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As we walked through the trees, the light from the lanterns threw our shadows across the ground. Neither of us spoke again until we arrived at the laurel, its seeds glistening like fallen stars caught in the web of branches. Wenzhi pressed his palm against the smooth bark before yanking hard at a seed. It did not break away, though the leaves trembled and the branch dipped from his force.

“The energy in this tree is strange. Cold, as most things are here, but also discordant—as though there are two sides to the whole,” he observed.

“What does that mean? What can it do?”

“I’m not sure.” He frowned. “Upon your return here, did you notice anything different?”

I hesitated before saying, “My lifeforce recovered quicker than anticipated. I thought it some mysterious power only obvious to me now that mine had been unsealed.”

His hand swept toward the laurel. “Except it came from this.”

Regeneration, Liwei had said. Why would the emperor crave such power? The Jade Palace thronged with healers. I stole an assessing glance at Wenzhi, trying to discern if the light in his eyes was concern or avarice—

“Xingyin, do you suspect me still?” His mouth twisted into a wry smile. “I have no wish to be your enemy again.”

“What of next time?” I asked. “What if our desires were to collide once more? Undoubtedly your self-interest would reign.”

“It will not,” he said flatly.

“How can you be certain?”

“Because I will not allow it. To set myself against you, would be akin to going against myself.” He paused. “When I hurt you … it hurt me too.”

I stared at his unyielding face, taken aback by the implacable way he spoke. No words rose to mind, neither protest nor insult.

“Despite what you think, I’m not bloodthirsty by nature. Nor do I crave power for its sake alone. Now I hope to convince my father that peace is the best recourse. The price of war is far too high, even for the victor.”

In our battles together, Wenzhi had never taken undue pleasure in a conquest or relished an enemy’s defeat. His decisions were calculated to reduce bloodshed, even when he served in the army of his enemy. And I believed that at least for now, he wanted to help, that he did not mean me harm.

His head jerked up, his eyelids lowering. I stilled, sensing the approach of an immortal’s aura, though there had been no warning from the wards.

Liwei was here.

A knot formed in my chest. I had no desire to repeat their last encounter when swords were drawn. While I had my years of comradeship with Wenzhi to balance against his offenses, Liwei would view him—rightfully so—as a traitor and a threat.

Wenzhi inclined his head. “I have no wish to cause trouble.” Before I could respond, a shimmer glided over him, shrouding him from sight. A moment later, a light breeze wound through the trees as Wenzhi’s aura vanished. He had left as suddenly as he had appeared.

My tension eased, even as guilt followed swiftly on its heels. Liwei emerged from the trees, coming toward me. A gray robe was thrown over his white inner garments, knotted loosely at the waist. He must have left in haste.

“I sensed someone coming through the wards. At this hour, I wanted to make sure it was nothing untoward.” He smiled. “Was it another uninvited ‘guest’?”

It was the first time Wenzhi had visited since the wards were altered. My head poised to nod, a ready lie springing to my tongue—how easily they came to me now. Yet I could not deceive him so lightly.

“It was Wenzhi.” I braced for disapproval.

A brief pause. “Has he come before?”

His face was calm despite the tautness in his tone. I almost longed for his anger instead. Something to rouse my own emotions from this sinking sensation of having disappointed him.

“He has,” I admitted. “I refused to see him.”

His expression was stony. “Why this time?”

I fell silent, reluctant to tell him of the music. Of the things Wenzhi and I had spoken on the balcony.

“Did you ask him to come?” he pressed.

“No.”