Hào’yáng hesitates. “Àn’ying,” he says, “this man—thishalfling—is part-mó. He was likely in league with the other one—”
“He wasn’t,” I whisper. “He saved my life.”
Yù’chén watches me from where he lies, one step away from us. His chest rises and falls faintly beneath the shadow of Hào’yáng’s sword. The scales have stopped growing; his face, apart from his eyes, is still human.
He gives me a nearly imperceptible shake of his head. “Don’t,” he says, quietly enough so that only Hào’yáng and I can hear. “I’m not worth it.”
I cling tighter to Hào’yáng, tipping my head so he’s forcedto meet my eyes. “Please believe me. It was Yán’lù; he confessed to the other murders right before you came. You saw him eating the candidate’s heart; you saw him hurt me and Yù’chén fight him.”
“Until now, we didn’t believe mó halflings existed, Àn’ying.” Hào’yáng turns an assessing gaze to Yù’chén. “Yet two of them have managed to enter our trials, deceiving our wards with their mortal blood. This cannot be a coincidence.”
I swallow, breathing hard. “Hào’yáng, please. Believe me.”
Hào’yáng hesitates, his gaze searching mine. Then his mouth tightens and he lowers his sword. There is ice in his eyes as he turns to the other guards gathered around us and raises his voice. “At the very least, the Precepts of this temple demand an interrogation in the face of crime. This mó’s life is not mine to take, just as his fate is not mine to decide.”
“Forgive me, Captain, but our duty is to slay any mó we come across,” another guard says.
“He is half-mortal,” Hào’yáng replies. “Our Precepts list no precedent for the children of mó and mortals. This isn’t a matter we can take lightly.” He casts Yù’chén a look. “Take him to the healing temple. Chain him and ensure that he lives. We will take him for interrogation to understand how he is alive, how the demon’s ichor inside him hasn’t killed his mortal flesh, and how he and the other one bypassed our wards. And if he is indeed an enemy, we will torture him for information before executing him.”
“Àn’ying,” Yù’chén begins, but two immortals grab his arms and begin dragging him. He strains toward me against their grip. “Àn’ying—” His voice is cut off as a third guard makes a sharp gesture and silences him with magic.
Hào’yáng steps in front of me. His expression is cold, guarded, but sorrow tinges his eyes, and he is achingly gentle as he picks me up. He is displeased with me, and as I let him carry me away, I cannot help but feel that I have made yet another mistake.
25
I wake to sunset, soft silks, and plush pillows. A warm wind stirs the gauze drapes that hang between the rosewood pillars. I recognize this as the Temple of Tranquil Longevity, the healing wing.
“You are awake.”
The voice is not one I recognize: it is soft, feminine, and beautiful—as is the figure that steps out from the shadows of the chamber. She walks into the light, and it is as though the sun worships her, kissing the soft honeyed tones of her cheeks, the perfect bow of her lips, shimmering down the blush of her dress, gold silks woven through, and the lotus flower she holds. She smiles, and all the realm’s blossoms might turn to her in this moment.
“Honorable Immortal Shi’ya,” I whisper, feeling as though I have stepped into the world’s most beautiful dream. I shift into a sitting position on the bed, leaning against its frame.
I have yet to see an immortal this closely, and this personally; the proximity convinces me she is real and that she issomething otherworldly. There is an absolute grace to her movements, a divine radiance and beauty that spills from her. Yet beneath the cool exterior with which immortals seem to view the world, there is a semblance of warmth to her gaze as she regards me.
“I am sorry it has taken so long for me to see you,” she continues. “The rules are strict here, but Hào’yáng has created this opportunity for us to meet.”
Hào’yáng.I remember the disappointment in his features as he carried me away earlier. “Where is he?” I ask.
“Making a report to the rest of the Eight Immortals.” Shi’ya smiles, and her eyes seem to drink me in. “You do resemble your father.”
I draw in a tight breath. In the bodice of my dress, my handkerchief seems to pulse. “How did you know my father?” I ask.
Shi’ya gestures with one hand. A steaming porcelain cup appears on the cabinet by my bed. “You must be thirsty, and it is a long story,” she says.
The tea is camellia and mint—my father’s favorite, I realize as I sip.
“Your father arrived at the Temple of Dawn just thirty years ago,” Shi’ya begins, and something settles in her expression, as if she recounts a faraway dream. There is a hint of sadness to her lips and the slant of her brows. “Back then, mortal practitioners registered at our temple to train under the discipleship of immortals. The goal was to cultivate their practitioning arts and their power, not simply to achieve immortality. The borders between our realms were open, and those who gained immortality could still return to the Kingdom of Rivers to share their knowledge. They could lead a life between the realms.” She looks at me, and her lips curl.“Certainly, your father wished to. You see, he was my disciple for ten years.”
“Oh,” I say softly. No wonder his journals recounted a very different experience to the Immortality Trials and the Temple of Dawn. “Why did the trials…change?”
Shi’ya’s expression shifts: the shadow of a cloud, racing briefly over sunlit waters. “They changed when the Kingdom of Night defied the Heavenly Order. The Kingdom of Sky sealed its borders. But our High Court knew the Kingdom of Night would not stop at the mortal realm; they decided we needed more warriors to defend ourselves against the mó. And so they turned the trials into an opportunity to recruit mortals. To turn the best of you, the most worthy warriors…intoours.”
That’s why the discipleship my father mentioned in his journals is gone. They don’t care to train us, and they don’t want to share their knowledge for us to bring back into our realm. No, they want to recruit the strongest of us into their ranks. To protectthem.
“You disagree with this,” I state carefully, observing the small crease in her brow.
“Yes.”
