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“Why do you think Wugang came to my home?” It gave me a petty satisfaction to use the name he disdained, and a part of me wondered whether the noble general felt the same way.

“It must have been at the emperor’s command. He does nothing without His Celestial Majesty’s permission.” General Jianyun added, “The emperor would send no other there, for Wugang is most familiar with the moon, given his past.”

I stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“It was long before your mother ascended to the skies. Wugang was a mortal then.”

“A mortal? I did not hear of this.” Liwei echoed my surprise.

“As Wugang is the current favorite, His Celestial Majesty prefers that such humble origins be forgotten. Wugang is ever obedient, discarding part of his name to disassociate himself from his past.”

“The mortals would be glad of it,” I said with feeling, smothering my ire at how immortals often disdained those in the world below. In truth, the mortals could teach us far more in resilience and strength of will, as they bore the trials that came their way.

General Jianyun smiled faintly. “I would agree.”

“How did Wugang come to our realm?” Liwei asked.

The corners of General Jianyun’s eyes creased like he was reaching deep into his thoughts. “Wugang was a common man with an uncommon grudge. His wife had an affair with an immortal, the son of a Celestial courtier. When Wugang discovered her infidelity, he did not confront the perpetrators—instead, he set off to Kunlun Mountain.”

I quashed a flash of pity for the hurt he must have felt. “Did he venture there to seek recompense? Was that how he became immortal?” Kunlun Mountain possessed a powerful mystical energy, and was the only place in the Mortal Realm where immortals were permitted to dwell.

General Jianyun shook his head. “The only way a mortal can become immortal is through His Celestial Majesty’s elixir. Wugang’s plans were far more nefarious. In Kunlun, he befriended an immortal and learned our secrets: that we were not invulnerable, that we could be killed by the weapons and magic of our realm. After that, he stole the immortal’s axe, using it to slay his wife and her lover.”

My skin crawled. How cold and ruthless he was, how terrifyingly patient. My wife. She was fond of music, he had said, speaking of her in the past. I had thought nothing of it then because of his unwavering calm—when in truth, he had murdered her with his own hands.

“He should have been sentenced according to mortal law,” General Jianyun continued. “Except the victim’s father, the Celestial courtier, beseeched the emperor for vengeance, citing the shame of an immortal killed by a weak mortal. Persuaded by his pleas, the emperor summoned Wugang to the Jade Palace and sentenced him to chop down the everlasting laurel, using the very axe he had taken.”

A lump formed in the pit of my stomach. “The laurel on the moon?”

“It was different then, its leaves as green as jade. There were no seeds, not as there are now. Yet it was no ordinary tree, possessing the power to heal itself. And Wugang soon discovered that this undertaking was a futile, never-ending torment.”

An impossible task. “How did Wugang earn the elixir?”

“He was given an Immortal Peach at first, not to prolong his life but to extend his suffering. The Elixir of Immortality was promised, if he succeeded. A disingenuous offer, for how could a mortal perform such a deed? For over a hundred years, Wugang toiled, without a moment’s respite. ‘Wugang the Woodcutter,’ the court mocked him, as they lauded the emperor’s cunning. Some arranged viewing parties where they would laugh as he strained over his labor. I attended one and wished I had not. There is no pleasure in taunting one brought low, who cannot fight back.”

Little wonder that the Celestials treated Wugang with a mixture of loathing and fear, and their malice must have been worse before he rose to power. “Did the emperor take pity on him and rescind the punishment?”

General Jianyun’s expression was grave. “Perhaps it was inevitable after the years of hacking at the laurel that a bond was formed between the tree and its tormentor. Wugang discovered that his blood could halt the laurel’s healing—at least temporarily. He requested the emperor’s presence to witness the fulfillment of his task, despite knowing failure would earn him a death sentence. The court followed eagerly, many certain it was an empty boast. How frail Wugang looked, worn to a shadow of the strapping mortal who had arrived, his hands ravaged by welts and wounds.”

“Is that why he wears those gloves? To hide the scars?” I asked.

General Jianyun nodded. “Wugang is proud, though he conceals it. He would loathe such a visible reminder of his humiliation.” His tone grew heavy. “I recalled his face as he slashed his hand: blank with despair, devoid of hope—like he did not care whether he lived or died. Blood spurted out, splattering the laurel’s bark, sinking into the soil around its roots. In the next moment, he swung his axe into the tree. Again and again, without pause, as though his labors had granted him an inhuman strength. Until, at last, the laurel came crashing down, the sound so loud the mortals must have heard it.”

I frowned. “But the laurel still stands; it was not destroyed.”

“His Celestial Majesty’s command was that Wugang had to chop down the laurel, not to destroy it—if such a thing can be done at all. It only took a few moments for the laurel to regenerate, new shoots sprouting from its withered stump, springing up until the tree was full-grown once more. Except its leaves were no longer green but silver-white, its bark so pale, like it was encrusted in frost. As though in its throes of death, the laurel had shed spring for winter.”

My mind spun. This must be why Wugang had such an avid interest in the moon, a personal one—studying its aura, discovering my presence. Why he had not troubled himself with me until he learned my identity. “The laurel’s power must be immense to regenerate so quickly, to restore my lifeforce too.”

General Jianyun’s expression was somber. “We thought it could only heal itself. We did not realize it could heal another.”

“What does the emperor want with it?” I asked.

The corners of the general’s mouth dipped. “I have lost His Majesty’s trust. He no longer confides in me.”

Something else picked at me. “Wugang’s blood was on the laurel the night I caught him. While there were grooves in the bark, the tree was otherwise unharmed. I can’t imagine how he could have brought it down before.”

The general’s lips pursed. “Since that day, the energy in the tree has changed. While the laurel’s power has strengthened, its bond with Wugang might have weakened. Maybe he can no longer harm it as before.”