Page 103 of Immortal

Only now did I recall how I’d argued passionately against him, wanting to go instead. He was hurt more than me from the attack; for once, I was stronger than him. While Zhangwei usually yielded to my choices even if they went against his own—when my life was at stake, he became domineering, ruthless, and stubborn. The foe I must outmatch.

“I did not agree,” I reminded him. “Your injuries were worse than mine. I was afraid you wouldn’t survive the transformation, that you’d die before the lotus even bloomed. It was safer for you to remain with our healers, sustained by the magic of our realm. Don’t forget, the curse carried over into our mortal forms, too.” The constant fatigue, the deep cold—only dissipating after I took the lotus.

His face darkened. “And so you went instead.”

Our last night together blazed through my mind. We’d been in his home, in the courtyard that had been forbidden to me. “The South Courtyard was mine,” I murmured in wonder. “All this time, you kept my things just as I’d left them.”

“I would let no one touch what belonged to you,” he said. “All that is mine is yours.”

The courtyard had been our haven, away from the demands of duty. No one disturbed us there, none daring to incur the God of War’s wrath. We had played weiqi in our room, eaten our meals in the garden. I had read while he played the qin. And at night, we’d slept entwined. There were also quieter moments of simple companionship, the kind when your soul is at peace, when your heart is whole. When you want nothing more from life . . . content to simply exist. This was how I felt when he was with me.

“I couldn’t let you enter the courtyard because I was afraid it would jolt your memory too early. It was also why parts of your mother’s palace were closed to you,” he explained. “I didn’t expect your mount to break free of its restraints to chase you the day we visited the Phoenix Kingdom.”

The qilin. Recognition struck now: Red Storm had been my faithful qilin since my youth. No wonder Zhangwei had not wanted to hurt her. How loyal she was, helping me flee. How I wished she were here now.

“Once you entered the South Courtyard, it became too dangerous for you to remain at my home. Your mother wanted you back at the palace. A pity, as I’d planned a different courtship.”

“Was Mother very angry—about this, about my leaving?” I asked tentatively, like I was a child once more, afraid of her disapproval.

“More shocked and scared, than angry,” he replied.

A half-smile. “She must have been glad to punish me that day on the Dragon Platform.”

“Never think that,” he said solemnly. “She did everything she could to protect you.”

Something weighed on my mind, unsettling me. The stories I’d heard of her from my people and the Wuxin . . . I had always known she was ambitious but never truly understood its cost. “Mother can be harsh but isn’t cruel. Why did she inflict suffering on the mortals?”

“When Her Majesty lost your father and then you—those were dark days. As the years passed and we found no trace of you, she began to wonder if the mortals were plotting against us. She was furious, unable to control her temper and grief—spilling forth, often without intent to harm. But the slightest shift in the weather in our kingdom bore drastic repercussions upon Tianxia. Something we should have been more aware and careful of, yet our efforts were focused on finding you.”

Mother had not meant it . . . yet those actions had spawned cruel consequences. Many lives had been lost, much suffering wreaked. This should not have happened—and as long as I was the Lady of Tianxia, I would fight to offer my people a better future. How it also hurt that Grandfather had died out of fear of my mother’s reprisal. Guilt stabbed me that both, in their own way, had just been trying to save me. I would never forget Grandfather’s sacrifice; I would honor all my family for the rest of my days.

“I swore to my grandfather that I’d keep our kingdom safe. This vow is as precious to me now as it was then.” Such bonds tethered our lives, gave it meaning. And I couldn’t help wondering whether I’d have felt the same had I not lived a mortal’s existence—where time mattered, the legacy one left behind.

My hands curled. “Mortal lives are as vital as ours; they cannot be sacrificed upon a whim. Tianxia must be free.”

“I know,” Zhangwei assured me. “I remember all my promises to you.”

It was what he’d told me before, the true meaning of his words sinking in. All he’d suffered for me . . . no one would ever love me like he did. How hard it must have been for him to pretend indifference, hiding his hurt that I’d forgotten him, that I seemed to no longer love him. The heart could not be guided, forced, or coerced. Love and hate could not be taught.

“That day on the Dragon Platform, the punishment inflicted on you was real.” I flinched at the memory. “Your wounds, your suffering—why?”

He sighed. “I’m not proud of it, but it seemed the surest way to win your heart. Time was running out. You had already taken the lotus, you’d entered our courtyard—we only had one chance.”

And he was dying.

“You were too guarded around me,” he continued. “Resentful of what had happened in Tianxia. I had to make you see me in a new light—to help you find your way back to me.”

I remembered how he’d looked the night I left, sleeping so peacefully. I had brushed the hair from his face, drinking in his features, imprinting them in my mind. Soon, I would forget. His eyes had flicked open, his instincts for danger ever acute—but I was prepared. My magic had surged, locking him in an enchantment, and it worked only because he was severely weakened, because I knew him so well. His eyes had blazed furiously, but I was doing it for him.

The God of War protected the realms, but all I wanted was to keep him safe.

“Wait for me. Find me,” I had told him. “No matter where I am or who I become, my heart will always be yours.”

I had forced myself to walk away then—one of the hardest things I’d ever done. Outside, I’d summoned a cloud, then flew to the Celestial Kingdom. As the Jade Palace loomed ahead, dread had sunk over me. What if our plan failed? What if they couldn’t find me? What if I could never return?

I’d pried away the claws of fear. At least Zhangwei would be safe. When the Divine Pearl Lotus blossomed, he could take it then. He would guard our realm, our memories, my mother—even if I could not. But I would return; I had to believe it.

I’d made my way to the north of the Jade Palace, where the chasm lay, how immortals were sent to the realm below with the permission of the Celestial Emperor. One of the soldiers there had frowned at the sight of me. “You’re early. It’s not yet dawn, as scheduled for your descent.”