“A pretty trick,” he says, staring at the lotus sword. “How are we to reconcile that you entered the wards as a mortal and participated in the Immortality Trials with your claim to be Shi’ya’s daughter?”
I lift my gaze to him. “Because my father was mortal,” I say. The light of the lotus sword brightens as I look each immortal in the eye, and this time, some of them break contact first. “He was a general of the Kingdom of Rivers, and Lady Shi’ya’s disciple in the Immortality Trials. They loved each other, once.” More murmurs of shock, but I plow on: “I am her daughter by blood. She bequeathed this sword to me onher deathbed, along with the inheritance of her position. I want it announced that I am to hold her title and command her army.”
My words ring out in the clearing, and I realize that the sparring warriors have stopped to watch.
None of the immortals seems to know what to say. The sudden quiet is steeped in their discomfort.
It is Dòng’bin who breaks the silence.
“The girl speaks true.” The light from my lotus sword lances off his features, somehow softening his ageless eyes as he stares at the relic. I wonder if he sees his old friend in it. I wonder if he feels anything at all. “The lotus sword is indeed Shi’ya’s. The fact that the girl can call upon its powers and it shows its true form to her means it has accepted her status as Shi’ya’s heir…and that Shi’ya’s soul is truly gone from this world.” He lifts his gaze from the sword to address me at last. “Tell us your story, Hé Àn’ying.”
I don’t think I have ever heard any of them speak my name before.
So I begin. I tell them everything: the the tale of my father’s journey to the Kingdom of Sky and how he fell in love with a beautiful, kind immortal. How she carried his child, and he returned with their daughter to the mortal realm, promising to see his immortal love again.
How, when he did return, it was not with their child—but with the sole surviving heir to the Kingdom of Rivers, escaping the war tearing their realm apart.
By the time I finish, a stillness has befallen the entire clearing like a spell. The immortals’ gazes are pinned to me.
“Hé Àn’ying,” Dòng’bin says, his deep voice rumbling in thecavernous space. “Yi’lín Shi’ya has chosen you as her successor by gifting you her spiritual weapon. It appears that her vessel has accepted you. We respect her choice, though the matter of calling upon her army is one you must accomplish yourself. For now, we accept an alliance with you, daughter of immortals.”
“The Heavenly Order does not allow for this, Dòng’bin,” Zhong’lì interjects. His fan seems to grow in size, the silky ostrich feathers sharpening to the points of blades. “She is half mortal. Our wards allowed her into the Immortality Trials because of her mortal blood and heart.”
“The Heavenly Order has never addressed this type of case, Zhong’lì,” Dòng’bin counters steadily. “There is no precedent for a halfling assuming the title of an immortal.”
“Remember your own roots, Zhong’lì,” an immortal with a melodious voice chimes in. He is beardless and carries an iridescent flute, which shimmers between his fingers. “I have composed many a tune commemorating our crossing of the Endless Sea from the mortal realm to this one. Our origins have become legends in the land of red dust; what would the Heavens say if we were to turn our backs on the beings we began life as?”
“A poet through and through, Xiang’zi,” cheers Cai’hé.
Finally, the seventh of the Eight Immortals speaks up. “The Heavens have eyes,” he begins. He is the oldest among them, silver-haired and silver-bearded, with a cheerful countenance. I’ve noticed he tends to stare into the distance, yet now his gaze homes in on me. He holds a fish drum and taps a wooden mallet to it before he continues: “The rules of the Heavenly Order are not up to us to decide; we may attempt to interpret its meanings, yet the signs are there. Shi’ya’s lotus sword has chosenthe girl as her successor, and we must respect that decision.” Another tap of his fish drum.
Zhong’lì looks around the table, clearly outnumbered in his opinion. “Fine, Guo’lao,” he concedes at last, and with a snap, shuts his feathered fan. “But I shall choose to withhold my judgment until we have further acknowledgment of her status from the Heavens.”
With a twirl of his fan, he vanishes. Tie’guai waves a hand; the smoke wafting from his gourd intensifies, shrouding him. When it dissipates, he, too, is gone.
Dòng’bin turns to me. “Whether or not the Heavenly Order has written its acceptance of you remains to be seen. But we respect Shi’ya’s decision, for her lotus sword—her spiritual vessel—speaks the truth. You are free to claim her title, her position, and all the rights she held within the Kingdom of Sky.”
He might have shifted the skies or moved mountains with the words he so casually speaks. For several moments, I cannot fathom a response that will match their weight.
I incline my head to the leader of the Eight Immortals. “Honorable Immortal Dòng’bin, thank you for the blessings. I ask for your help in the next stage of the war: an alliance with me and Hào’yáng, the mortal heir to the Kingdom of Rivers, as well as your guidance in summoning the army bound to the late Honorable Immortal Shi’ya.”
“Summoning an immortal army is no small feat,” Dòng’bin replies steadily. “Those occupying positions of leadership in our realm have legions of warriors bound to serve their causes. Only your vessel can determine if you are worthy of this feat.”
“Then please, Honorable Immortal, teach me.”
All eyes go to Dòng’bin.
He pauses before he speaks again. “The hour grows late. Let us congregate here on the morrow to hear your strategy. By then, if you are able to call upon your army with your spiritual vessel, your position and title as the Eighth Immortal will be sealed beneath the eyes of the Heavenly Order.”
With that, he vanishes in a ripple of air. One by one, the others follow suit.
Somehow, with only the immortal’s hint about using my vessel, I now have to learn to summon an immortal army. Hào’yáng told me of anointment ceremonies and rites in the Kingdom of Rivers, yet I suppose my situation deviates from the norm: We are in a time of war, and Lady Shi’ya is gone.
A chortle draws my attention. Across the table, only Cai’hé remains, watching me with faint amusement.
I glance down at the lotus sword. Where my fingers touch its hilt, pink light shimmers; sparks travel up my wrist, and my forearm appears aglow from the inside. “How would I know if it finds me worthy of summoning an army?”
Cai’hé lets out a sudden cackle. “Have you tried asking it, dear girl?” they say, not unkindly.
