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My wish was granted sooner than I imagined. Before the sun rose the next day, Ping’er called out that Liwei had arrived. My eyes were heavy with sleep, but a pulse rippled through me at the thought of seeing him. I leapt out of bed and washed my face quickly, before pulling on a blue robe—his favorite color, my treacherous mind observed before I silenced it. Dragging a comb through my hair, I coiled part of it up. My steps were quick and impatient, and I told myself it was because I was glad to see a friend—any friend—after this solitude. When I entered the Silver Harmony Hall, I found my mother sitting with him as they conversed with easy familiarity. Ping’er stood beside them, pouring their tea. As we usually served ourselves, I suspected her attendance today was to glean a closer look at the Celestial Crown Prince.

My breath caught in my throat at the sight of him. His dark blue brocade robe was fastened with a length of black cloth, tassels of silk and jade hanging from his waist. His long hair was gathered into a gold ring, swinging down his back. He sat with his palms resting over his knees, with an ease to his bearing that I had not seen for a while. As he rose to greet me, his smile was more radiant than the sun.

“You . . . you are here,” I stammered, all coherent thought having fled me.

“Uninvited. But not unwelcome, I hope?” He reached out to take my hand.

Such intimacy caught me unaware, as did the unrestrained warmth in his gaze. “No, never that,” I finally managed.

With precise timing, my mother and Ping’er declared they were needed elsewhere. By leaving me alone with him, my mother signaled her wholehearted approval of Liwei, despite her earlier reservations. He had a way with people, a sincerity that drew others to him even before they knew who he was. Just as when we had first met.

“Have you been well?” he asked.

“Better than expected,” I replied truthfully. Restful sleep undisturbed by nightmares. A carefree existence without responsibilities. No one to set my heart alight or drown it with despair. Such luxuries could work wonders on one’s constitution. Since my return, my lifeforce had been strengthening, too. The moon possessed a powerful rejuvenating energy which I was unaware of before, perhaps because my magic had been suppressed. It would take a while before I regained my strength, but it might be sooner than I had anticipated.

Though my body was healing, my spirit was restless. There were only so many times I could walk through the osmanthus forest. Only so many hours I could while away in reading and music.

“Have you been well?” I echoed his question. Dread gripped me as I recalled his defiance of his father. And shame seared me, too, that I had left him to bear the brunt of his parents’ wrath alone. All that consumed me after that wrenching confrontation had been a desperate eagerness to return home, to leave the Celestial Kingdom, half fearing that the emperor might change his mind and demand the return of his seal.

Liwei’s hold tightened, his dark eyes pinning me where I stood. “Nothing I haven’t been through before.”

I bit my lip, wanting to ask more. And yet the intensity of his stare, his nearness, gave me pause. Was there something different about him today? It was almost as though he had reverted to the Liwei of old, before . . . I discarded the thought. He was here, I was glad for it. And I had a favor to ask of him today, to take my mother and me to the Mortal Realm. To take us to my father.

Selfishly, I had waited to tell my mother the news. To let us enjoy a few days of unadulterated happiness, basking in our reunion and her newly regained freedom. But I knew that she longed to fly to the Mortal Realm to seek my father at the first opportunity. One evening, when I could delay no more, I had clasped her hand in mine.

“Mother, I have something to tell you.” Unwelcome words filled with foreboding. Or had it been the tremor in my voice which turned her face to ash?

Her cold hand slid from my grasp. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Her childlike plea had pierced me. I wondered, should I let things go on as they had? Half in hope, half in denial? Something in me reared away. Better to cut the cord clean, than to let it fray toward the inevitable end.

“I’m sorry. The Black Dragon told me . . . Father is dead.” My voice had cracked over the words as my throat closed tight.

She had crumpled then, her body heaving as it folded over. I held her fast, trying not to flinch from her choked cries. My words had struck all hope from her as a knife cutting down an ailing plant still clinging to life. I had lost a father I never knew, but my mother lost a husband she loved still.

Together, now, the three of us flew to the Mortal Realm. My mother’s face was white as she plucked at her sleeves nervously. It had been too long since she had left the moon. Fortunately, Liwei’s cloud glided as smoothly as a bird through the air.

The Black Dragon had described the place well. Where the two rivers merged, we found the small hill covered with white flowers. At the highest point rose a large circular grave crafted from marble. Characters inlaid with gold spelled out the name:

后羿

Houyi

All around were paintings of my father’s achievements; the battles he had won, the enemies he had vanquished. It was a magnificent tomb, worthy of even a king in this world. Yet it grieved me that there was no mention of his family or descendants. Had he lived alone until the very end?

My mother clutched my arm, her step faltering. She stared at the grave, her face stricken with grief.

“We can leave, if you wish,” I whispered, through the ache in my chest.

“No,” she cried fiercely. She pushed her long sleeves up, picked up the broom, and began sweeping with a burst of energy. For a moment, I wondered what the mortals would think, if they saw the revered Moon Goddess sweeping as industriously as any common villager. In a flash it struck me, they more than anyone would understand the respect she wanted to pay to her husband. To show him that even in death, she honored him still. I crouched down, using my handkerchief to wipe away the dust and grime from the marble, polishing the characters until they shone once more. Liwei stood apart at first, before bending to clear away the weeds.

When the site was immaculate, my mother brought out the offerings of fruit and cakes that she had prepared herself, heaped onto porcelain plates. I lit the incense sticks and passed three to her, their tips crimson with muted flame. Holding them before us, we knelt before the grave and bowed thrice. A wife and daughter, mourning our greatest loss. After the final bow, I pushed the incense sticks firmly into the small brass censer. Thin trails of fragrant smoke drifted into the sky.

I touched her hand, rousing her from her daze. “Mother, when you walk in the forest at night, what do you think about?” I had longed to ask this so many times before.

She closed her eyes, a dreamlike smile on her lips. “You, as a child. Your father. Our life together. How I wish he were with us, that he had not been left behind.” She bent her head then, broken whispers falling from her mouth. “Sometimes I wonder . . . what if the physicians were wrong? What if I had not drunk the elixir? We would have lived all these years together, in the world below. My hair would be gray now, but we would have been happy.”

Her grip tightened around mine. “As I ascended to the skies, I turned around once to see him by the window—his hand outstretched, such anguish upon his face. He had returned too late. Some nights I torment myself, wondering how he felt as he watched me fly away. Did he understand why I did it? Did he feel betrayed? Did he . . . hate me? Those nights, I hate myself, too.”