Page 126 of Immortal

Aunt Shou gestured to me. At once, I stepped forward, Zhangwei beside me. As we bowed in greeting, my hands were clammy, my stomach knotted. “Honored Boatman, could you bear us back to the Mortal Realm?”

“There is nowhere I cannot take you, if you both will pay the price.” He pulled out a pair of jade cups that he dipped into the river, now brimming with glistening liquid.

I fought the urge to recoil, the white lock of my hair tingling.

The boatman held out the cups to Zhangwei and me. “The water from the Wangchuan River consumes all memories,” he said. “It gives as much as it takes, offering peace in place of misery—for many of the spirits trapped here suffer from the same thing: a broken heart. Whether a loved one lost, dreams unfulfilled, or betrayal—they are unable to move on, unable to forget.”

“Why would anyone want to forget someone they love?” I asked.

“Memories are cherished when they bear joy, but what if one was never loved in return? What if you lost a loved one in a great tragedy? Wouldn’t it be kinder to forget?” The boatman’s lips stretched into a knowing smile. “These waters are a boon for those who need it, a curse when it is forced. Which will it be for you?”

“All memories have worth,” Zhangwei said. “They form our character, give our lives meaning. Even the parts that hurt.”

The boatman’s hand remained raised, the jade cups gleaming. “If you do not drink, you cannot cross the realms.” There was no cruelty in the harshness of his demand, yet I sensed no kindness in him either. Maybe he had grown numb to it, after all he had seen and heard and done.

He looked at me then, tilting his head to one side. “Who are you—with the waters of the Wangchuan in your veins, yet neither quite mortal nor immortal?”

I lifted my chin. “Why does it matter?”

The boatman paused before he replied, “Two sets of memories exist within you: the mortal and immortal. For you, I will only ask for the payment of the former, in return for safe passage to your realm.”

Ice formed in the pit of my stomach, spreading like a merciless winter. To give up one part of myself . . . it was like being in the Temple of the Crimson Moon again, except without the threat of war on the horizon, the clarity of my path then. In a way, this choice might be harder.

The boatman pushed the cup closer to me, sensing capitulation. How many desperate mortals had he faced? How many proud souls had wept before him? “The choice must be made, here and now. I never make the same offer twice.”

“What of Zhangwei?” I asked the boatman hesitantly. “Will this cover passage for us both?”

“My price remains the same. It did not change for you, just that your situation is unique.” His pale gaze bored into mine like he could see everything inside me. “If your hearts are connected, if you remember him—you will find each other again, whether in the skies or earth.”

As we had. Even as a mortal, without knowing anything of him before—I had fallen in love with him all over again.

“Can we do this?” I asked Zhangwei, still undecided—the sliver of hope the boatman offered, clouded by fear and doubt. “What if you forget me? Us?”

“Even if I do, I will know you once we meet. Wherever we are, my heart will always be yours.” His eyes pierced mine as his knuckles brushed my face. “But I do not want to forget.”

I let my mind drift to our future if I accepted the boatman’s offer. If I yielded my mortal memories, Zhangwei and I could return to our realm together, to be reunited with our families. Even if he forgot me, I would find him again—we would make new memories, building a new future together. It would be a good life, one that might even be worth this sacrifice.

My fingers reached for the cup—then stilled, as my grandfather’s face slipped into my mind. His love for me, how he’d nursed me throughout my illness, protected and fought for my place in Tianxia. How he’d risked everything to save my life. Love was the greatest gift any child could receive, and I had been blessed twice over. Even though my time in the Mortal Realm was fleeting, a ripple in the span of our existence—everything I had undergone there had been real. It had mattered. And how could I relinquish my duty to my people? They were a part of me too, they gave meaning to my life—not just a toy I picked up, then tossed aside when I grew bored.

Sometimes it wasn’t the number of years that gave a bond its significance, but how deeply it marked one’s heart. Grandfather. Chengyin. Even Aunt Shou. These ties were precious, not easily discarded. There were other memories too, those of Zhangwei. Our brief time in my mortal life was as precious to me as the years we’d spent in the skies. I had fallen in love with him again; we were bonded in a way we’d never been before. Our love and sacrifice, joy and hurt—all these were a part of me that I could not, that I would not relinquish.

“I don’t want to forget either,” I said in a low voice.

His strong fingers closed around mine, his eyes dark and tender. “Not a day, an hour, or a single moment with you.”

The warmth—the knowing—that seeped into my chest was as bright and clear as summer. “Honored Boatman, we will not accept your offer. We cannot pay your price.” Even though this decision felt right, it hurt to refuse. “But if there is another way back—”

The boatman shook his head. “The toll must be paid. This is the rule since the start of time.”

Silence fell over us, shadowed by despair.

Aunt Shou stepped forward. “As the ruler of the Netherworld, I ask you for one favor—to allow another to pay their price. In return, you may ask a favor of me, at a time and place of your choosing.”

I stared at her, unable to believe my ears. “Aunt Shou . . . why?” Even if the boatman refused, the fact she’d tried was enough—more so because she wanted me to stay.

“We don’t cage those we love, we set them free,” Aunt Shou said quietly. “Keeping someone against their will isn’t love but selfishness, weighing your happiness above theirs.”

The boatman bowed to her. “A favor from you, Great Lady, is not to be disdained.”