Page 41

I could never have foreseen myself running after him.

It is already too late by the time I appear on the palace grounds, my mind spinning, my heart racing against itself. I do a quick scan of the perimeter, and most of the gleaming landscape is the same as I remember: azure skies, white balustrades, manicured gardens, cranes and phoenixes soaring in gilded engravings. A glittering, sprawling sea of jade and marble. The Celestial Emperor’s palace lies just ahead, rising on three thousand steps, a sacred place even in the home of gods. One of the only places where the lesser gods are expressly forbidden to transport ourselves from a certain point to another—some rituals cannot be avoided, and to climb the steps all the way up and down is to show our respects to the Heavens. There are other laws to be obeyed too. We cannot open the vermilion gates on our own. We cannot move if the Celestial Emperor or crown prince appears; we must bow and wait until they have passed. We cannot touch the carved pillars that stretch up at such a height they disappear inside the wreath of clouds.

The very air around the palace seems to hang heavier, more somber, like a sealed lid—

Until it is broken by loud, startled yells.

I hesitate for a brief second before transporting myself halfway up those steps. Lights flash in the distance beyond the gates, bursts of red and gold streaking through the serenity of the grounds like dancing flames. A wave of crimson light hits the closest pillar, and as I stare, the entire palace quivers, a deep, jagged line running its way down the side and embedding itself into the floor. More cracks form. Another wave. This time, it slices through one of the qilin statues fixed to the roof, which falls as if in slow motion, shattering the ground a few feet away from me upon impact. The foundations groan and waver as if made of water.

I stumble. Catch myself.

Keep moving.

I am not the only one; attendants and royals are fleeing from the center of the chaos, tripping over their feet and bumping roughly against my shoulders in their frantic scramble to save themselves. Debris rains down around us, yellow dust rising through the ruins.

All of it, even worse than I had feared.

I skip over the remaining steps and freeze at the entrance. Inside, the halls leading up to the throne have been transformed into a battleground. The Death God stands on one end, hair whipping his face, robes billowing around him, his dark power radiating from his open palms. His sharp, inhuman features glint with vengeance, the sort of vengeance that promises to tear a man open from limb to limb, to turn a kingdom into rubble. He makes a sharp, cutting motion with his wrist, and another arc of crimson light shoots across the palace at the crown prince.

The prince swerves out of the way at the very last instant, letting the walls behind him take the blow. It cuts straight through, leaving an opening shaped like a crescent moon, revealing a clean slice of the sky on the other side. Prince Junyi glances back at the damage. Wipes the blood from his mouth.

Across from the Death God, he appears the perfect hero, with his gold crown and white cloak and glowing sword, defending the heavenly realm from the sudden intruder. But it is like seeing a performer after they have taken off their painted mask and shed their flowing silks. The illusion is broken. I cannot erase the Death God’s memories, the way that beautifully harmonious, clean-angled face had contorted with cruelty.

“I have waited for this for the past one hundred years,” the Death God calls, his voice echoing over the stones and glass crashing around them. “I will make sure you suffer slowly, as I did.” When he throws out his hand, five blades of light cut through the air at once.

The prince is slow to react; he avoids the first four by leaning far back, but the last blade slices into the shoulder of his robes before cracking open the pillar to his left. He hisses. Blood spreads, fast and vivid as spilled ink, trickling down his arm. He pays it little attention; he is already raising his other arm to attack.

They should be almost matched in power, except the Death God is visibly advancing, the burning red light pushing back the gold. It’s a bizarre sight, like watching the sun wage war against the moon. And it’s happening because of me.

Stop this, a voice urges inside my head. The palace is trembling so violently it is a miracle it hasn’t caved in by now, but it will, soon. All those gold-threaded hangings, tumbling down. All those chairs and sculptures, toppling over.

Only, I am rooted to the spot, unable to make up my mind—who do I stop? Who do I help? The right answer should be obvious. On one side is the beloved prince of the Celestial Realm, the god celebrated for his benevolence and charm, who ought to protect me. On the other side is the reviled god of the underworld, who has made clear countless times his intention to kill me.

As I look between them, heavy footsteps pound the floors.

“Rujia? Is that you?”

I whirl around to find Yuemo and Hanchen at the doors, other officials following close behind them. They’re both holding their swords, ready to intervene, their expressions flitting through shock and confusion and relief within the span of a second.

“How did you manage to escape?” Yuemo demands. He is the first to step forward, scanning me up and down as if to ensure that he has not stumbled across some impostor wearing my face. “Are you all right? Has he hurt you?”

“We kept trying to reach you,” Hanchen adds, shaking his head in bewilderment. “But your dream realm was too weak—”

“I know,” I say hurriedly, my thoughts spinning too fast for me to keep up. “I will explain later, I promise, but I’m fine now . . .”

A sudden commotion snaps my gaze back to the fight. The Death God and the crown prince are locked together on the other side of the palace, where half of the wall has crumbled. My eyes widen in horror as a beam of gold shoots out from the crown prince’s palms—straight at the Death God.

The Death God sidesteps the attack, but the beam hits the locked gates behind him. The gates to the Mortal Realm.

Time seems to stop.

At first, I hold on to the foolish hope that nothing will happen. Even though the gods who carry the Celestial Emperor’s blood are the only ones who can open the vortex to the realms below, there might still be a chance that the crown prince hadn’t used enough force, or his powers might have missed the lock itself—

Then the gates start trembling. With a deafening crack like thunder, the lock shatters, and the gates are flung wide open. Behind them, dark gray clouds swirl in a vortex, sucking everything toward it, the force of it so strong I can feel the pull even from here, the air tugging at my skirts and my hair. It is like the past has clawed its way back to me. The scene is almost exactly as I remember. I can see my parents standing there in that same place, one step away from losing everything, from suffering all the miseries known to mankind. The misery of birth; of death; of sickness; of old age; of losing the ones you love; of wanting something you can never have. And I can see myself, younger, weaker, knowing what lay ahead for them and screaming my throat raw while guards pinned me back.

My mother, turning her head a bare inch, the only movement the glowing ropes around her neck would allow. Her gaze, falling fast on me.

Make us proud.