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I no longer counted the times I returned to the Cloud Wall border; it had become a ritual without which I felt lost. This place I had once despised was now the only balm to my grief, though not without pain of its own—to sense a wisp of Wenzhi’s spirit, forever beyond my reach. Perhaps I was being cruel to myself; it would be a kindness to forget … but I would not let his memory fade.

The wind rolled in fierce gusts today, roiling with unrest. Magic flowed from my fingertips to steady the cloud I rode upon. Strange weather in our realm, unease churning in my stomach since I had left the moon this morning. Ahead, the Golden Desert appeared leeched of color, tinted with ash beneath the darkening skies. It would have been prudent to turn back, yet impatience spurred me onward. No enemy could be worse than those I had faced, nor those that lurked in my mind.

Leaping down, I strode toward the clouds ahead. My insides clenched as I lifted my chin, bracing for the rush of memories, the braided comfort and torment that had drawn me back each time like an invisible cord wrapped around my heart.

There was nothing.

I picked up my skirt and ran onward until it was no longer the crunch of sand beneath my feet but the soft embrace of the clouds. Reckless, to venture into the Cloud Wall, yet I did not care. I closed my eyes, searching frantically for the echo of Wenzhi’s presence, that gentle graze against my consciousness—only finding a hollow stillness. Had I lost my mind or finally regained it? Perhaps there had been nothing all this time, just the false manifestation of my desires. If this was healing, I did not want it.

No, whatever it was it had been real; I was not one to be satisfied with delusions and dreams. Fear and resentment rose bitter and thick, that even this had been taken from me. I did not know what had happened, but I would find out. And there was just one person who might have the answers I sought, or the power to demand them.

I summoned my cloud, soaring northward through the skies. The carved dragons upon the Jade Palace rooftop glittered like they were afire as I made my way up the white marble stairs, between the great amber pillars that bore the three-tiered jade roof. Pale tendrils of incense coiled from the jewel-studded burners, the scent of jasmine springing in the air. The guards at the entrance did not halt me, allowing me through without a word.

It had been years since I was here, yet my feet still knew the way. I strode through the Outer Court and Inner Court, toward the Hall of Eastern Light. At this hour the court would be in attendance upon the Celestial Emperor. By the doorway, I hesitated. This would be no easy confrontation. More than the avid scrutiny of the court, this would be the first time I would see Liwei since I had left. While it had been my choice to leave, it hurt me too. Wherever I had journeyed, there was news of him—the young Celestial Emperor of whom dreams were made. Benevolent and wise beyond his years, and though no betrothal was yet announced it was only a matter of time. Emperors must have heirs.

The thought pricked me—an old habit that faded as abruptly as it began. As I stepped into the hall, a hush fell over it. Courtiers swung my way, some stiffening in recognition, while those more recently appointed scowled at the disruption of my presence.

“Petitioners must wait outside until they are summoned,” a courtier warned me, his nostrils flaring wide.

Another cupped his hands and bowed to Liwei. “Your Celestial Majesty, shall I summon the guards?”

“No.” Liwei’s voice rang with irrefutable command. “She is always welcome here.”

Thinly veiled envy shone in the eyes of the courtiers, while some smiled with sinuous ease. As I passed Teacher Daoming and General Jianyun, I bent my head low in greeting. It gladdened me to find them here, high in favor. Wise advisors with the courage to speak their minds were rare indeed.

As I approached the dais, Liwei’s aura swept over me: warm, bright, and achingly familiar. Lifting my eyes to the jade throne, a tenderness suffused me, threaded with remorse—yet devoid of regret. I would not have been content by his side here, nor could I have made him happy when I was yearning for something that no longer existed.

Liwei’s features were arranged into a regal mask, betraying none of his thoughts. His yellow brocade robe was embroidered with azure dragons, a heavy gold and sapphire crown upon his hair. The pearl strands of his father’s crown were gone, and I would be glad to never hear their ominous clicking again. How magnificent he looked, like the emperor he was, granting an audience to a commoner.

I clasped my hands and lowered myself to the ground, stretching my cupped hands before me. He had not demanded it, yet it was expected by all, and I would not diminish his dignity here. As I lifted my head, I caught the slight narrowing of his eyes as he gestured for me to rise. He did not like this any more than I did, his fingers curled in his lap. If he were still the prince, he might have sent them all away—the attendants, courtiers, and guards. But an emperor was at once elevated to greater power, yet bound tighter to ceremony, decorum, and the weight of infinite expectations—at least for a ruler who strove to be worthy of their position.

“Why are you here, Xingyin?”

“I have something to ask of Your Celestial Majesty.” I spoke formally, my tone guarded. Every word uttered here would be weighed and turned over. How I missed the ease of the past when it was just the two of us in the Courtyard of Eternal Tranquility, but those days were gone as irrevocably as water slipping into the soil.

Liwei inclined his head. “Ask anything you wish.”

Restraint was prudent, but I was too anxious for news. “Your Celestial Majesty, what does it mean when an immortal spirit leaves our realm?” A pause, before I added, “I can no longer sense him.”

He straightened, his shoulders seeming to clench beneath his robe. “Whom do you mean?”

“Wenzhi.” His name fell out like a broken chord. While I had dreamed it, whispered it in my mind—I never thought I would speak it aloud again, and certainly not in this hall of Celestials.

“Have you been searching for him all this time?” A note of sadness weighed his tone.

“Yes.”

“What did you find?” he asked.

“The shadow of his presence, like a dream without a face.” My voice shook as I remembered Wenzhi’s eyes closing, his chest hollowing with his last breath. “I know he is dead. But I thought … I believed part of his spirit remained in the Cloud Wall—until now.” I fell silent, realizing the foolishness of my words, already regretting the impatience that had led me here, clinging to nothing but a mirage.

It was so quiet in the hall, surely all could hear the rustle of my sleeve, the breath which slipped from my mouth. Liwei leaned forward, his eyes dark and opaque. “He is in the world below, but not as you know him. Not yet.”

I could not move, staring at him, wide-eyed and numb. And then his meaning sank in—a blazing lightness sweeping me up, even as a hundred questions slammed through my mind. Disbelief warred with a wild hope that refused to be tamed, for it had been caged far too long. I was trembling, my heart still piecing together what my mind was beginning to grasp. My father had spoken of the few times when immortals had been sent to the Mortal Realm at the Celestial Emperor’s behest, just as he had been sent to slay the sunbirds. A rare exception, requiring the emperor’s permission, and the promise of restoration.

Liwei was the Celestial Emperor now.

“Wenzhi is mortal? How is that possible? He died,” I said haltingly.