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“What do you mean?” I demanded.

He fell silent, weighing his reply; he rarely spoke without calculation. “In the Mortal Realm, there once lived a king,” he said at last. “A great conqueror, a shrewd politician, a brave warrior—who was afraid of nothing in the world but his death. After he had vanquished all his enemies, he spent the rest of his days seeking the Elixir of Immortality.”

He spoke with the rhythmic cadences of a storyteller, drawing me in against my will. “This king, so courageous, was so terrified of death that he built an army to protect him in the afterlife. For decades, countless workers toiled to craft thousands of clay soldiers. Each was molded and shaped from yellow clay, carved with their own distinct features, fired in the kilns, then painted and glazed. The perfect army, who would awaken to defend their monarch against all enemies, even in the afterlife.”

“What use is an army of clay against death?” A shudder ran through me as I imagined all that suffering to satisfy one man’s boundless arrogance and futile fear.

Wugang tucked his chin between his fingers. “Ah, you speak as a lofty immortal who never had to dread such things.”

“I have faced death.” Our eyes locked, an itch crawling across the scars on my chest. After all, it was he who had incited the emperor to attack me.

“Not the same way. All mortals—peasant, warrior, or king—are born knowing a single, inexorable truth. That no matter how glorious or pathetic their existence, they will die. Whether through illness, war, or accident is of no consequence, for the end is the same.”

He continued in that condescending manner as though this were a lesson, one I had not asked for. I let him speak. Wugang was so closemouthed; this was a rare opportunity to unpick the twisted workings of his mind, to uncover any weakness we might exploit.

“For your kind, death is not inevitable. It’s a choice, a gamble, the path you set on. I thank the mortal king for his vision. For inspiring … this.” His arms spread wide to encompass the soldiers. “There were darker rumors, too, that the emperor’s own soldiers were entombed alive within those shells of clay. Who would ever know? The tomb is long lost. I am no monster. I sought not the living to build my army, but the spirits of the deceased.” An avid light shone in his eyes. “A pity you did not yield the dragons’ pearls to the former Celestial Emperor. They would have made a remarkable addition to my army, after they met their end in his service.”

I went cold inside. My hand involuntarily strayed to my pouch, to the Long Dragon’s scale, but I pulled it back. I would not expose the dragons to Wugang’s sinister schemes.

Liwei’s hands were clenched, his mouth set into a hard line. “You have violated every principle of honor. The dead should be left in peace, a rule as old as our realm itself.”

“Honor?” The word burst from Wugang’s lips. “What of my wife making a mockery of our union? The craven immortal bedding her behind my back? When I finally avenged my honor—was it fair of your father to play that cruel trick upon me, turning me into the laughingstock of his court?” He held up his scarred palms. “I have long learned that honor is not worth the having. Nor is love, for that matter.”

Despite his seeming indifference, his voice broke—was it with grief? I would feel no pity for him. Whatever had befallen him, he alone had made the choices that came after. He had killed Ping’er, destroyed my home, enslaved immortal spirits to create an army of the dead. His suffering was no excuse for the evil he had spawned.

“Why do this?” I asked as steadily as I could. “You have had your vengeance; your wife and her lover are dead. Why not build a new life instead of destroying everything?”

“They are not dead,” he muttered, as though speaking to himself. “Their cries ring through my mind. They will not leave me in peace. How shameful, that I loved someone so unworthy. Who thought me so great a fool, so worthless, that I would accept the crumbs of her affection as she stamped my pride into the ground.”

I was no stranger to the agonies of heartache, the bitterness that lurked, eager to flourish. “Love is a privilege, not a possession. We can’t control our own feelings, much less those of others. Sometimes love means letting go—for yourself, if not for them.”

“The answer of a fool.” Wugang’s laugh rang hollow. “I am the Celestial Emperor now. All will kneel to me, and none will dare scorn me again.”

I shuddered from the ferocity in his expression. He was mad, I thought. And if not, he was on the cusp of it. There was nothing left to anchor him, to sway him from ruin. Even when the lines across his face smoothed away, calm coating him like glaze over porcelain—it was a thin veneer, liable to crack under the slightest pressure.

Wugang’s gaze shifted to someone behind me. “Houyi, the Slayer of the Suns. It gladdens me to see you.”

My father glanced at the soldiers surrounding us. “I cannot say the same for you.”

Wugang’s lips twitched into the semblance of a smile. “A chance to alter the course of the future lies before us. Don’t you want vengeance on those who schemed against you? Acknowledge me as emperor, swear to me your fealty and that of your family—and I will grant you dominion over the Four Seas.” His voice softened, growing intimate. “Us of the realm below must cleave together. Who else might we trust? Certainly not those who treated us as playthings for their entertainment, blessing or cursing us upon a whim.”

When my father said nothing, Wugang continued, “Are you not grateful that I reunited you with your wife?”

Beside me, my mother stiffened. “You sent the note?”

Wugang nodded somberly. “It gave me much satisfaction to play a part in your reunion.”

“You did it to further your own ends, to cast my mother into disfavor so you could seize our home,” I seethed, half-fearing that Wugang’s words might resonate with my father—mortal until yesterday, decades of resentment roiling in his gut for being played false by the Celestial Emperor. But even if my father were inclined to form an alliance with Wugang … the woodcutter would remain my eternal enemy.

“I will not join you. I do not care for your methods,” my father said bluntly. “Attacking my wife and daughter. Murdering their beloved friend. Desecrating the resting place of the deceased. Some boundaries should never be crossed.”

“You disappoint me.” Venom slicked Wugang’s tone. “I believed you a great man from the legends—ambitious, ruthless, sharp. A true blade, honed to perfection. And now, I find you blunted and dulled. As pitiful as those mortals you lived among, burdened by false morality and useless emotion. Once you wielded the power of the dragons—you could have crushed your enemies, challenged the Celestial Emperor, seized the reins of the realm. Except you chose a life in isolation, leaving yourself vulnerable. No wonder greatness eluded you then. No wonder it eludes you still. Your name might be known, but do you wield any real power? Love has made you weak.”

Anger seared my veins. I would have lunged forward, but my father’s touch on my arm halted me.

“I fight my own battles.” He faced Wugang, his back pulled straight. “We each choose the path we walk. For myself, I choose my family instead of those mindless troops you surround yourself with. No honest soldier will follow you, for you have the heart of a coward—striking in the dark, afraid of dissent, craving obedience when you did nothing to earn it. You created this army because you cannot win the allegiance of the living. While they will never betray you, neither will they ever respect, honor, or love you.”

Wugang’s lip curled. “Spoken like a mortal in the winter of his life, a retired soldier ready to hang up his sword. Your wife and child are your burden to bear. Fortunately, I have none to weaken me. If you will not join me, you must surrender. If you are not my ally, you are my enemy.”