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She studied him with an intensity that made his breathing quicken. He had never felt so vulnerable. His skin was raw, delicate, his neck prickling with heightened awareness of his own body and hers, only inches from him. He was utterly powerless, at her mercy, but the sensation that shivered through him was closer to faith than fear. He trusted her. She would not destroy him, but if she wanted to, he would allow it. If she wanted to use him, he would become the bridge beneath her feet. If she wanted to hurt someone else, he would make himself a knife. And if she wanted to hurt him, he would not flinch away. That was the point. Everything that happened from here on would be of her choosing, within her control.

“Anything?” she repeated, leaning forward.

He nodded, his throat too tight for words.

Her lips brushed his ear as she took the ribbon, and all the warmth in the room seemed to gather underneath his skin when she whispered, “Close your eyes.”

He was watching the moon.

It glowed particularly bright that evening, milky white and round as a pearl set on dark blue silks. The moon was always larger in the Celestial Realm, its shape so clean you could see every shadow and crater in its luminous surface, floating just over the clouds. But oddly, he found it more beautiful when he gazed upon it from down below. That was truer than ever, now that he had to go.

He had said goodbye to Ziyan earlier, and though she hadn’t asked for more time, he had been so dangerously tempted to offer it. But he had stayed here for five days already. His father would be searching for him soon.

As he walked down the street, prepared to disappear beneath the next lantern-light, he sensed something that made his footsteps halt at once.

Divinity.

Another god was here.

He tensed, his skin tingling. This aura—he didn’t recognize it immediately, yet it seeped through everything like poison. It was so cold that it sucked the heat out of summer, that the air itself seemed to quiver. The shadows from the surrounding houses lengthened, spreading their fingers across the cracked pavement. A crow startled from the maidenhair tree, its black wings flapping in a frenzy. All other sounds died down: the creaking windows, the chirping crickets, the rustle of night creatures skittering through the bushes, the distant howl of an infant. The moon dipped behind the clouds. The stars winked out.

And from the darkness, the Death God appeared.

Junyi wasn’t sure how to proceed. The lines were murky, without any precedents to guide the way. The Death God would not need to bow to him as they were equals in a sense; Junyi was in power in the Celestial Realm, and the Death God was in power in the Night Realm. Fleeing from the scene would be undignified. Greeting him would be uncomfortable for them both and would risk leading to unwanted conversation. Ignoring him would be simplest, but perhaps too pointed, considering they were both staring at each other.

He knew that many hated the Death God. Privately, Junyi saw no reason for hatred; the other god hadn’t taken anything from him. But he could see why people found the Death God a disturbing figure, why he’d inspired all those dreadful tales. His face was emotionless, his eyes an unsettling black.

The silence had dragged on for too long, forcing Junyi’s mouth open. “Hello,” he said, his voice measured. Not friendly, and not hostile.

The Death God reacted with the barest surprise, concealed so well that had Junyi not devoted most of his life to reading the expressions of others, he would have missed it. Then he turned his head toward Ziyan’s cottage. “The mortal woman inside,” he said. “Do you know her?”

Junyi’s mouth dried. Was this a threat? A trick to uncover a weakness? Would the Death God tell someone who he’d been sneaking off to find?

The Death God did not wait for his reply. In the same cool tone, he continued as he brushed past Junyi’s shoulder, “She will not live very long, just so you know.”

It came like a thunderclap.

Junyi twisted around, blood filling his ears.

“What are you talking about?” he asked sharply, forgetting himself, forgetting everything, the realms and their roles and the rules that governed the universe. His mind held on to nothing but her name.

“No mortal lives long, of course,” the Death God said, moving onward through the night. “But her life will be even shorter than others. I’ll be coming back to collect her soul soon enough.”

“That’s not true,” Junyi said. There was an unbearable ringing noise building inside his skull. He shook his head, but it wouldn’t go away. “That’s not— You must be mistaken. You’re talking about someone else.”

“When it comes to death,” the god said, “I am never mistaken.”

“No,” Junyi choked out. “No—”

“You may choose whether or not to believe it, but you cannot change the ending.”

The Death God was leaving, as if he had not cleaved open Junyi’s world with a few unfeeling words. She couldn’t die. She couldn’t. Of course he hadn’t forgotten that Ziyan was a mortal. The thought haunted him in every moment, in every place. There was a part of him that was already grieving her. He could not taste joy without the aftertaste of sorrow. Time, which he’d long taken for granted as gods did, had become the greatest terror, beating at his bones. Only the other day, she had scratched her finger on a needle, and he hadn’t been able to stop himself from rushing to her side, to ignore the panic churning in his stomach, the voice that whispered: For a mortal, even a tiny cut can be fatal. But that was when he’d assumed that if he protected her well enough, there would be decades left. Yet, if the Death God were telling the truth, what did he have now? Too little. Nothing. He was choking on his fear, a fear so immense it was like sinking miles underwater, suffocating in the black depths, a fear that made all other fears insignificant.

You cannot change the ending.

But he would change it, he swore to himself as he took in shaking, heaving breaths. He was Crown Prince Junyi. He was the god of everything, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep her alive, nobody he wouldn’t sacrifice.

Yet the ending remained the same.