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“She is your daughter, Houyi,” my mother said with pride. “She does not walk the path before her; she forges her own.”

“Our daughter,” he corrected her, rising to place his palm on my shoulder. “All those years I’ve lost.”

I blinked away the prickling in my eyes. “We have time now, Father.”

“Houyi, you are so somber,” my mother teased him before her expression darkened. “While we speak of years ‘lost,’ how could you let me think you were dead? Did you enjoy watching me weep at your grave? Hearing my prayers for you? If I had known, I would have put salt instead of sugar in the cakes I made for your offerings.”

He laughed, a full sound that warmed me deeply. “They would have tasted just as sweet. I ate them all after you had gone, though the familiarity of their taste was a bitter consolation.” He paused. “As for your prayers, I heard nothing from where I hid. They would have been a comfort to me, they would have given me hope that you still cared.”

“Why else did you think I went to your grave?” she demanded.

“From duty? Guilt? After decades of disappointment, I had no reason to hope. I didn’t know you could not come. I tried to stay away, but I confess to going whenever I could. When I saw you again, part of me dared to dream once more. However, too much time had passed; I could not bind you to an old man.” As he cupped her cheek with his hand, she leaned into it.

“I would not have cared. I would have known you anywhere,” she whispered. “If we were old and gray, it would be the mark of a life well spent.”

“Yes, if we grew old and gray together—but we did not. With the little time I had left, I believed it better that way, rather than reopening old wounds. I wanted you to remember me as I was.”

It was a hard choice he had made, to cut himself from us like the ailing part of a plant without which the rest would thrive. And I understood how he had felt, because his pride lay in me too.

Someone knocked. Unexpected, as we had few visitors. Since our arrival, Queen Suihe had left us alone, as though she had forgotten we were here. We had gladly kept to ourselves, shunning all banquets and festivities, only emerging today for Ping’er’s funeral. As I probed the auras before opening the doors, relief and apprehension swirled through me.

Liwei and Wenzhi entered. From their hostile expressions and the way they stood stiffly apart, this was a wholly unwelcome coincidence. Liwei’s gaze slid from my father to me, his expression solemn. A sudden realization sank over me that while I had been reunited with my family, he was torn from his and hunted by his own father.

Liwei inclined his head in greeting, cupping his hands before him. “Master Houyi, it is an honor to meet you.”

Wenzhi shot me a sidelong glare, an unspoken reproach for keeping him in the dark—then he bowed too. “Master Houyi, your return brings great joy to your family.”

My father said nothing, his eyebrows drawing over narrowed eyes in a look that had undoubtedly struck fear into many a soldier’s heart. What had my mother told him of them? Under other circumstances, he might have inquired after Liwei’s parents, or that of Wenzhi’s family. However, I doubted my father had any concern for the Celestial Emperor’s well-being or that of anyone in the Demon Realm.

“I should have believed you when you told me of your father,” Liwei said. He did not come toward me, and while this new reserve in his manner hurt, it was what I had sought.

“You did not?” Wenzhi’s tone was scathing.

“It seemed improbable even to me,” I said at once.

Liwei ignored him, speaking to me alone. “I am happy for you. I will always be happy for you.”

Was there an additional meaning within his words? Such lies I had told him of Wenzhi, which he had so readily believed—perhaps because he had harbored suspicions from the start. I glanced at Wenzhi, finding his eyes upon me, questioning and bright. Did he wonder at the distance between Liwei and me? If so, it would forever be a mystery, for I would never tell him the truth.

“Why are you here?” I asked Wenzhi.

He shook his head as though disappointed by my question. “Such paltry thanks from you, after I led the Celestial guards away from the eastern gate last night.”

I stared at him. “You did that? You promised you would not interfere.”

He shrugged. “I promised not to follow you. I did not.”

“Did you run into any trouble?” I asked.

“Are you concerned for me, Xingyin?” he tilted his head toward me.

I scowled. “Not in the least. Such a trivial task should be unworthy of your talents.”

“I am glad you think so highly of them.”

As I choked back a rude retort, he smiled. “It was not quite as easy as you would think. These soldiers were far more dedicated to their posts, nor could I enter the Jade Palace in case it roused an alarm. I had to resort to more creative means to draw them away, leading them on a merry chase halfway across the Celestial Kingdom.”

I stifled a flicker of concern for his safety. “Thank you,” I told him, somewhat stiffly.