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Her whip descended upon my head, crackling ropes of flame unfurling. My energy surged forth, crafting a barrier of wind that slammed between us. Fire thrashed against the translucent surface, the goddess baring her teeth as she channeled more of her power, the heat intensifying. Cracks rippled through my shield like cobwebs, flickers of flame bursting through, the pain almost blinding. I staggered back, digging my heels in as I sealed the shield’s cracks, panting from the strain. As Lady Xihe snarled, her palms aglow with crimson light—I tensed for another blow—but then she stilled, slanting her head back as though listening for something.

A radiance shimmered behind her, the dark vanishing with its approach. As the goddess spun around, the hilt of her whip fell from her hand.

“My daughter,” she whispered, crouching down to sweep her into her arms.

The sunbird was the size of a gourd, with great solemn eyes. Where the phoenix was a rainbow of color, the sunbird was fire incarnate. Three legs were tucked beneath her body, the rich vermilion of a sunset, while her yellow plumage emanated a radiant glow. At her crest, a single feather curled—of deepest crimson edged with gold, as dazzling as the heart of a flame.

Lady Xihe hugged the sunbird tightly, murmuring to her in a language I did not know. Tears streamed down her face, visible only when she looked up. Muffled sobs fell from her in an aching rhythm—even after all these decades, her pain was still raw. The sunbird craned her neck, nuzzling her mother as though used to such violent outbursts.

The lone child in her arms, the vulnerability of the great goddess in her misery … how I ached at the sight. Blood oozed from my wounds, my torn flesh afire—yet it was nothing to their suffering that no magic in the world could heal. Only time might ease it, and even then, immortal memories were eternal.

Without knowing what I was doing, I dropped to my knees on the ground. Straightening my back, I stretched my arms out before me, folding over to press my brow to the floor. Not in some contrived plea for mercy, but because from the bottom of my heart, I regretted her pain—that we were inexorably linked by the death of her children. I did not speak, for no words could capture the enormity of their loss, the grief I felt for them.

A stillness fell over us. Something rustled, the sunbird gliding toward me, sheathing me in its luminous warmth. As her somber gaze met mine, part of me recoiled, fearing an attack—yet the sunbird’s eyes were gentle and knowing, brimming with untold sorrow. Spreading her wings wide, she bowed her head. The crimson feather fell from her crown, its shaft pulsing like liquid flame, an incandescent white. My spirits leapt, though I dared not presume the sunbird’s intent—until her curved claw pushed the feather toward me.

“I … thank you.” Such simple words for this priceless gift, and yet there was nothing more apt. The sunbird’s generosity moved me deeply, and I resolved to be worthy of her gift.

“Its true power lies in its shaft. Plant it at the source of your target’s might. Now, take it. Leave,” Lady Xihe said in a hollow voice. “I will not harm you further, nor will I give you aid. Do not test my mercy again; it died the day I lost my children.”

She gathered the sunbird tenderly in her arms, striding away without a backward glance. The doors closed after her, the wind chime quivering in a mournful melody. Though they had gone, along with their light, darkness was kept at bay by the blaze of the feather before me. I reached out to take it, halting, as the heat surged forth in shimmering waves, as though its full might had been unleashed only after it had been plucked. I wove a shell of hardened air around it, then slipped it into my pouch. The enchantment would not hold, the heat already thawing the barrier—a strain to keep it intact, yet preferable to being burnt to cinders.

Sinking onto my heels, I trembled from the emotions colliding within me—relief layered with remorse, sunken by a bone-deep weariness. I was not so presumptuous as to think Lady Xihe had forgiven us; these wounds went too deep. But perhaps we had come to an understanding of sorts, and I hoped with all my heart that mother and child might find their happiness again.

I healed my wounds as well as I could, though my body still ached from the ordeal. Only then did I leave the grove, the wings of the entrance closing after me, the carved feathers weaving together into a tight embrace. Wenzhi was pacing outside, alone—the tautness in his expression easing at the sight of me.

“Has Liwei not returned?” I asked.

As Wenzhi shook his head, light flared from my pouch, a sudden heat scorching me. The enchantment around the feather was weakening. I thrust my hand into my pouch, my thumb brushing the scalding surface of the sphere, my energy flowing to seal the fractures. Despite the warmth which permeated this place, a shiver ran through my flesh. I sank onto the ground, almost trembling from exhaustion.

Wenzhi shrugged off his outer robe, draping it over my shoulders. My eyes darted up to meet his, my face flushing against my will. I looked away, at his robe instead, a dark gray silk embroidered with clouds. A memory drifted into my mind of the last time he had done this—on the rooftop of the Jade Palace when we had pledged ourselves to each other … before his treachery tore us apart.

Never again, I swore to myself, discarding his robe. We were allies now, friends, perhaps—but no matter these uncertain murmurings of my heart, I would never allow myself to be his pawn again. Trust, once broken, was impossible to restore; the cracks remained even when glazed anew.

Wenzhi’s eyes were a forbidding gray. “Did Lady Xihe hurt you?”

As another wave of heat slipped free from the orb, I winced. “No, it’s the feather. It burns.”

“Let me help.”

As I dug it from my pouch, he plucked the sphere from my grasp. A relief to yield it to another, even as I resisted the urge to snatch it back. The sight of the feather in Wenzhi’s hand reminded me uncomfortably of the pearls he had once taken. The feather seethed with fire, its barbs quivering like they were alive. As Wenzhi lifted it up to examine it, a streak of flame surged from within, piercing the barrier to strike his shoulder. He did not flinch, his grip tightening around the sphere, light flowing from his fingers to wrap the orb in frost.

My eyes followed the feather in his hand as he sat down beside me. Before I could demand its return, he held it out to me. The orb was cool to my touch as I slipped it back into my pouch, knotting the cords.

“Thank you,” I said stiffly. “For shielding me earlier. For … this.”

“It was the least I could do when you bore the brunt of facing Lady Xihe.” His voice dropped dangerously low. “What did she do to you?”

I did not reply, glancing at his wound from the feather, the skin a mottled red. “Does it hurt?”

A small smile played across his lips. “Are you concerned for me?”

I shrugged, feigning indifference. “No. It would be an inconvenience if you died.”

“An inconvenience,” he repeated slowly. “Such unfeeling words.”

I would not be baited into a reply, turning to stare at the grove. An unearthly radiance emanated from the trees, the mulberries blazing like they were afire. Their light rippled through the night, brushing the sky with crimson and rose. Soon, Lady Xihe and her daughter would be mounting their chariot.

Wenzhi leaned back against a tree, his eyelids drooping shut. He rarely showed signs of discomfort. Had the feather’s power caused some internal injury? The marks across his shoulder were as glossy as melted wax. I frowned, unable to stop myself from reaching out to inspect them. As I halted, wary of causing discomfort—Wenzhi’s palm swept up, pressing my hand to his chest.