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I started to rise to greet him, but he gestured for me to remain seated. When we were alone, he often lapsed into such informality—rare in the Celestial Army, governed by rank and hierarchy. Was it because we had bonded at the banquet, when he lent me his strength at the moment I most needed it? Or was he at ease with me because I held no official position here, seeking neither his favor nor approval?

“Of Xiangliu’s nine heads, you can only strike one,” he said abruptly.

I stilled, my fingers curling around the arrow. “What do you mean?”

“The core of its power lies within its fifth skull, the middle one.” He stared into the flames. “If we were anywhere else, we could attack it with magic. However, on this mountain, our powers are bound.”

I had been warned about this. When I tried to reach for my energy here, it darted away just like it had when I was untrained. “Is this some enchantment?”

He shifted, the leaping flames throwing shadows across his face. “No one knows. We only discovered this place when we hunted Xiangliu here. The serpent is both ancient and cunning; maybe it knew it would be safe here.”

“Can’t I shoot all its heads until I get the right one?” My flippancy disguised my unease. The thought of nine jaws gnashing their fangs at me sent a chill through my bones.

“If that were so, we could just get a dozen archers and blanket it with arrows. Xiangliu would be long dead and we wouldn’t need you.”

“Why don’t you then?” I retorted, irked by his words.

“Its other heads are invulnerable. Striking the wrong one only antagonizes Xiangliu, raising its suspicions and making our task harder. The last time, we were forced to retreat once our archer was incapacitated. But with every battle we learn more about our enemy.”

I stared at him in surprise. I had not realized they had tried before. Perhaps only victories were flaunted, defeats swiftly buried.

“Is its fifth head any different from the others?” I asked.

“It’s not covered in scales as the rest, and its skin is almost like ours. To destroy Xiangliu, you must hit its eyes, clean through the skull.” He paused. “Unfortunately, its eyelids can’t be pierced by any weapon. At least none which we know of.”

“I can only shoot its eyes when they’re open?” I repeated numbly.

A terse nod. “Xiangliu protects itself well. From what we gathered the last time, these eyes only opened when it struck with acid, its most powerful attack. And even then, for the briefest of moments.”

He picked up a stick and tossed it into the fire. It crackled, sparks flying high—mirroring my mounting tension.

My arrow fell to the ground. “Is that all?” How I prayed it was.

He nodded, as though this were a simple matter of hitting a target from ten paces away.

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” I cursed myself inwardly for not seeking more information before. I had not cared enough then. However, tonight . . . I found I was not so indifferent to my own survival.

“Don’t doubt yourself. Xiangliu won’t escape this time. We have all we need,” he said with calm assurance.

“And what might that be?” I asked, a little suspiciously.

“Two archers,” he quipped.

“You’ll have one less soon,” I told him darkly.

He laughed. “And speed. Your speed, to be precise. I’ve never seen anyone shoot as accurately and swiftly as you. That will be crucial.” He spoke the last part somberly.

“I might have trained differently if I’d realized what we were up against.”

“How could you have pushed yourself harder than you did?” he countered, before his tone gentled. “Don’t you feel ready?”

My mouth twisted into a grimace. More than my fear of the serpent, I did not like this feeling—that I was a chess piece played to his whim. Told what he believed I should know, positioned where he thought I should go. Such was the hierarchy of command as Shuxiao had warned me, but I was no powerless recruit.

“Next time, I prefer to decide my readiness on my own.”

His lips curved as he rose to his feet. “Good night, Archer Xingyin. It’s late and everyone else is already asleep.”

I expected him to go to his tent, but he walked toward the mountain instead, disappearing into its shadow. Where was he going at this hour? My curiosity battled with my reluctance to intrude, my desire to respect his privacy winning out. We all needed time to ourselves. The flames flickered weakly before dwindling into a smoldering heap. Without its hiss and crackle, the silence was only punctured by the steady breathing of the other soldiers. I had no idea how long I sat there, lost in my thoughts. When Captain Wenzhi finally reemerged, he stared at me, sitting alone in the dark.