A beat of silence falls between us as I breathe in the meaning of his words. With Lady Shi’ya’s death, the Eight Immortals—the beings of legend, the mortals who once crossed the Endless Sea to the Kingdom of Sky and gained eternal life—are no more. What was an impossibility has become our reality: The Kingdom of Night has wrought death upon a myth.
I search Jing’xiù’s gaze for whatever emotion passed through earlier, as ephemeral as it was, but it’s gone, replaced by the indifference of an immortal.
“I shall summon Cai’hé,” he announces loftily, returned to the persona I came to know during the Immortality Trials.
“No,” I say. I’m still faint from my battle earlier, but I have to do this now. “I want to see all of them. It’s very important.”
Jing’xiù sighs and rolls his eyes toward the Heavens. “So they all say.”
—
The only way to travel through these mountains is by flight, whether on a crane or on an iridescent cloud. This time, Jing’xiù’s crane dives into the winding valleys, feathers skimming over the sparkling rivers. At one point, it makes a sudden left turn—and the rock before us seems to open up.
We’re in a gap between two mountains. Stone walls arch upward, plants and flowering trees clinging to their sides; themountainsides curve outward at their center to form a natural enclosed gorge. A sliver of light falls through the crack along the top, illuminating a vast arena on the ground.
An arena filled with movement.
Immortals mill about, some training, some watching, some resting. The song of clashing metal rings in the air, accompanied by flashes of gold armor as the warriors spar at speeds faster than my mortal eyes can catch.
I narrow my eyes, concentrating on opening the valve of spirit energy that now resides in my chest.
Everything slows. Brightens. Clears. The world’s colors intensify, sunlight striking in sharp gold against the mountainside, and I’m aware of every movement in the parting air as the warriors spar.
My fingers skim the hilts of my crescent blades. For the first time, I feel that I stand a chance against them.
Guards at the entrance glance up as we land. Sighting Jing’xiù, they incline their heads to bow us through.
My feet have barely touched the ground before we’re accosted by a sudden gust of wind with the fragrance of herbs and a blur of colors. The space before me shimmers, and as someone materializes, a familiar voice exclaims, “You brought her here in such a state, Jing’xiù?”
An immortal smiles down at me. A lovely, slim face as smooth as a gentle river, eyes crinkled in a warm smile. They hold a woven basket filled with a mixture of magical herbs.
“Honorable Immortal Cai’hé,” I say in surprise, and their grin widens.
“Ah, Iamglad you are alive. Your performance in the Trials was memorable.”
“Certainly,” booms another voice. “Memorable in surprising ways.” I look up to see the leader of the Eight Immortals, Dòng’bin, striding toward me, followed by the others. I have only ever seen them from a distance, either high up on a dais or drifting on iridescent clouds: all powerful, godlike beings a realm away from me. I remember standing beneath them at the Hall of Radiant Sun, begging for a chance at the pill of immortality that could save my mother. I remember how their eyes skimmed over me, my fate as unimportant as a roll of dice to them.
Down here, on equal footing, they look…smaller. More human. Though they still bear the impossible perfection of all immortals, war has taken away some of their exuberance. The disdain and loftiness to their eyes has yielded to grim acceptance of their new reality.
Their realm, too, has now fallen to the Kingdom of Night.
And all of them are looking at me as I straighten and say, “I know how to end the war.”
We sit at a table made from a great teak tree beneath flowering crabapples and purple plums. In contrast to their magnificence, I am drenched in sweat and traces of battle. Beneath my long sleeves, my wounded arm throbs with pain.
I draw a deep breath and begin: “My name is Hé Àn’ying, and I am the daughter of Yi’lín Shi’ya. I’ve come to claim her title and all the rights that come with it, in hopes of ending this war against the Kingdom of Night.”
A shocked silence follows my declaration. Something in their features akin to surprise transforms to hostility—except for Cai’hé’s, whose face radiates delight.
The immortal known as Zhong’lì speaks first, slapping hisostrich-feather fan down on the table. “You dare sully the memory of Yi’lín Shi’ya with such a baseless claim?” His thick black brows are furrowed in fury. I remember him well; he was the one who casually suggested throwing me out when I placed last during the first of the Immortality Trials.
Instead of answering him directly, I reach inside my sleeve. The lotus hairpin warms to my touch, and I set it on the table. It glints beneath the light slipping through the mountain dome overhead.
“What is the meaning of this?” demands Tie’guai, the immortal I recognize from the white-flowered gourd he holds. Golden smoke from its spout twines around him, forming an aura.
I reach into my core, gathering the spirit energies inside. As they flow through to my fingertips, my skin begins to glow—as does the hairpin. A gentle blush radiance envelops it, and when it disperses, the hairpin has transformed into my—and Lady Shi’ya’s—lotus sword.
Another stunned silence elapses. Then Zhong’lì speaks.
