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“There is room for you and your family here,” I offered at once. “The eyes of the Celestial Kingdom are far away.”

But they are still fixed here, a voice inside me cautioned.

“I wish I could,” she said wistfully. “But my family will be reluctant to move. These roots we have set down are not so easily wrenched free.”

A familiar longing swept over me. During my years away from home, I had often felt adrift—a weed, sprouted in strange and hostile soil. I glanced around the hall, taking in the familiar furniture, the worn carpet, the stool I had sat on as a child. Countless memories thronged this place, each precious and irreplaceable. Yet what mattered most were the people within these walls. Family, whether through blood or bond, who gave a place its heart. And that was more important than any tile or brick, whether of gold, silver, or jade.

The lilting strains of a flute drifted into the air. Master Gang was playing, the tassel on his instrument swinging with each breath he took. The chatter in the room quietened as the others turned toward him. He played exceptionally well, his notes soaring pure and true.

When the last note faded, my mother said, “Thank you, Master Gang. Your music is a gift.”

“You are too kind, Goddess of the Moon.”

“Do you play often for your family?” she asked.

“My wife. She was fond of music.” He smiled as he turned to me. “I hear your daughter is a skilled musician. When might we have the pleasure of listening to a song? I would be glad to share some of my compositions with you.”

“Thank you, Master Gang, but I would be hard pressed to follow your performance.” I did not decline out of modesty, but because I preferred to play for the audience of my choosing.

As an awkward silence descended, Shuxiao asked, “Master Gang, have you found much inspiration for your music here?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Ah, Lieutenant, this place is wondrous indeed: the wind rustling the leaves, the rain beating on the roof, even the soft fold of soil beneath my feet. I am inclined to stay a while longer, if my hostess permits.”

“Stay as long as you wish,” my mother replied with faultless courtesy, though I caught the hitch in her tone. Perhaps she, too, missed the solitude of our home.

After the meal, I accompanied Shuxiao outside. The veil of night had cloaked the sky, though the lanterns had yet to be lit.

As she stepped upon her cloud, I touched her arm. “Be on your guard. Don’t do anything you should not.”

“As you so often did?” Her laugh rang hollow as she shook her head. “I’ve reformed my ways. I’m now a paragon of obedience.”

I passed her a silk-wrapped parcel. “Osmanthus flowers for Minyi.” When I had studied with Liwei, she prepared our meals and had become a friend.

Shuxiao tucked it under her arm. “Your trees will be bare soon with every winemaker and cook knocking on your doors. How do they even know of the flowers?”

I did not reply, raising my hand in farewell as her cloud sped away. She would be safe, I assured myself, as I strode to my room. Shuxiao was astute, she had many friends in the palace, and Liwei would watch out for her. Though as I lay in bed, her question lingered in my mind, my last thought before I drifted off to sleep: How had Master Haoran heard of our osmanthus? Most of our guests did not trouble themselves to walk through the forest, and I had not offered to show it to them.

THUD. THUD. THUD. A silvery rustle followed like the tinkling of a wind chime. Rhythmic but muffled, as though it came from far away.

My eyes flew open, blinking in the dark. From the deep quiet it was either late at night or far too early in the morning. Had I imagined those sounds? Perhaps I should have drunk some of Master Haoran’s wine, my slumber might have been as restful as the nights before.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

I jerked upright in bed, straining my ears to listen. This was real, like something solid being struck. And what was that rustling that trailed after like a persistent echo? Tossing aside the covers, I strode to the open window, inhaling the cool air laced with a delicate sweetness. The sky was dark, the ground infused with moonlight. In the distance, the laurel towered, its branches swaying as though assaulted by the wind—yet the osmanthus trees remained still.

Fear slithered through me, cold and hard. My fingers shook as I pulled a robe over my inner garments, knotting it around my waist. I slipped on my shoes, grabbed my bow, and climbed out through the window. My gaze was pinned on the quivering laurel, my feet flying over the ground—stumbling, almost falling over. Once, twice, thrice, those strange knocks sounded again, sending the tree into agonized spasms. Just before the clearing I halted, my grip tightening around my bow.

A man stood beside the laurel, with his back to me. The aura that rippled from him was thick and opaque, like congealed grease. There was an odd familiarity about it, my senses prickling in warning. A glint snared my attention, moonlight catching the silver curve of an axe blade, a green tassel swinging from its bamboo handle. It swept down, striking the laurel, the metal splintering the bark. Something dark trickled from the woodcutter’s palm onto the tree—was it blood? Had he wounded himself? But then the tree shuddered violently, pale leaves rustling as a seed fell to the ground, glittering as a fallen star.

I drew a blazing arrow and stepped out from the shadows, my heart pounding to a frantic beat. As the man swung around, a sharp breath slid between my teeth as I swiftly trained the arrow at his head.

Master Gang.

Gone was his meek demeanor and stooping posture—his brown eyes gleamed like those of a predatory hawk. An adept disguise, I thought wrathfully, as he had also masked his powerful aura. I should have known better than to be tricked by this simple enchantment, the same one Liwei and I had used to slip out of the Jade Palace undetected. If I had sensed this before, I would have drawn a sword on him instead of offering tea. My suspicions of Master Haoran had blinded me to the true menace among us. I cursed myself for letting Master Gang’s frailty lull me into thinking he was no threat when I should have learned by now, things were not always as they seemed.

“Are you here to exchange compositions?” he taunted, making a mockery of his earlier offer.

“I have no interest in the music you play,” I replied, my gaze fixed on his axe. Small, round holes were carved along the slender handle—it was his flute, I realized with a start. My insides churned to think he had brought this weapon into our home, my fingers itching to release the arrow, but I wanted answers first. “Don’t move, don’t reach for your magic. Tell me who you are, and why you came here.”