“We’ll be in trouble only if we’re caught,” he replies, and grins as he extends a hand to me.
I dart a glance up at the darkened Hall of Radiant Sun through the branches of the plum blossom tree. Its marble columns and golden roofs rise into the night as if they hold starlight, made ethereal by the way clouds plume around it.
My gaze catches on the glint of a sword, the outlines of the guards between the pillars.
I shake my head. “We’re going to be seen.”
Yù’chén raises an eyebrow. The usual self-assuredness of his voice hardens, and his eyes flick to me, searching mine. “Can you trust me?”
The world peels away as I stare at his outstretched palm. I think of my little sister, the way her brown eyes will light up when she receives my gloves. The way she might cradle them as she sleeps, instead of the sharp crescent blade I left her.
I have no choice.
I angle my gaze to Yù’chén. “No,” I say, and I take his hand.
His fingers wrap around mine and tighten. I suppress a shiver as he draws me forward, in the direction of the winding stream, away from the Hall of Radiant Sun and the guards. Clouds begin to seep into the grass as we near the edge; I hear the roar of a waterfall again, obscured between trees.
We step out, and I inhale sharply.
Ahead of me, plunging from the skies like celestial rivers, are the wards: clear and iridescent and bright, so powerful that I feel the hum of their spirit energies under my skin. I crane my neck, but they shoot into the Heavens like the northern lights at the very edge of our realm. Beyond, the world opens to an expanse of star-strewn night: the mortal realm.
Yù’chén steps into the river. He’s dangerously close to the edge where the waterfall courses past the wards, dipping into the mortal realm below, but he stands steady, up to his waist in the water.
He lifts both hands, and his dark magic blooms like a blossom in the night.
Flowers form from the shadows, crimson petals amidst dark-green vines that twine into the immortals’ wards. Where they take root, the light of the ward dims. The flowers bloom and bloom, and I recognize them as red scorpion lilies: the type Yù’chén gifted me when we first met.A flower for a tragic fate.
When Yù’chén turns to me, the scorpion lilies and vines have braided themselves into an archway, wide enough for one person to slip through. A draft seeps through the opening, bringing with it the briny scent of the sea; the night and the stars within are sharper and brighter. And above him, the light of the wards continues to flow gently, as though nothing has happened.
My heart pounds in my chest. “What is that?” I whisper. “What have you done?”
“A gate,” he replies. He’s breathing hard, and I catch a red hue to his eyes. “A way through the wards.”
I look from him to the gate formed by the scorpion lilies.The rippling light of the wards gives their petals an almost liquid quality, like blood.Impossible,I think.
“I can hold it open long enough for us to get back,” Yù’chén continues. He reaches out a hand to me, but I recoil.
“How were you able to create a way through the wards?” My voice is unsteady. “Even the hellbeasts of the Kingdom of Night haven’t breached them in nine years.”
His face is unreadable. “The immortals’ wards are unbreachable from the outside, but less so from within. Plenty of candidates will be seeking a way out despite the immortals’ warnings.” I think of the candidate with the sweetheart in the mortal realm. When I remain silent, Yù’chén continues: “It’s safe, I promise. We’ll send your gift to your sister, and then we’ll be back as if nothing has happened.” His hand is still outstretched.
I gaze out into the infinite night, the tapestry of stars that the gods wove before they made the realms. There, between the clouds, winds the celestial river that the dragons sculpted, glimmering with the pearl dust of their magic. The sky spins, eternal, a reminder of how ephemeral my own life is.
It’s beautiful, wild, and utterly free—yet it’s terrifying, too.
But there is a part of me that wants to see it.
I step forward, sliding my palm across Yù’chén’s and holding his hand firmly. Then I inhale deeply and step into the river.
I’m nearly immediately knocked off balance as the currents sweep me toward the edge with a vengeance. I grab Yù’chén, desperate not to fall into the river again, and he holds me up, snapping at me to ground my spirit energy.
“It’s not that deep, Àn’ying—find the riverbed and plant your feet—”
“Not that deep my ass—you’retall enough—”
“Stop and think—you’re panicking—” He curses, then in one motion, he grasps my waist and lifts me out of the water. His hands hook me below my knees so I’m anchored to him, my legs wrapped around his waist and my arms around his neck. In the blink of an eye, we’re suddenly hip to hip, chest to chest, face to face. The waterfall roars behind me, and my heart is hammering wildly.
Yù’chén’s lips part. He’s breathing heavily, too, from our scramble and the exertion of the magic he’s just performed. Sweat glimmers on his brow; a bead of it trickles down his cheek. “You’ll have to try that again,” he says, and a hint of mirth curves his mouth.
