With every passing second, I wonder if I’ve made the wrong choice.
The back of the temple opens to a terrace garden of white stone:Clear Skies Pavilion,announces a marble sign. Wisteria in soft hues of purple, blue, and pink whisper gently in the breeze; magnolia trees line the path to a rounded moongate in the wall to the right.Candidates’ Courtyard,reads the plaque above the circular opening. To the left is another moongate that leads to a river reflecting the rosy skies like the finest blown glass; directly ahead, the veranda appears to end in a stirring sea of clouds.
I turn and follow the path into the Candidates’ Courtyard.
Beyond the moongate are the dormitories. Joined into one long structure that wraps around a courtyard, they are accented with gray-tiled roofs and rosewood and pale walls, perhaps to mimic the style of the mortal realm. Night has fallen, but a series of lanterns light the long, open-air veranda that winds outside our chambers. At the center of thecourtyard is a curving pond, flecked with lotuses and the glow of fireflies. Willows dip their branches into the water, and orchids and flowering plum trees lean over to gaze at their reflections.
For a moment, I stand taking this all in: the cool breeze on my face, the lantern light hitting the water at angles that make me think of the glittering threads Ma used to sew with. I think I catch the flash of a carp tail and the shimmer of scales as it darts beneath the surface.
There is a peace here that I haven’t known in nine years.
I make my way down the veranda. Elegant rosewood doors are marked with numbers; mine, the forty-fourth, is at the very end.
I slide open the doors and step inside. It takes me a moment to believe what I’m seeing.
Smooth wood floors polished to a gleam, warmed by the lambent light of lanterns. A bed wider than I could ever have imagined, laid with silks as soft as dreams. Gauze drapes fluttering gently before a balcony that overlooks the sea of clouds, silvered in the moonlight. And beyond, the shapes of mountains and rivers and oceans adrift amidst curls of mist. My chambers are larger than our cottage in Xi’lín.
Was this truly where my father trained for years? And why…why did he leave this place to return to the mortal realm? He wasn’t married to Ma at that point, and he had been raised an orphan with no ties drawing him back to the Kingdom of Rivers.
I peel off my muddied dress and place it by the side of the bathtub, along with my crescent blades. Plumes of steam rise from the water, and I exhale as I sink in and stretch out, my head resting against the curved back. Flower petals driftin the water, their fragrance soothing me. I wish to curl up here and sleep for a hundred years. For the first time in a long time, I am free of the gnawing dread and bone-deep fear that come with survival.
It feels so good, I could weep.
But Ma and Méi’zi are not here. They are a realm away, trapped by that ever-present fear of mó, of death, of agony. The memory of Méi’zi standing at our village gates, hugging my dagger to her chest, sears my heart.
My eyes fly open.
Floating in the water between petals of eastern rose and osmanthus is my jade pendant. I lift it, studying the way it catches the light of the lanterns, the green stone cloudy and veined, the broken edge jagged but not sharp enough to cut. I know every detail of this pendant by heart. If I close my eyes, I can conjure the precise style of calligraphy that appears in golden strokes within the jade. I know the way my guardian speaks, formal and direct and…warm.
My guardian has watched over me for nine years and led me here, to the Temple of Dawn. “I’m here,” I murmur. I squeeze the pendant, watching a drop of water trickle down its smooth surface. “Thank you.”
Of course, the stone remains stubbornly blank.
I retrieve my handkerchief from the bodice of my dress, unfolding the note within. My father was clever enough to cast a talisman over the parchment to protect it from the elements: the note is as smooth and pristine as the day I found it, the ink unmarred by water, mud, or blood.
I read the note as I have done every night since discovering it, the characters ingrained in my mind. “ ‘The truth to everything,’ ” I whisper. “ ‘Find the One of the Vast Sea.’ ”
I’ve arrived in the Kingdom of Sky, where my father’s secrets have led me to more questions than answers.
I scrub myself with the various scented powders by the edge of the tub, then towel off. My dress is torn and dirty and still wet with ocean water; I’ll have to clean it and mend it if I can find a sewing kit. For tonight, I’ll need to make do with something else.
From an elegant cabinet filled with outfits in shimmering silks and samites, I choose a deep-blue dress, admiring how the fabric ripples with iridescence in a way that no mortal can weave, and how it slides through my fingers like water. It fits perfectly, slipping over my shoulders to hug the shape of my body. My favorite piece, however, is the pair of new black leather boots in the bottom drawer.
This dress isn’t made to fit my blades, so I improvise, selecting four: I strap one to each wrist and one in each boot, fixing my sleeves to ensure they’re concealed. I’m twining my hair into a tight braid with my white ribbon when a gong sounds to announce the beginning of the Trial Banquet.
Forty-four candidates. This time, I’m rested, strong, and ready to study my competition.
When I slide open my doors, candidates are already making their way down the courtyard. I follow, fingers tapping against the crescent blades within my sleeves, as I instinctively search the crowd for Yù’chén.
When we file through the moongate to the terrace, I hear gasps.
At the front of the terrace, a marble bridge has appeared over the clouds. The moon hangs at the other end, full and larger than I have ever seen it, as if I could climb onto the bridge railing and press my finger to its surface. Thecandidates exclaim in delight at the engravings on the bridge: dragons and phoenixes, sun and stars, lotuses and irises that seem to undulate as we cross.
We arrive at a garden bathed in the moon’s glow. Illuminated by softly pulsing lights that resemble bottled stars are arrays of white osmanthus, anise magnolias, blush hibiscus, and more, their fragrances twining between jade tables heaped with steaming trays of food. Here and there, pavilions rest along winding streams, situated for gazing into the forest beyond.
“The Celestial Gardens!” I hear one of the candidates exclaim, the inflection to her speech marking her as from the Western Province. “I’ve read about them in our town library books. They’re more beautiful than I imagined.”
I make for an empty table behind a tight-knit group of people. That’s when I feel someone watching me.
