From my periphery, I glimpsed Anshi racing across the courtyard to reach us, her sword drawn.
“Just die already,” Liqin growled, straining to lower the blade.
I forced a bloodied smile. “You first, Your Highness.”
Anshi was almost there.
Roaring angrily, Liqin clutched the front of my shirt and flung me backward. I experienced a single quiet moment of shock as I flew through the air. I felt almost peaceful with my feet off the ground, the fabric of my pao rippling coolly against my skin.
Then my skull exploded into a million shattered stars.
When I saw the bridge before me, I knew this time would be the last. My fingers trailed the cool parapet on my left. I peeked over the edge, thinking I could hear the rush of watersmothered beneath fog. But everything felt muted here—the brick, the ground, the very air itself.
“Daughter.”
I raised my head, and there he was, standing nearby as if he’d been waiting. The black markings previously spreading across his neck were gone. I clenched my hands, eyes stinging with tears I refused to shed.
“Baba.”
“I hoped to see you again,” he said, smiling.
“Why did you leave?”
My father had the decency to look away. “I am sorry for that.”
I wanted to run to him as I had as a child. Wrap my arms around his waist and hold on tight, his deep voice warming my ear. But my feet were anchored to the ground as I drowned in my failure.
“What happened, Baba?” I stared at his tightened jaw. “Why did you do it?”
He sighed, placing his hands on the baluster and gazing out at the endless mist. “Do you remember that camphor tree, Siying? How you got stuck?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“I tried to protect you by preventing you from climbing any more trees. But your limbs weren’t the only things I wanted to protect. I wanted to protect your heart as well, and I thought I was doing that by staying alive. You’d lost a mother—I didn’t think you should lose a father too.”
I inched forward. “What are you saying? That you regret living?”
“No, I regret being dishonest.” He glanced sideways at me. “The truth, daughter, is that I was never as strong as you. I’dlong grown tired—of the illness, of fighting. I held on only for you and Lilan. But then I began dreaming of your mother.”
“Mama?” I looked around for an apparition that wasn’t there. “Are you saying Mama told you to give up?”
“Of course not. I chose this path myself.”
“So you chose to leave us, to leave me. That’s why you gave Ren your qi?”
“I did what I had to, just like your mother.”
I frowned. “What does that mean?”
“Do you remember when I first fell ill?” At my nod, Baba continued solemnly, “Do you remember being ill yourself?”
I paused, taken aback by his words. They roused images in my mind, suppressed memories of heat and darkness. “I… remember a fever. But it was minor. I recovered quickly.”
“Not at first.” My father shook his head. “You were in worse condition than I. Your mother and I were certain you wouldn’t survive another night. So she gave you her qi—what was left of it, anyway.”
I stiffened. “What?”
Baba reached for my hand, but I pulled away. “Don’t blame yourself, Siying. She was already dying. That was a fact. But she made sure you didn’t have to join her so soon.”
