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He began, his voice as smooth as the finest wine. “Long ago when the world was still new, there were no lakes or rivers. All the water was in the Four Seas, and the people relied upon the rain from the sky to grow their crops and quench their thirst. The Eastern Sea was the home of the four dragons. The Long Dragon was the largest of them all, its scales as red as flame, while the Pearl Dragon glowed like winter’s frost. The Yellow Dragon blazed brighter than the sun and the Black Dragon was darker than night. Twice a year, they rose from the sea to fly in the sky above.”

The storyteller raised his voice, startling his listeners. “One day, they heard loud crying and wailing from our world below. Curious, they flew closer, hearing the people’s desperate prayers for rain after a long drought. Their clothes hung loose on their thin bodies and their lips were cracked from thirst. Distraught by their suffering, the dragons pleaded with the Heavenly Emperor to send rain to the mortals. The emperor agreed, but due to a divine calamity it slipped his mind and weeks more passed without rain.”

He paused, reaching for his cup and lifting it to his mouth. When he continued, his tone was a controlled whisper. I found myself straining to listen, though I knew this tale well. It was the same one I had offered to tell Prince Yanming, the one he had scoffed at.

“Unable to bear the misery of the starving people, the dragons flew to the Eastern Sea. They filled their jaws with briny water, spraying it across the sky. Their magic transformed it into pure water which rained to the parched earth below. The people fell to their knees, rejoicing and praising the gods. But the Heavenly Emperor was furious that the dragons had overstepped their authority. He imprisoned them, each beneath a mountain of iron and stone. However, before each dragon was trapped, it sacrificed its immense power to bring forth a gushing river to ensure that our world never lacked water again. From that day, four great rivers flowed across our land, from east to west—named after the dragons in honor of their noble sacrifice.”

The audience applauded, although with less enthusiasm than before. One woman quickly tossed the storyteller a coin, shouting out her request.

I did not hear it, lost in the memories which drifted over me. This tale had been one of my favorites as a child and I had often asked my mother to tell it to me. Closing my eyes, I could almost imagine myself lying in my bed of cinnamon-wood, my fingers grazing the soft white drapes that fluttered in the breeze. I had no need for a lamp as the stars glittered in the sky and the lanterns threw their pearly glow through my window.

I had loved this story, though its ending left me unsettled. One night, I had asked my mother, “Why did the emperor forget to bring rain to the mortals?”

“The emperor has many concerns and responsibilities; governing the realms above and below is no easy task. Each day he oversees countless petitions and requests.”

“But why did he punish the dragons for helping the mortals instead of thanking them?” I wanted to know.

Her hand had brushed my cheek, her cool touch soothing my restlessness. “Sleep, Little Star. It’s just a story,” she had said, evading my question with ease.

Only now did I understand that there was no satisfactory answer. At least none to avoid offending the Celestial Emperor.

The emperor’s task filled me with unease, like a thorn stabbing the underside of my heel. More so when I recalled Prince Yanxi’s admiration of the dragons, the tales I had heard of their benevolence. If the dragons were unwilling, could I fight them for their pearls? Could I even defeat one of them, much less four? This was a hopeless task, a thankless one—where success would come at the price of my honor, and my failure would be the death of me.

“Xingyin, what’s the matter?” Wenzhi’s question roused me from my thoughts.

“I’m tired,” I said, although I had no reason to be.

“Why don’t you sleep?” Liwei suggested, not looking up from his bowl. “It will take us a full day to get to the Changjiang by foot, even without stopping to rest.”

Since we had spoken in the Willow Song Pavilion, a coolness descended upon us. Had the words exchanged severed the lingering ties between us? Or was it the intimacy he had witnessed between Wenzhi and me? Whatever the cause, Liwei was unfailingly courteous but withdrawn. And while this was exactly what I had asked of him before, it left me hollow inside.

The innkeeper’s daughter came to clear our table. As she lifted each plate onto her tray with painstaking slowness, she stole furtive glances at Wenzhi and Liwei. Her eyes darted back and forth, back and forth, as though she could not decide who took her fancy more. Indeed, they had little competition in this place. Even garbed in plain robes, their auras muted, Wenzhi and Liwei had the same effect on mortal hearts as they did on immortal ones.

I stood up, eager to leave. Just sharing this meal with them had rubbed my nerves raw. “Where is my room?”

Wenzhi grimaced as he gestured to the floor above. “The inn is full. The three of us will have to share.” As he caught my horrified expression, he added, “You may have the bed, of course. I’m sure His Highness can do without one for a night.” A hint of mockery laced his voice.

“Indeed,” Liwei said coldly. “Though I intend to be present in the room nonetheless.”

Was that a warning? Was I reading too much in the edge of his tone? It mattered not. Even if this inn possessed the softest beds in the kingdom, a patch of damp grass would be preferable to suffering through a night as that.

“Ahh, I’m not tired after all.” I backed away from the table, coward that I was. “After eating so much, I’ll go for a walk. It’s my first time in a mortal village.”

Wenzhi’s stool scraped against the floor as he rose. “I’ll join you.”

I shook my head, smiling to take the sting out of my refusal. I wanted some time alone. And, for some reason, I did not want to go with Wenzhi and leave Liwei by himself.

I hurried through the inn, slipping out of its back entrance. This street was smaller than the one we had strolled through earlier, but no less lively. Several villagers watched the street performers as they spun plates on sticks or breathed out tongues of flame. I stopped to listen to an old man playing an er-hu, a two-stringed wooden fiddle. The plaintive melody suited my mood well. When it ended, I dropped a gold tael into his bowl, where it clinked against the copper coins.

Even at this late hour, children ran around, chasing barking dogs or crowding the stalls. Some carried insects and butterflies woven from dried grass, while others clutched sticks stacked with glossy balls of red sweets. Curious, I bought one for myself, crunching through the crisp candied shell to reach the tangy hawthorn berry within. As I licked the bits of sugar off my fingers, some villagers stared at me, perhaps wondering at my enthusiasm over the common treat. Had my mother liked this, too? I lifted my head to the skies, wishing I could ask her.

The luminous orb of the moon was smaller than it appeared in the Celestial Kingdom, but just as striking against the black night. It struck me, that if my father had not been gifted the elixir, if my mother had not taken it—perhaps we might be living in a village such as this. In a house with white walls, a weathered moss-green roof, and wooden doors. Our family, whole. For a moment, I could not breathe, lost in the dream. Or perhaps, you would be dead, my mind whispered.

Did my mother still cast her eyes here with longing? Did my father live still? Did he . . . blame my mother for her choice? Me, for endangering her life? If only I could seek him out, but I had no idea where to start. And I dared not test the emperor’s patience any more than I had.

I turned into a quiet lane. Not more than fifty steps in, my skin crawled with that same prickling sensation as whenever danger was afoot—just as when the archer had shot at me in the Eternal Spring Forest. Impossible that he could be here, in the Mortal Realm. More likely, he was dead, killed by Liwei’s soldiers. But it did not change the fact that I was being watched.

Feigning ignorance, I continued down the path. While I doubted anything could injure me here, I had a couple of daggers tucked away for good measure. The Jade Dragon Bow was slung across my back, wrapped in a piece of cloth to avoid attracting attention. When Wenzhi had suggested that I bring it along, it seemed a wise idea.