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I swallowed hard, reminding myself of his capacity for deceit. “You want the impossible.”

“You are stubborn, Xingyin. Except you are not as indifferent to me as you claim to be.”

Anger seared, and I was glad to cling to it. “Even if I felt anything for you, it would not matter. I could never trust you again.”

“You trust me enough to guard your back,” he pointed out.

“I trust that you do not want me dead. At least, not yet. When we want different things—that is the moment when trust really matters, when its true worth shines,” I said fiercely.

He stepped closer, his sleeve grazing mine, his voice deepening with intensity. “Believe this, then—for I swear it upon my family, my kingdom, and my honor. When I won the crown and lost you, it was a hollow victory. I regretted all that was lost between us, all I had destroyed—for nothing was worth losing you.”

He spoke with such fire and passion, so different from his usual restraint—kindling something in me that I struggled to suppress. And though the walls I had built against him went wide and high, his words still pierced my heart. I rebuked myself for my wavering resolve. If I had learned anything from the past, it was that promises were easily made, twisted, and broken. I was no longer an easy dupe; I would accept his help, and no more.

“Don’t speak to me of such things. They belong in the past.” The barest quaver shook my voice, which I hoped he did not hear.

His eyes searched my face. “Can’t we leave the rest in the past, too—the hate, mistrust, and lies?”

“No, we cannot. Do not ask me for more than I can give.”

“I will be happy with any part that you will give me. Though it will not stop me hoping for more, for all of you, however long it takes.”

I did not reply, ignoring the quickening of my pulse as I strode ahead. And though I could feel his gaze upon my back, I did not turn. I would not allow such emotions to cloud my heart or dull my resolve. For the path before me was fraught with danger, and even should I succeed, rife with pain.

Yet one thought burrowed into my consciousness, that while nothing Wenzhi said or did could excuse what he had done, while he had never been the honorable immortal I had once thought he was … neither was he quite the monster I had believed him to be.

Cloaked in invisibility, I flew above the walls of the Jade Palace. I held my breath, half expecting a trap—for the guards’ heads to snap up, their eyes squinted with suspicion. Yet they remained at ease, fingers loosely clasped around their weapons. The empress had kept her word; the wards were down, though escape would be infinitely harder.

The rosewood lanterns were extinguished at this hour, the corridors bathed in shadow. With each step, the shells in my pouch clinked softly. I worked swiftly, placing one in the soldiers’ quarters near my old room, one in the garden beyond. Another in the Outer Court, nestled between the flat gray stones that formed the path. My chest tightened as I slipped into the Courtyard of Eternal Tranquility, achingly still without Liwei except for the crash of the waterfall. Memories beckoned, but I dared not linger, tucking a white shell between the roots of a peach-blossom tree. I left quickly to hide another outside the empress’s courtyard, then two more in the Chamber of Reflection and the Hall of Eastern Light. One last shell I clutched in my sweat-slicked palm. With careful steps, I made my way to the Eastern Sun Courtyard, the Celestial Emperor’s quarters. During my years in the Jade Palace I had never ventured there, only too glad to keep my distance.

The doors were adorned with gold filigree in an ornate scrollwork pattern, interspersed with discs of jade. I scaled the pale stone wall, dropping into the garden. The air seemed cooler, infused with threads of the emperor’s power. Gingko trees shaded the vast garden, yellow lotuses blooming upon a large pond. Crouching down, I tucked the final shell—a small crescent of ivory—between the satiny petals of a lotus. Rising to my feet, I summoned a cloud. Soldiers would flood this place in a moment.

Raising the Jade Dragon Bow, I drew its cord, an arrow shining between my fingers. I silenced the caution in my mind, that of Wenzhi’s scathing disapproval—letting the arrow fly, blazing a trail through the dark. It struck a tree, light crackling over its bark, the leaves shivering as they fell. Power tingled through my veins, surging free as a gale hurtled through the courtyard, tearing through the branches, rippling the pond until the lotuses trembled. A spectacle, impossible to ignore. It had been a wild idea, uttered in jest—but what better way to draw every soldier in the palace? I would stir a tempest of chaos to mask our escape.

Shouts broke the stillness. Slinging my bow over my shoulder, I whisked the flute to my lips, a song flowing through the jade—the one I had gifted to Liwei. As footsteps pounded toward me, terror clung to my insides, my feet instinctively lifting for flight. I dug my heels back into the ground. Not yet. I would keep my promise to be the empress’s willing scapegoat.

Stemming my breath, I halted the song. Boots thumped louder, a rush of auras descending as soldiers streamed into the courtyard, thankfully none of whom I recognized. Shouts rang out as they lunged at me, swords and spears glinting, hands raised to summon their power.

Magic surged from my fingertips, concealing my presence as my cloud shot into the skies. Below, the soldiers mounted their clouds, the quickest already soaring above in pursuit. Plucking a tendril of air, I hurled it into the shell by the lotus pond—my song flowing from it, each note as clear as when I had played it earlier.

The soldiers closest to me stared at each other in confusion, one gesturing wildly below. “The emperor’s courtyard. She’s there!” he cried.

“We saw her fly above,” another argued.

“A decoy! She must intend to harm His Celestial Majesty!”

I uttered a prayer of thanks for the last soldier’s misplaced conviction—as the rest swung around, their clouds descending once more. They raced back into the courtyard to join those who had remained. Together, they trooped through the garden, hunting beneath the trees, trudging through the flower beds. A diligent soldier even wove threads of magic into a glowing net to comb the pond, perhaps imagining I was submerged within the dark waters.

The emperor’s elegant courtyard was utterly ravaged; mud slopping from the pond, lotuses ripped from their stems, rough holes pitting the ornamental path. A rash urge to laugh gripped me as I imagined His Celestial Majesty’s wrath, though this was small recompense to what we had suffered at his hands.

As the song ended, the soldiers stilled, muttering among themselves. Some stalked toward the entrance once more, others clambering onto their clouds. Ten long seconds I counted silently, before flinging a dart of air into the shell in the Courtyard of Eternal Tranquility. The melody burst forth again, fainter this time, from farther away.

“His Highness’s courtyard! Quick!” Someone called out.

Footsteps thudded below, heading to my former residence. More soldiers followed, drawn by the commotion, some of their clouds brushing so near, I dared not breathe. Only after they had all descended and the skies were clear did my tension ease.

I strung the Celestial soldiers on this frantic chase, triggering one shell and then the next—my song winding in a ceaseless refrain through the courts, circling the palace walls itself. A dangerous game; one I could not afford to lose, and I was running out of time. Someone would figure it out, or I would make a careless slip. Exhaustion was stealing upon me, dulling my senses, weighing down my limbs. As the soldiers swarmed toward the western side of the palace, I made my way east, to where Liwei was held.

I slipped into the small courtyard lined with clusters of bamboo, a lone crabapple tree shedding its pale petals upon the stone table beneath. Several guards were clustered outside the entrance of a low building, more patrolling the grounds. They exchanged curious whispers, wondering at the chaos, yet remained at their posts.