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He was quiet for so long, I thought he, too, would leave me in the dark. “Are we not allowed to even speak of it?” I shook my head then. “Forget I asked. I don’t want you to say anything you shouldn’t.”

He set down his chopsticks, his fingers tapping the table in a restless rhythm. “There’s just one other: Mind, which used to be among the most powerful Talents. However, centuries ago, my father and his allies condemned this magic and banned it across the realm.”

I refilled the teapot with hot water, letting the tea steep before pouring it into our cups. “Why did he do that?”

“Terrifying stories emerged regarding the practices of Mind Talents—that they drank mortal blood and feasted on the flesh of children to sustain their magic, that their powers had distorted their true forms beyond recognition.” He frowned. “Rumors, perhaps? After all, they are immortals just as us. The only difference we know for sure is in their eyes, which glitter like cut stones.”

“Were their powers truly evil?” I asked.

“Some Mind Talents could compel others against their will to perform their bidding. A heinous act. Imagine, being forced to attack someone? To harm those you love?”

I shuddered at the thought. “How is such a thing possible?”

“Fortunately, few are truly capable of it. The stronger one’s lifeforce, the harder it is to compel them as it requires more energy. A skilled Mind Talent might only be able to control a powerful immortal for a brief period.” A shadow crossed his face. “Even if this happens once, that’s once too often. Even if it’s just for a moment, one’s life can be destroyed then. A prison of the mind is far worse than that of the body.”

“Do many immortals have this power? Why aren’t we warned about it?”

“My father doesn’t like this to be mentioned. Besides, it is a rare skill, not even my father wields it.”

Part of me could not help wondering if that was why the emperor hated this magic. Because he could not understand it, because it was the one Talent that eluded him. But I buried those thoughts, unwilling to speak them aloud. No matter how close Liwei and I had grown, I could not let myself forget that he was the son of the Celestial Emperor.

He continued, “Most came from the Cloud Wall, once a domain of our kingdom which bordered the Golden Desert. When the ban was announced, a few volunteered to seal their powers to resettle in our lands. However, most refused.”

“It’s a hard thing to sacrifice years of study and practice,” I ventured, thinking of my own efforts to master just a few skills.

“Those who did were well compensated. The Cloud Immortals were stirred to rebellion by an ambitious upstart, in a gambit to seize power and declare himself king. After they proclaimed their separation from us, my father burned the ancient scrolls of their magic, burying their ashes at the bottom of the Four Seas.”

A harsh retaliation. “Was that the end of it?” I asked.

“Unfortunately, the Cloud Wall King retrieved the ashes and reconstructed the scrolls. He was weakened, but with whatever dark arts he learned, his new powers outstripped his old. With newly forged alliances with the Northern and Western Seas, he declared war upon us. The losses were catastrophic, thousands of immortals perishing—until, at last, a truce was agreed. However, my father swore that no Cloud Immortal would ever be allowed into the Celestial Kingdom again.”

I searched my memory for all Ping’er had told me of the eight kingdoms of the Immortal Realm. There had been no mention of the Cloud Wall. “Did it become part of another kingdom?”

He paused. “It’s now known as the Demon Realm.”

I choked on my tea, coughing and sputtering, as Liwei passed me a handkerchief to wipe my chin. The Demon Realm was said to be a land of mist and fog, home to fearsome beasts, monsters, and evil sorcerers. Somehow, it was easier to despise them before realizing—as Liwei had said—they were like us.

My mind spun with all I had learned and I could not help asking, “Did you agree with what your father did?”

He grimaced. “According to my father, there can be no respect without fear. To be a powerful leader, one needs to govern with an iron hand, to crush resistance with even greater strength. I’m a disappointment to him; he reprimands me for being too soft. But no matter what he does, I can’t change who I am.”

“What does he do?” A tightness formed in my gut. I had never seen Liwei look so troubled before.

His fingers curled into a fist on the table. When he spoke, his voice was low. “He only wants what’s best for me. But when my turn comes to take the throne, I will not rule as he does.”

Reaching out, I touched his clenched knuckles in comfort. All I knew of such matters were from our lessons, what I studied in the texts, the stories of great kings and queens—both mortal and immortal. But I was sure of one thing, that the Celestial Kingdom—any kingdom—would fare better under a ruler who listened with an open mind, than one who demanded unswerving obedience.

I had no love for the Celestial Empress and less for the emperor who had imprisoned my mother, although I had never met him before. From what I gleaned from gossip and learned myself, Liwei was nothing like his parents. Unlike many in positions of power, he took no pleasure in imposing his will or pushing others down. Never did he condescend to me, as far too many had. He morphed from a laughing friend to a patient instructor, and whichever role he took, his care and consideration warmed me. Whenever we debated our lessons or sparred, he drove me to improve myself, never surrendering an advantage I had not earned. Each night I went to bed aching and exhausted, yet my heart aglow to be treated as his equal.

Archery was where I shone—whether using the short bow, which was lighter and faster, or the longbow, which allowed for greater accuracy. A few commanders soon instructed their troops to watch me while I trained. Their presence unnerved me; I was afraid of making a fool of myself by dropping my arrows or missing the target. Yet the moment I drew my bow, a calm spread over me. Perhaps my control over my emotions had improved with Teacher Daoming’s instruction, although it was still far from perfect.

One afternoon, I arrived at the archery station to find it set up differently, with just two targets in the distance. Liwei stood there, holding a bow in each hand. A little behind him was General Jianyun with a small cluster of soldiers, Shuxiao among them.

“It’s been three months. Did you forget?” Liwei called out.

My spirits sank as I recalled my reckless wager. Still, I plastered on a bright smile as I took the bow from him. “Of course not. What are the terms?”

“Three arrows each?” he proposed. “The winner is whoever scores the most points.”