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She glared at him, so ferociously, he shrank back. “I mean growing wild, on trees like those.” She flung her hand out at the forest we were flying over. “My husband and I are on borrowed time.”

“I risked my life for the elixir; I earned it. If you wanted it, you should have gone yourself.” I did not speak unkindly but merely recounted the facts, appealing to her sense of fairness—innate in Liwei, perhaps it lay in her as well.

She bit her lip. “I could not enter the Jade Palace; I am no longer permitted to.”

We stared at each other, unrelentingly—I could be selfish too. After a long silence, she reached into her sleeve, pulling out the white jade bottle. It gleamed in her hand, its gold stopper catching the sunlight. Her jaw clenched as she thrust it at me. “Take it. He will not drink it anyway, not if it was tricked from another. Cursed honor.”

I accepted the bottle, clutching it tight. My spirits lifted, even as a new weight sank over them—a heavy burden to have taken the one thing that could save her beloved. And in truth, she did not have to return it to me. Despite her harsh words, this was a gift.

“Thank you.” My voice was raw with emotion. “My father is dying in the world below, and I am almost out of time.”

“Time,” she repeated, with a trace of sadness. “How strange, that we are fighting over what every immortal is born caring nothing for. While for the mortals, wars are waged, lives lost in the pursuit of eternity. An impossible dream for all except a handful.”

“I wish we could both have the elixir,” I told her honestly.

“I don’t blame you. Make no mistake, if my husband had fewer scruples, that elixir would be gone and I’d have felt little remorse.” Her tone softened. “But he would not be who he is, either, and I have some time yet.”

“I will repay you,” I promised, without having the faintest idea how. “If there is another elixir, I will help you obtain it.”

“Thank you,” she said gravely.

We both knew it was an unlikely pledge, yet I did not mean it any less.

“I must go,” Zhiyi said. “The chickens and cows will not feed themselves. I came because Tao’s sister sent a message that he was in danger.”

“Chickens? Cows?” I had imagined her living in some palace or grand manor as befitted the emperor’s daughter, even one in disfavor.

She laughed. “Does it sound so terrible? I do not mind my life. Titles, crowns, and palaces come with a price of their own,” she added darkly.

Her words resonated with me. Once I had dreamed Liwei and I might be so free, and now … we never would.

Shortly after, she left with Tao upon her cloud. Alone with Liwei, emotions flooded me—relief that he was safe, punctured by despair.

“Are you glad you found your sister?” A clumsy attempt to delay the inevitable.

“Yes. To learn I have a sibling is a precious thing.” He studied my face. “You seem sad, Xingyin. Aren’t you happy about the elixir?”

“I wish it had not come at the price of her happiness.” It was one part of the truth.

“As do I. But she would not want your guilt,” he said gently. “Reach for the joy you have, revel in it. For it is scarce enough in the world.”

If only I could.

“How are your mother and Ping’er?” he asked.

Grief surged, crowding my throat and eyes. “Ping’er is … dead.”

He grasped my hands. “What happened?”

“Wugang led the Celestial attack on the moon. He killed her.” I breathed deeply, fighting for calm.

“I am sorry, Xingyin.” He bent his head to graze mine. “She was like family to you. I will miss her too.”

“She was family.”

Shadows crept between us—slithering, dark, and opaque. Yet again, his father’s command had torn my family apart.

“Where is your mother? Is she safe?” Liwei asked.