“Find Fú’yí and get Ma out of here,” I tell her.
Her eyes widen as the meaning of my words sinks in. “Jie’jie,” Méi’zi whispers, a tremor cracking her voice as she searches my gaze.
I take her hands in mine. Prise open her fingers. And slip into them two more blades. “Healer,” I manage, squeezing her left hand, “to cure flesh wounds with life energy. And Shadow, to keep you hidden from prying eyes.” I swallow, my vision blurring as warmth pools in my eyes. “Bà would be proud” are the last words I say to my sister as I turn away from her.
“Lì’líng! Tán’mù!” I call, and they’re both there, Tán’mù shielding us with the powerful wings of her full spirit form.
I meet Tán’mù’s gaze, her pupils turned to slits like those of a snake. Understanding flickers in the space between us, and with every fiber of hope and conviction in my body, I entrust the most important parts of my life to her. “Take care of my family.”
She nods once, and that’s all I need.
I turn away, my heart hardening against Méi’zi’s sobs as Tán’mù gathers her in her arms, those great wings shielding Méi’zi from harm as she turns and starts for the village gates.
Lì’líng darts up to me. She stops before me and holds out something cupped in her palms.
“My tail,” she says. “When separated from my body, no matter how far away, it emits a jingling sound that only I canhear.” She places it around my wrist, where the thing—white and fluffy like a hare—wriggles once and nestles around my forearm like a bracelet.
“I can’t take your tail,” I begin, but Lì’líng giggles.
“You look so disturbed,” she says, but her smile slips as one of the hellbeasts lets out an earsplitting scream again. My friend holds my hand between hers and lifts her large, amber eyes to me, unblinking. “Take it. This way, no matter where you are, Tán’mù and I can find our way back to you.” She slips her arms around me in a quick hug. “Besides, one tail means nothing to me. Haven’t you heard the myths?” She wriggles her hips as she turns. “I have nine.”
With a leap, the young woman is gone and the version of my friend looking back at me is the little white fox. She lifts her tail—a second one, I suppose—in a cheeky parting gesture, and then she’s off, darting between the trees faster than I can track.
On my wrist, her tail taps me in what seems like a reassuring gesture…and then vanishes.
Another roar rips through the air. Overhead, She of the Moon-Frosted Sea dances before Qióng’qí, engaging the beast in battle, her silver, serpentine form cutting against its mass of darkness.
Suddenly, the dragon lets out an anguished cry—one so foreign and yet so human in its heartbreak. As she lifts her head in the direction of the battle waging behind me, a terrifying pain sears across my chest. My hand darts to the jade pendant at my collarbone.
Hào’yáng.
Fleet and Striker are in my hands, their power becoming anextension of me as I pivot, adrenaline and spirit energy thrumming through my blood, my hands and feet in a harmonious weave.
Táo’wù towers over a patch of rubble. Amidst wood splinters and stones and tile is a figure in gold.
Hào’yáng is kneeling, which strikes me as horribly wrong, yet as I close the distance, I make out his hand clutched to his side—and how his gold armor and white shift are stained red.
Táo’wù lets out a roar of triumph. It rears on its hind legs, swordlike claws heavy enough to crush entire houses, and leaps for Hào’yáng.
Something cool and hard presses against my collarbone. I stumble, momentarily thrown off-balance. Then I reach into the folds of my wedding gown and draw out a sword.
It’s more slight than other longswords, made of a metal I cannot place: one that glows a soft blush, the color of sunrises. Its hilt, a deep-green woven through with veins like a leaf, warms beneath my fingers as I lift it. Somehow, in my hands, it is as light as a feather…and it rests in my palms as though it has always belonged there.
I have seen this blade, on many occasions. I know with a bone-deep recognition, what it is:
It’s Lady Shi’ya’s lotus, transformed into its sword form.
My skin begins to dance with light, pouring into the weapon, as I leap into the air and lift it over my head.
Then I plunge it through Táo’wù’s tusked, open maw.
The hellbeast’s scream fractures the ground as it reels back, crashing into a nearby house. Overhead, the seam splitting the skies trembles, the scythe moon and night stars within rippling like the surface of a lake.
I land by Hào’yáng’s side. He kneels, sword driven into theground before him, other hand clutching his side to stem the flow of blood.
“Àn’ying?” he rasps as I kneel before him, patting him down to check for more injuries.
“I’m here,” I tell him. “I’m here, Hào’yáng.”
