Immortal Dòng’bin?”
“Always the mortal sympathizer, eh, Shi’ya?” The immortal with the feathered fan smirks.
“Silence.” The immortal at the very center of the group—Dòng’bin—has spoken. The rest obey, their attention focused on him in a way that tells me he is the highest-ranking. Power crackles from him, electrifying each sweep of his hand, each shift of his body.
That’s when I realize: I can argue all I want. I can burn alive with my anger. But in the face of these immortals whoguard the gates to the Kingdom of Sky, there is nothing I can do. After all this time, I am still powerless.
“These trials seek those with not only strength of the body but also strength of the mind,” Dòng’bin says. “Persistence against all odds is the spirit of the heart that first tided us through the Endless Sea into this realm.” At this, a few of the immortals have the grace to look humbled. Dòng’bin’s gaze, like the center of a storm—cold, ancient, and powerful—shifts to me as he declares, “She may pass to the Second Trial.”
My knees knock together; I nearly drop my blades. There’s a roaring in my ears as my adrenaline finally leaves me and exhaustion catches up to my aching limbs. The last thought I have before my mind goes blank is that I am going to collapse before an entire hall of immortals and candidates out for my blood.
Except I don’t.
Hands catch me, light and warm against my back and my shoulders. Someone whispers in my ear, in mymind,telling me to walk, and somehow, I do. I make my way through the crowd of candidates toward the back.
Arms encircle my waist. I’m pressed against someone’s chest, hard and firm, my head leaning against a shoulder. My vision settles: high bejeweled ceilings, fluttering silk paintings, white stone inlaid with gold and lapis.
“It’s all right now, little scorpion,” comes a deep, familiar voice.
Every nerve in me stretches taut to the point of breaking.
It’s him.
Yù’chén.
I try to jerk my hand away, but I can barely summon the energy to stand, let alone fight off someone as strong as he is.Yù’chén pins me in place, twisting my wrists slightly to angle my blades away from him.
I lean back, and he tilts his head with a smile that does not reach his eyes. “Are you really going to stick me in the middle of their pristine palace?” His lips are so close to my ear, I feel the low thrum of his words against my skin. “Right after you were almost disqualified?”
There’s a ripple of excitement throughout the hall. On the dais, the immortal with the bamboo scepter shifts, and a glint of gold catches my eye.
I look, and I forget to breathe.
There, nestled like a pearl in the immortal’s palm, is a perfect golden pill. It catches the fading sunlight like liquid gold.
“The pill of immortality,” Jing’xiù booms, his voice amplified by that scepter. “Upon the conclusion of the Immortality Trials, each judge will select one candidate they deem most worthy of taking under their discipleship. They will grant the candidate a pill of immortality created from a drop of their own golden blood and spirit energy and invite the candidate to the Kingdom of Sky to cultivate their power as an immortal.
“You will be judged by a variety of factors: characteristics that each of the Eight Immortals value uniquely, tested in each trial.”
I can practically hear each candidate doing the math. By my count, there are over forty of us, and only eight judges. Eight spots.
I have to beat thirty-some other candidates—many of whom are trained practitioners from richer provinces—to win the pill of immortality for Ma.
Jing’xiù closes his palm, and the pill vanishes. Around me, candidates blink as though released from a spell.
I feel stronger and more clearheaded than earlier. Yù’chén’s hands press against my waist and the small of my back, holding me steady. A tingling warmth I now recognize as spirit energy pours from him into me.
Why?I think, the unanswered question since the first day we met. Why is he healing me and still helping me when I am clearly weak and wounded…and most important, when I have seen him use dark magic that only mó can wield?
As though hearing my thoughts, his eyes dip to mine.
