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Wenzhi frowned. “Queen Suihe is neither benevolent nor tolerant. She will not harbor you if she knows you are wanted by the Celestial Emperor; she will see you as a threat to her people.”

I did not expect a warm welcome from the queen. Fugitives, with neither friend nor kin there. The bearers of ill tidings. Yet Ping’er had never asked for anything before. This was a paltry request when she deserved so much more. While she had never expressed a desire to return, she always spoke of the sea with such warmth and longing, even with her final breath. No matter how far we had traveled from our home, it was a bond impossible to sever—rooted deep into what we were, entwined with all we would become.

My resolve hardened. “We will fulfill Ping’er’s last wish,” I replied, as my mother nodded in agreement.

“You must be careful,” Wenzhi said gravely. “Fortunately, the queen will not have heard the news yet. The Celestial Emperor will be keen to keep this quiet as your escape would be seen as another weakness, a failure. Do what you must, then leave as soon as you can.”

“We will,” I told him, even as I longed for a few precious days to recoup our strength, to plan our way forward. To mourn.

“I know you blame yourself,” Wenzhi said in a low voice. “Don’t forget, it was Wugang who struck her. The emperor who ordered the attack on your home.”

I glanced up, catching the tautness in his expression. “How did you learn of the attack?” I asked numbly.

“We have our informants at the Celestial Court. Unfortunately, this matter was so closely guarded, I only learned of it after the soldiers had left. I came as soon as I heard.”

“Thank you for your aid.” I spoke formally, listlessly, unable to muster the energy for more.

Kneeling down beside me, Wenzhi laid a hand on my shoulder. I had always thought his touch cool, yet now it burned through my robe. Or perhaps it was because I was frozen all the way inside, nothing but a brittle layer of ice holding me together.

“Cry. Shout. Strike me if you will. Just don’t treat me like a stranger. Don’t pretend to be all right when you are not.”

His blunt compassion was my undoing. My chest caved until I was fighting for breath, my emotions churning within. Strong arms went around my shoulders; my head folded against his steadiness. My hands moved of their own volition, instinctively seeking comfort, my fingers clutching at the lapels of his robe as though I were falling. I did not draw closer, nor did I push him away. How familiar his embrace and the comfort it yielded … and how I craved it in this moment, drowning in this void of despair. A part of me wanted to stay there, locked away from the devastation of my reality—even as my pride urged me to pull away, to protest his touch. And though I despised myself for this weakness, I sensed he understood my pain—and so I remained still until my tension eased, my body going as limp as a vine as the last of my strength dispersed. Ragged breaths and bitter tears spilled from me until somehow, I was no longer stretched to breaking, exhaustion crashing over me as my eyelids sank shut into merciful slumber.

WARMTH GRAZED MY SKIN. My mind stirred from oblivion, but I did not want to awaken. Already, the ache within was returning, relentless and sharp—each breath a strain. A breeze swept against my face then, cool and fresh, stirring something in me … something that was not laden with sorrow, pain, or regret. Fragments of memories, good ones—of my first glimpse of the Eastern Sea and the wonder I had felt then, along with the lightness of hope.

Flicking my eyelids apart, the brightness of day crowded my vision. I blinked, making out my mother staring blankly ahead, Shuxiao sitting beside her. Instinctively, I glanced around to check no one was in pursuit. As I recalled my lapse into a weeping wreck last night, shame coursed through me. How could I have wept in Wenzhi’s arms, the arms of my enemy? A betrayal of Liwei and myself.

Except, Wenzhi was not my enemy. At least, not anymore.

“Where is he?” I asked.

“Your friend said he needed to go home but would return to find us,” my mother replied.

“You seemed on good terms with Wenzhi. Better than I expected after what he did,” Shuxiao remarked curiously.

My mother’s eyes narrowed as she sat straighter. “Is he the one who betrayed you? The Demon you hate?”

A few days ago, I would have agreed at once. Yet the things Wenzhi had said, how he had come to our aid so unflinchingly … these went deeper than I wished. While it did not make things right between us—nothing ever would—it was no longer pure bitterness in my heart when I thought of him.

“He did betray me. I despised him and worse,” I said haltingly. “But he also helped us, more than you know.”

“Have you forgiven him?” Shuxiao asked tentatively.

“No,” I said fiercely. “Nor will I ever trust him again. But I don’t hate him anymore either.”

“Anyone who deceived you in that manner cannot be trusted.” My mother paused, shaking her head. “However, some tales told of me are little better. It was as Wugang said—many believe that I wanted the elixir for myself, that I stole it to become immortal. Is that not a vicious betrayal? Was I not a selfish coward, regardless of my reasons?”

I had never heard her speak with such raw anguish, her expression haunted with grief both old and new. Perhaps Ping’er’s death had wrenched her heart apart, and all the sorrow within had spilled forth.

I reached out to take her hand. “You did it to save us.”

“Only we know that.” Her smile was sad and thin. “While the story remains the same, the picture painted is so vastly different. Your father must have hated me, and the mortals should despise me too.”

“They do not,” I assured her. “Perhaps because they sense your pain. As do I.”

“This is what matters.” She pressed my hand tight. “That those we love understand what we did, and why.”

It would comfort her to learn that my father understood, that he forgave her—but I kept silent. Wenzhi’s reasons for his deception slid into my mind: his brother, a twisted monster, the vicious games of power where only the strong survived. Yet it was not the same—one driven by despair, the other, a calculated betrayal. Wenzhi had asked for us to start over, but it was impossible. All that had been precious between us could never be remade. It was gone, as irrevocably as an incense stick burnt to ash.