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“Yes.” The barest pause, but it was the truth. I would always love him—yet doubt tugged at me still.

For while I had loved Liwei first, I had loved another after. One who had given his life for mine, whom I could not forget. I was learning that death had the kindness of diminishing one’s sins, allowing one to remember the good in them. When Wenzhi had been alive, all I recalled were his treachery and wrongs. But now I could finally think of him without the taint of bitterness, and it gave new clarity to all he had said and done since I let him back into my life.

“I am glad.” She hesitated, before adding, “If not, it would be a greater kindness to end things now.”

I did not reply, irked by her presumption—my temper had grown shorter of late. And yet there was also a trickle of relief that there was another path. I had a choice, difficult though it would be.

IT WAS A CLOUDLESS morning, the sky a brilliant azure. Liwei and I sat inside the pavilion in the Courtyard of Eternal Tranquility. The waterfall rumbled into the pond, peach blossom petals drifting from the trees. Liwei waved away the attendant, lifting the teapot to refill my cup—just as he used to when we studied together, when it was just the two of us. The attendant’s gaze lingered on him with reverent admiration as he bowed, leaving us alone.

“It is the autumn season in the Mortal Realm,” Liwei said.

I nodded, returning his smile. As he set my cup before me, his sleeve brushed my hand, the embroidered silver herons soaring through the blue brocade. His hair was pulled into a gold and sapphire headpiece, just like the one he used to wear. I could almost imagine we were heading to the Chamber of Reflection after this, instead of the Hall of Eastern Light where Liwei governed the realm. Emperor in all but name.

He handed me a wooden box, painted with a woman in green robes, a crimson sash around her waist and gold ornaments in her hair. Clouds swirled around her feet, a silver orb gleaming above.

I traced my fingers over it. My mother, the Moon Goddess, as depicted by the mortals. As I pried the lid open, a rich, honeyed scent slipped out. Four golden-brown mooncakes were nestled within, their tops molded into a pattern of dragons and phoenixes. Liwei lifted one out and with a small knife sliced it into eight plump wedges. He offered one to me, a vermilion crescent of egg yolk glistening from the dark-brown filling. The lotus-seed paste was dense and sweet, the crust crumbling against my tongue. The yolk added a salty grittiness that cut through the sweetness, balancing the flavors perfectly. I closed my eyes as I chewed, imagining the mortals eating this as they listened to the tale of Houyi and the ten suns, and of Chang’e flying to the moon. A tightness clutched me; a longing to see my parents.

“Liwei, I want to go home. I cannot stay here.” As I spoke, an urgency rushed through me. This was the way out from the nightmares that haunted me—to get away from the Jade Palace with its endless ceremonies and rules, the courtiers and attendants, the burdens of the kingdom.

His face paled, his fingers curling on the table. “Xingyin, I was going to ask you to marry me. My father is retiring to a life of isolation. He asked me to ascend the throne, to become the emperor.”

I stared at him blankly, something tightening around my chest like I was being suffocated. This had always been his heritage, but even when I had dreamed of a future with him, I thought we had centuries more until his father relinquished the throne. It had been my one hope and consolation.

“I know this is a lot sooner than we imagined. That this is not what you want.”

“I must go.” The words came slowly, the decision crystallizing as I spoke—and I knew it was the right one, even as the ache in my heart sharpened.

His eyes blazed as he grasped my hand. “Why must you leave?”

“I want to go home,” I repeated, pulling free of his hold, not from petulance, but because I could not allow anything to sway me.

A heavy silence settled over us as we stared at each other. “I know you are not happy here. I wish I could go with you,” he said at last. “But I can’t abandon my father and my kingdom. There is no one else who can rule in my stead.”

“I understand.” This was no hollow sentiment, for it was his choice as much as mine. We had to do what was right for ourselves, yet how it hurt that our paths had diverged. “Your place is here. There is no one better than you to rule. I would not have asked this of you.”

“You have every right to ask anything of me,” he said fiercely.

“I do not want to add to your cares.” Yet if I had not done this, I would not have known what I truly wanted—what I needed that he could no longer give me.

I swallowed hard, pushing myself to my feet. “Perhaps it is too late for us, Liwei; we can never go back to what we were.” There was no resentment in these words, only sorrow, for they hurt me too.

Liwei stood up, clasping me into his arms. I let myself lean against him—one last time, delaying the inevitable moment of pain. Yet though his warmth seeped through my robe and skin, it could no longer reach my heart.

“I’m sorry if I failed you,” he whispered into my hair. “You don’t have to decide this now. You could return home and come back whenever you are ready. I will wait for you.”

“You did not fail me; I failed us.” My voice cracked then. “Once I had accepted this as our life. And now I cannot bear it. I am weaker than I thought. I am tired of trying to be strong. And I … I cannot forget him. I do not want to.”

“You don’t have to face this alone.” He spoke with such fire, a little of the coldness within me thawed. “I will help you forget him. We will be happy, just as we were before. You would be a fine empress.”

I would not.

The life he offered would be a fairy tale to many, but a nightmare to me. A shudder rippled down my spine as I imagined eternity yoked to the cares of the Celestial Kingdom, the weight of the crown growing heavier with each year. The endless struggle for favor and power, the restless and judgmental stares trained upon me—impatient for the timely emergence of an heir. Would I grow shrewish, trapped in such a life? How long would it take for our love to be tarnished? How long before it turned to resentment, and then … hate?

I pulled away to gaze into his handsome face, those dark eyes so dear to me. Was my heart strong enough to be shattered again? Somehow, I managed to speak through the agony that tore me apart. “I can’t marry you. I can’t live here. I would not be happy, and I would make you unhappy too.”

He was silent for a while. “I tell myself that the past no longer matters, that I should not envy the dead. However, seeing you both in Lady Xihe’s grove, seeing how you grieve for him … I cannot help but wonder, would you have chosen him, had he lived?”

I would have thought it impossible before, yet my despair was a rude awakening. I could not deny that my feelings for Wenzhi had gone far deeper than I’d known. I could not deny this pain in my chest when I thought of him, the sharp ache of loss.