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Sometimes I wondered, why did I feel such exhilaration when an arrow struck true? Or when an opponent was brought down by a well-placed blow? Was it because I had been so weak before, that I now rejoiced in my newfound strength? Or had this urge—this desire to win—always run in my veins?

The prospect of training my powers filled me with both excitement and dread. As a child I had fantasized about summoning firebolts and flying through the skies. But after the disastrous consequences of my first brush with magic, I would have been glad to never touch it again. Liwei would have excused me, yet an immortal without magic was like a tiger without claws. We might be physically strong, but we might as well be mortal. If I ever wanted to help my mother, I had to embrace my power. And though it frightened me, a part of me hungered for this, too.

Our instructor, Teacher Daoming, was the guardian of the Imperial Treasury and its hoard of enchanted artifacts. She only ever seemed to wear robes of dull gray, her black hair coiled into a tight bun from which silver pins protruded like a fantail. Her wide eyes were the hue of almonds, and her pale skin was unmarred by lines from either frown or smile.

I had no magical training, whereas Liwei had already progressed to advanced enchantments. For the first few weeks, all Teacher Daoming allowed me to do was meditate—with sparse instructions to keep my eyes closed, my mind empty, and my spirit “as calm as a windless dawn.” I approached these exercises with enthusiasm at first, anticipating the discovery of some hidden power or enlightenment—but soon became bored with sitting cross-legged on the floor for hours on end. Whenever Teacher Daoming saw so much as a wrinkle appear in my brow or a quiver in my leg, she smacked my arm with her fan, snapping such vague things as:

“Clear your mind of distraction!”

“Focus on the awareness of your energy!”

“Seek the light through the dark!”

I would grit my teeth in mounting frustration, swallowing my ire as I imagined Liwei summoning bolts of flame while I was sitting here getting hit with a fan.

Meditating, for me, was particularly exasperating. In archery the goal was clear, the results, instantaneous. I knew what to do to improve and how I might get there. Whereas meditation was a nebulous, mysterious thing. A path with endless winding destinations, where you might spend hours wandering and end up just where you started.

One day, while I was sitting as still as I could and trying not to doze off, a shadow fell over me. I lifted my eyelids a crack, to find Teacher Daoming standing there.

“If you’re worrying about whether you’re doing it right, then you’re not,” she sighed.

My eyes flew open. “I’m not very good at this,” I admitted. “Besides, how will meditating help? All it does is make me fall asleep.”

Teacher Daoming shook her head as she sank down beside me. “Ah, Xingyin. Calming your mind is a crucial skill that extends even beyond magic. You are impatient, rash, passionate in your endeavors. You, more than anyone, need to learn how to untether your mind from your feelings. Steady your thoughts and observe, before you plunge ahead. When emotions cloud us, disaster soon follows.”

She smoothed her robe over her knees. “There is no target in meditation. No judgment. It is the peace, the connection and oneness with yourself that is the key.” She paused. “I sense your lifeforce is strong. However, it’s been suppressed since your childhood, which is why you have trouble grasping your magic. It was crudely done and would never have worked had you been older and trained properly. Meditation will help break the seal on your lifeforce, to unleash your abilities. But only if you let it.”

I stared at Teacher Daoming, my mind whirling. My mother had not wished my magic to strengthen. She and Ping’er must have done what they could to shroud my powers and conceal my existence. I bit my lip, clenching down hard. My mother wanted a quiet life for me, a happy one. After her decades of heartache and terror, she must have thought peace was the best gift she could give me. Perhaps I had wanted it, too—until this fire was lit in me to be more than I was, to be all that I could.

Teacher Daoming continued, “You have great potential. However, before you can harness your powers, you need to understand them. Before you can unleash your energy, you must learn how to grasp it. I hear you’re skilled in archery. Could you shoot as you do without becoming one with the bow?” She touched the side of my head gently. “Some knowledge beats in our hearts, while others are learned by the body and mind.”

Her words echoed those of my mother, a lesson I should have learned long before. Because some things came easily to me, I grew impatient at those which did not.

A wave of emotions swelled in me—shame at my conduct, gratitude for her patience. I shifted to my knees and stretched out my cupped hands, bowing low. “Teacher Daoming, I ask your forgiveness. I was impatient and resentful. Arrogant, in thinking I knew better. From now, I promise to follow your instructions to the best of my abilities.”

Her smile infused her face with sudden warmth. She was beautiful, I realized then, though not in the same way my mother was. One had to look a little closer to find the grace in her movements, the strength in her bearing, the delicacy of her features. Hers was a quieter beauty, but no less luminous once it was uncovered.

“I’m glad to hear that. My fan is getting worn out.” Without another word, she rose and walked away.

I choked back a laugh, even as I instinctively rubbed my arm. Perhaps Teacher Daoming was not as intimidating as I had thought. And perhaps, I might not be as terrible a student as I had feared.

My progress was quicker now that I no longer resisted the lessons. Still, it took weeks more before I gained sufficient skill in meditation to advance to using my powers—what I had both craved and dreaded since leaving my home.

According to Teacher Daoming, the lights I glimpsed swirling through me was my spiritual energy. While casting enchantments drained us of it, as water trickling from a bucket, it could be replenished through rest and meditation. Without this, our bodies would be no different from a mortal’s and our lives as frail as theirs.

“Never drain your energy, Xingyin,” she cautioned me.

“Why?”

“Trying to draw more than you possess will leave you unable to sustain your lifeforce—which is the core of your powers, the source of your energy.” She spoke slowly, holding my gaze to ensure I was paying attention. “That is death to an immortal.”

Cold sweat broke out over my palms. I had always thought learning to use my magic meant I would be strong. Fear, a distant thing of the past. Never did it occur to me that there would also be danger in using it.

“How does that happen?” I asked.

“Trying to cast too powerful an enchantment, trying to sustain one for too long, or trying to undo something you can’t.”

My thoughts flew to my mother and the spell which bound her. “Are some enchantments unbreakable?”