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To complete the ritual, to become one of them.

I jerked back in horror. “Impossible.”

It should be, the mirror agreed. The way it spoke, so dispassionately, eased some of my suspicion. Except they found a way. You are no ordinary mortal, your spirit from the realm in the skies.

I froze, certain I’d heard wrong. In the silence, it continued: You were immortal. You are mortal now. What you will become—that is yet to be determined.

“I was immortal?” I repeated in disbelief. “What of my life in Tianxia? My family there? Was everything false?” My words tripped out as I tried to piece everything together, all I knew . . . at least, all I thought I’d known. The one thing I held on to was my memory of Grandfather—he was real, as was his love and care for me.

One truth does not cancel out the other. Just because one element is real, doesn’t make the other false.

These words calmed me. It didn’t matter how something had begun, but what it had grown into. “Why don’t I recall any of this—of my immortal life? Why only now?”

As a mortal, you wouldn’t remember anything of your life before; these memories are only restored once you regain your immortality. But entering the temple and looking into my depths, reveals who you are meant to be.

My head was spinning. Was this a dream or a nightmare? For some inexplicable reason . . . it felt right. Memories were trickling into my mind, those I couldn’t decipher, like reading a book in a language I didn’t understand—that I desperately wanted to.

I knelt beside the mirror. “Please tell me what happened. I can’t decide if I don’t know what this means.”

A sigh rustled, the waters rippling. During the war, the Wuxin cast a powerful curse over their enemies—including you, the immortal daughter of the queen they hated. For the cure, you had to become mortal.

“Because of the Divine Pearl Lotus,” I whispered.

Once it had been harvested, once you’d been cured—they’d planned to restore your immortality. Except the Wuxin’s poison concealed you from the immortals, leaving your core vulnerable. The Wuxin were able to stake a claim on you in your mortal form, by feeding you the waters of the Wangchuan River. This would have secured your transformation had you come here without the blessing from the Tree of Everlasting Life, or if the immortals had attempted to restore you without it. You would have lost your memories forever then, your immortal self, erased.

My heart was racing—fear and grief, anger and relief bound up and tangled. If I weren’t kneeling, I would have fallen. I should be lost, yet there was a clarity in my mind that hadn’t existed before, like a fog had dispersed. Pieces were falling into place, those that had never quite fit together, of unanswered questions and unexplained coincidences: my weakness and unabating chill that were a remnant of the Wuxin’s attack, why Aunt Shou had given me the waters of death. Even Queen Caihong’s behavior when I’d met her—and what of Zhangwei? He’d been poisoned too; had we been attacked together? I shrank away, my mind clouding suddenly as I wrestled with these revelations.

“Why did the Wuxin want to do this to me? Why transform me into one of them?” I asked.

A pause. Who knows the desires that dictate such action? Maybe it was vengeance—to steal the queen’s heir after they’d lost theirs? Or maybe it’s because the key to the gateway lies in your heritage, in the power you possess.

It had never been about the Divine Pearl Lotus after all—they just didn’t want the God of War to have it, to be healed. All this time, the Wuxin had only wanted me. Dalian’s promise of vengeance made sense now: I’d been one part of his vile plan—the other, to destroy my realm.

“What happens now?” I asked.

That depends on which path you choose.

More riddles, more unanswered questions. The urge to lash out swelled, except the mirror was not my enemy. Those harbored far more devious and cruel hearts, and I would never let them win.

I will reveal my secrets only once. Will you learn your destiny and claim your fate—or remain in endless ignorance?

In the pond, my reflection quivered, breaking apart into two distinct forms, side by side. They no longer followed my movements, remaining still, as though frozen. Fear hovered, yet I cast it aside. No longer would I be afraid.

Slowly, I lifted my head. A deep sense of purpose filled me, laced with foreboding and anticipation. “Show me what you will.”

35

The water glittered as the twin reflections of me lowered their heads in an eerie greeting—one I returned as I folded into a bow. The reflection on the left fragmented, sinking into the dark depths. The remaining image tilted her head to the side. Her hair gleamed, morphing into the silvery-white of the Wuxin, the copper rings shining in her eyes—the reflection I’d seen when I first looked into the pond. Her smile sent a shiver through me, a stranger’s, sharp and almost predatory—then the waters churned, breaking the reflection.

“Wait.” I reached out to her. Though she frightened me a little, she was me, and I didn’t want her to go.

The ripples stilled abruptly, the surface a clear mirror once more. A scene formed: the dark silhouette of the mountain against the radiant sky of the Netherworld. Hundreds of pale boats glided across the Wangchuan River, halting before a narrow stretch of land. Something shimmered in the distance: a white marble archway against obsidian stone, draped with thick vines. Was this the gateway that led to Kunlun? As my reflection strode forward, a roar went up from among the Wuxin. Light gleamed from my fingers, the vines of the gateway falling away, the shimmering wall vanishing—leaving the path to Tianxia unhindered.

“No.” My hands clenched until they hurt. “You don’t want this.” Of course she couldn’t hear me. Illusion or prophecy, this was not real . . . not yet. There was still a chance to stop this.

My reflection showed neither doubt nor remorse, watching coldly as the Wuxin marched through the opening. The mirror shifted to span a vast field, bordered by a river, the red wall of Tianxia gleaming in the horizon. A battle was underway between the Wuxin and the mortals. Aunt Shou fought beside my reflection, along with Lord Dalian and Captain Rao. Captain Li led the Tianxia troops, her face streaked with blood. My image raised her sword, cutting through my own soldiers without remorse—those who’d have given their lives to protect me. How heartless this manifestation was. Did she not remember? Or maybe to her, the mortals stood in her people’s way. I hated her; in that moment I hated myself. This was an uneven battle, cruel and unjust. Where were the immortals? Were the skies still sealed? Without them, it was a massacre—the Wuxin overcoming the mortals with ease, their weapons and magic scattering my people like sand. As they wept and screamed, some pleading for mercy—the Wuxin fought with greater vigor, their movements swifter, their magic shining brighter.

“Monsters.” My eyes were damp as I struck the ground in frustration, cutting my knuckles. I forced myself to keep looking at the reflection, though my stomach roiled. I had to see this through; I had to end it.