Page 77 of Immortal

As the Ancient Grandmaster gestured to the tray, the dishes flew to our table: chicken stewed in wild herbs, beans fried with prawns, a whole fish, plump scallops.

I took a little of each dish, suddenly hungry. “What payment do they require?”

“Some spirits are caught between the realms—lost, unable to find their way. They no longer feel, their senses gone. Existing in eternity without aim, their earthly ties severed, their memories extinguished. It can be hollow, despite the peace. It is lonely.” He opened his palm, a flame leaping within. “Here I give them the illusion of the living, a breath of mortality—whether to taste food, to hear music, or sense the warmth of another.”

“They want to be mortal?” I asked, my tone lifting in surprise.

The Ancient Grandmaster closed his hand, the flame dying out. “There is no greater gift. The happiness of a mortal is incandescent. A shame it is so fleeting—though maybe that is why it’s so precious, so perfect, in the moment it exists.”

“Our lives are far from perfect. What of loss, heartache, and grief?” I asked.

His gaze was clear and unwavering. “It means you were loved.”

A sudden wetness surged into my eyes. I blinked, setting down my chopsticks, the emptiness inside me no longer for food.

“I have made you sad,” the Ancient Grandmaster said. “It was not my intent.” He gestured toward the porcelain cups, now filled with a clear liquid. “Drink this. It will improve your mood.”

I took a sip, startled by the sharp tang. A warmth swept across my tongue and glided down my throat like freshly brewed tea. The weight in my chest dispersed, my appetite returning in force.

“Now, eat,” he said. “You’ll have need of it.”

I fell upon the food, resisting the urge to grab a chicken leg with my hands, to cram the rice into my mouth. Somehow, I managed to retain my manners, though part of me feared the food might vanish before I ate my fill.

When I was finally sated, I set down my chopsticks. The Ancient Grandmaster picked up the plate of half-eaten fish and placed it on the floor. Yellow eyes gleamed from a dark corner of the garden—just like those of the beast in the forest, but smaller. A creature padded out: a large white cat with a collar of blue stones. It swished its tail as it approached, ignoring us as it headed toward the fish with single-minded purpose. Was this cat, the beast?

“It was all an illusion,” I said numbly. A trick. A trial. Another immortal game. But it had been real to me, the sweat and blood—the fear that choked me then. I should be angry, yet I could not wholly resent the Ancient Grandmaster. It was his choice how to bestow his favor when so many wanted something from him.

“An illusion implies everything is false.” The gold in his eyes was startlingly bright. “But what matters is how you acted when you believed it was real.” The Ancient Grandmaster inclined his head. “I have a gift for you, Lady of Tianxia.”

He knew who I was; I hadn’t told him. Part of me wanted to refuse. As the Ancient Grandmaster’s guest, courtesy dictated that I should bring him a gift. But I would be stupid to refuse anything he wanted to give me. With the Wuxin a breath from Tianxia—we needed all the help we could get.

My chest tightened at the thought of Zhangwei. “The God of War was meant to accompany me to find you, but we were attacked and separated. Do you know where he is?”

Light glinted off the Ancient Grandmaster’s hair. “He will come.”

He spoke with such assurance, my fears faded. “Thank you.”

“Do you wish to ask anything else?” he asked.

“I came here because we needed help, Honored Immortal,” I began haltingly. I’d imagined it would be Zhangwei asking this, but the task had fallen to me. “The Wuxin sealed the skies and attacked my home. Without the immortals’ protection, countless lives in Tianxia are at risk. I would be grateful if you could send word to Queen Caihong, informing her of this danger, and requesting her aid on our behalf.”

He nodded. “I will ask the spirits to help. They have ways of traveling that are closed to the rest of us.”

I hesitated, ashamed to ask for more, but I plunged onward. “Honored Immortal, could you undo this spell on the skies? The Wuxin are a grave threat—”

He raised his hand to stop me. “I do not interfere with such matters. My strength is reserved for the care of the Tree of Everlasting Life. There is nothing more important to me in the world.”

Not even our lives? Anger flickered, but I doused it. It was as Zhangwei had warned, but I’d wanted to try. I was not entitled to his aid. I had no right to say one thing was more precious than another, my judgment colored by my own bias.

Before I could reply, the Ancient Grandmaster rose, motioning for me to follow. “Come. This gift I offer you is for you alone.”

The trees around us rustled, the air sweet with the scent of shorn grass and a trace of cloves. A narrow stone path appeared between the trees, leading to a cave. It was dark within, yet as we entered, candles flickered to life. The earthen walls were coarse, the rough ground covered with a carpet that was worn and threadbare yet still gleaming with luster. The path curved until it seemed like we were walking in circles.

Scroll paintings hung from the walls, the earliest ones depicting a plant, from a seedling to the unfurling of its first leaves. As it grew to a young tree in its bloom, a round-faced boy tended to it now. When clusters of white flowers bloomed on the tree, it threw its shade over the boy—now a youth. In one painting, leaves fell in bunches as a man raked them into piles. In another, silver gleamed at the man’s temples as he pruned the twigs—until at last, in the final scroll, the tree bore nothing but silver flowers on its branches. The boy had gone, I noted with a pang, how quickly I’d grown accustomed to seeing him with the tree.

The boy in the painting . . . was he the Ancient Grandmaster? The shape of his face was the same, yet devoid of the marks of his age. Had he lived and died by the tree, and if so, what was he now? A tremor ran through me, not of fear but uncertainty.

The sweetness in the air intensified, the scent of flowers giving way to the richness of cloves. The corridor ended in a clearing—grass creeping over the ground, the ceiling opening to the skies. A tree flowered in the center, crowned with silver-white blossoms. The same tree as in the paintings, except here . . . it was luminous, aglow with an unearthly radiance.