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We reach land sometime in the ghost hours of the night: rocky shores overgrown with pines and mulberry trees. I know in my bones we are back in the mortal realm; there is dirt and grime, the trees are imperfect and crooked, and the landscape lacks the ethereal perfection and soft radiance of the immortal realm. Here, everything is duller in color, solid and still and dusty.

Real, whispers a voice in my head.

I shake it off, the memory of Yù’chén dissolving into the darkness.

The candidates are exhausted. With Yán’lù gone, the remainder of the candidates are quiet and cooperative. There is an air of camaraderie, of mutual interest, between us, now that we are no longer competing in the trials—now that we are all equally prey.

Now that another realm might fall.

Deep in the forest, when we are certain we are far enough from the borders of the Kingdom of Sky, we stop. We agree on taking shifts so we can rest: Lì’líng and Tán’mù take first watch. Meadowsweet, back in her form as a white horse, settles down by Lì’líng’s side, and the girl snuggles against the dragonhorse. Tán’mù leans against a tree. Her face is drawn with exhaustion, but she gazes at Lì’líng with tenderness.

I turn to Hào’yáng. His hand is on the hilt of his sword, and he faces the direction of the ocean, toward the night skies and the clouds beyond which sits his home of nearly ten years. He catches me watching him and says, “You should rest.”

I’d like nothing more than to sleep, but my mind is buzzing from all that has happened. “I should,” I agree.

“But you can’t,” he finishes for me.

I shake my head.

“Walk with me,” he says.

I fall into step by his side. Out of habit, my hand strays to my collarbone to touch my jade pendant—and I realize it’s gone.

Panic rises, sharp against my throat. Hào’yáng casts me a swift look.

I swallow. It’s silly, since I know I will no longer need it, but I somehow feel unmoored without its familiar weight against my chest. “My jade pendant,” I explain to Hào’yáng. “I left it back at the Temple of Dawn.”

Hào’yáng’s gaze flicks to the hollow of my throat. Then, wordlessly, he reaches up and slips off his own pendant and proffers it to me.

“I won’t need it any longer,” he says, reading my silence. “You’re here now. Take mine if it lends you comfort.”

His half of the jade pendant glimmers as I take it and tie it around my neck. It settles against my throat, still warm. I curl my fingers around it, rubbing a thumb against its unfamiliar edges—edges that are a perfect complement to my own pendant. “Thank you.”

Slivers of the skies show through the canopy of fine willow leaves, and the salty tang of the ocean begins to weave in the breeze.

We break through the line of trees to the sound of waves crashing against the shore. This beach is nothing like the white sand beach where we trained in the sun. Here, the shore is rocky, gritty, and strewn with fallen leaves and twigs.

But the ocean is the same.

The sky is beginning to lighten to gray, hints of an imminent dawn seeping into this realm.

“Forgive me, àn’yīng,” Hào’yáng says, breaking the silence between us. “So much of the pain in your life was caused by my existence.” His gaze is set straight ahead, his tone light, but I can tell from the way his fingers tighten around the hilt of his sword that this is important to him. “Had your father not pulled me from the wreckage of the Imperial City that day, he would still be alive. You would not have been involved in any of this.”

I stop and turn to Hào’yáng, and he mirrors my movements. The ocean wind stirs our hair and clothes, the faint light of the impending day limning his broad shoulders and white-and-gold uniform. I find myself thinking of the legends of gods and dragons, of how they blessed the mortal emperor’s lineage with their magic. And I find, as I gaze at Hào’yáng, that he is no stranger, no distant prince. That all along, I’ve seen the traces of my boy in the jade in this man.

I clasp one hand to the pendant at my throat and reach toward him with my other, daring myself to be bold. “May I?” I ask.

He says nothing. Instead, he simply leans forward slightly, dipping his face toward me. I close my eyes and let my fingers fall on his cheeks. I allow myself to slip back into the frightened, lonely girl of these nine years, hiding in the dark and dreaming of meeting her guardian in the jade. My hands graze Hào’yáng’s jaw, feeling the warmth of his lips, the steadiness of his breath, the slight flutter of his lashes, and the sculpted edges of his features.

When I open my eyes again, he is still here. He has not vanished like a phantom in the night. He watches me calmly, haloed by the lightening sky and the sea.

I know him. I know him with the bone-deep awareness that our lives have been intertwined for years. That all along, he has been there by my side, watching over me unseen. That he has never abandoned me.

“In each life, we are born to walk a path,” I say. “If this is the path the fates or my destiny has drawn for me in this life, then I will walk with you to the end.”

Emotions ripple through Hào’yáng’s eyes, like currents in the depths of an ocean. It’s gone the next moment. “I think I have a story to finish telling you,” he says. “It is the one Lady Shī’yǎ told me, of the reason I had to watch over the girl in the jade.”

We sit atop an outcropping of rocks overlooking the sea, and Hào’yáng begins: “Long ago, an immortal fell in love with a mortal warrior. He was at the Temple of Dawn to train as a disciple and to compete in the Immortality Trials. Yet when he won them, he declined to take the pill of immortality and cross over into the Kingdom of Sky. He was needed back in the mortal realm, where his skills as a practitioner would serve the Kingdom of Rivers.

“The immortal bore him a child: a baby girl. The High Court was furious with her for defying the Heavenly Order—yet, by the laws of the Kingdom of Sky, her halfling daughter was entitled to a life in the immortal realm due to her immortal blood. Still, the mortal warrior left the Kingdom of Sky with his newborn daughter. In the Kingdom of Rivers, he married a woman he loved, who knew his secret and still loved him and his daughter, and who bore him a second child.

“All was at peace for years to come. Yet when the Kingdom of Night waged war, the mortal warrior enlisted to fight for the imperial army. By the time he reached the palace, it was too late: the emperor was dead, and all was destroyed. All except for one small life, buried in the rubble, one that the mó army had missed.” Hào’yáng pauses here and looks directly at me. “You know this: that your father traded your spot in the Kingdom of Sky to save my life. He asked Lady Shī’yǎ to love me as she might their child. In turn, she broke a jade pendant she carried by her heart and gave half to him. Their destinies were written to be separated by sky and earth, but with the jade pendant, they would always carry a piece of the other with them.

“Lady Shī’yǎ handed me her half of the jade and told me that I owed my life to the little girl within. She told me that the jade would call out to me when she needed help, and that I had to protect the girl—because we were connected by threads of fate spun long before either of us were born.”

The skies are aflame with pinks and corals and reds, setting this realm on fire. The night is receding; day is coming. It gilds Hào’yáng in a fierce, blazing light, as if the sun itself worships him.

“àn’yīng, I wish to show you something,” he says, and rises, offering his hand.

I take it, lacing my fingers through his, and he draws me to him and gently places a palm on my back. Then he pulls us off the cliff.

My breath catches at the initial plunge. Yet beneath us, the ocean roars, rising to greet us. Waves entwine us, encircling us and lifting us into the sky. Droplets of foam arc through the air like crystals, catching the early sunlight.

“How…?” I cannot find the words; I only know that ordinary practitioners cannot summon waves and water like this. At most, we may bend its energies to our use. But the sea wraps around Hào’yáng as if it is alive beneath his touch. A part of him.

“I never told you the story behind Meadowsweet,” he says. “The truth is that she chose me at birth. You see, the mortal emperor’s lineage carries a secret. There is a reason our symbol is the dragon; a reason the prophecies speak of our people as descendants of the dragons.” He draws a deep breath, as though steeling himself for this confession. “The blood of dragons runs through us, àn’yīng, along with their power. Your father knew this, and Lady Shī’yǎ did, too.”

The blood of dragons. I stare at Hào’yáng, at the ocean waves dancing behind him, as if he sits on a throne of water, and I think of the enormous spirit energy I’ve felt emanating from him—too strong for any mortal.

“So the legends are true,” I say, and he nods. “Is it also true, then, that the dragons’ old magic guards our realm?”

He nods again. “Our civilization was founded from the soul of the Azure Dragon, when she laid down her bones to gift us the Long River. Without the blood of the dragons, one cannot rule the Kingdom of Rivers. Though their magic runs strongest in my lineage, every mortal who has grown from these lands and drunk the waters of our kingdom is entitled to our realm. The mó do not belong here, and they never will.”

But I remember something that makes me suddenly cold. “Hào’yáng,” I whisper. “Yù’chén—he is the son of the demon queen Sansiran…and your father.”

His grip tightens on me momentarily. Hào’yáng lifts his gaze, and his expression takes on the calculating look I have seen him wear when he thinks. “That explains how they were able to break through the wards of our realm and take down the Imperial City nine years ago,” he muses.

“Does that make him eligible for the mortal throne?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “There is no precedent to a halfling child of the demon queen and the mortal king. I imagine Sansiran has been using him to hold on to her tenuous grasp of the Imperial City. But until the Kingdom of Rivers completely sinks into the Kingdom of Night, our land will continue to reject them.” Hào’yáng looks back at me. His gaze is calm but with the strength of steel and the power of oceans. “No matter what, àn’yīng, I will win this war against the Kingdom of Night and take back the mortal throne from the mó.

“Lady Shī’yǎ recruited immortal allies who pledged themselves to our rebellion,” he continues. “The next step is to rally what remains of mortals—of us—who wish to fight back against the mó. But first, I must seek the backing of a fourth realm.”

“The realm of dragons,” I murmur.

Hào’yáng nods. “The dragons are so ancient that they have almost faded into the canvas of our realms, just as the gods have. But the realm of dragons is very much real. It lies somewhere within the Four Seas. I will journey there.”

“And I will go with you,” I promise him, promise the skies beneath the sunrise, the spirit of our mother, who might be listening. “Every step of the way, I will fight with you, Hào’yáng. Until the Kingdom of Rivers is ours again.”

His expression softens; the light of the rising sun dances across his features. “àn’yīng, there is one last thing,” he says, and hesitates for a breath. “You recall I told you that Lady Shī’yǎ, along with two other members of our rebellion, commanded a portion of the Heavenly Army? As one of the Eight Immortals, she held status in the Kingdom of Sky, and therefore a say and a stake in the politics of the realm. When I came of age and we began strategizing on taking back the mortal realm, she proposed a strategic alliance to secure the support of the High Court and the immortals in aiding me.”

“A strategic alliance?” I frown. “I don’t understand.”

Hào’yáng turns his face to the horizon. “She proposed joining with me in marriage, so the alliance between the immortal realm and the heir of the mortal realm would be complete. It would only have been a marriage in name—Iviewed her as my guardian and my mother—and it would only be for the duration of the war against the Kingdom of Night, so I could gain the pledge of support from the immortal troops.”

An inkling of understanding dawns on me as Hào’yáng’s gaze returns to mine. His expression is tinged with regret. “Forgive me, again, for asking more of you,” he continues. “You are her daughter by blood, and by the laws of the Kingdom of Sky, you are entitled to your status as her heir.”

My heart is beating very fast. The world is suddenly lighter than I remember. “You are asking for my hand in marriage.”

“Only if you would wish it. It would be a marriage in name only, to help me secure forces from the Kingdom of Sky to support the fight for our realm. You would be under no obligation to me in any way; you would be free to pursue your life as you wish, to love as you wish. And once the war is over, you would be free to annul the marriage.” He pauses, his voice growing gentle. “If you would wish it at all…then, àn’yīng, I would be honored to have your hand in marriage, and your support by my side in this fight.”

The sky bleeds crimson, its light painting us red. I consider it, this moment of pure magic above a sunlit sea, hand in hand with my guardian in the jade, the mortal heir and son of dragons.

He catches my hesitation, and his eyes curve. “You do know you are free to reject my proposal?” he says with the hint of a smile, as if we share a secret between us. He draws back, straightening. “I would simply strategize my way into commanding a portion of the Heavenly Army by some other means. It would take longer, but—”

I step forward, I reach for his arms, and I pull his hands back to me. He falls silent, awaiting my response.

I have never disillusioned myself with the notion that I am destined for any great love. If I can be with my guardian in the jade in this way, if I can use my title as Shī’yǎ’s heir to secure us forces in the Heavenly Army and win back our realm…wouldn’t that be worth more than I have ever imagined for myself?

The ocean stirs, and it’s as though the waters, the willows, the skies, whisper of destiny . The clouds shift, and for a moment, the sun spills clear and bright against the water, lancing off white-capped waves as if they are made of crystals and lapis.

I tilt my head, eyes narrowing slightly as I take in Hào’yáng’s features, softened by the radiant glow of day. Briefly, I think of another face, one that the night worships and the shadows serve; one that remains in the shadows of my heart. One whose path was never fated to cross mine.

Perhaps I should never have danced on the ocean at night. Perhaps, all along, it was the sunlit sea that I yearned for.

“Yes,” I say softly, pressing my palm to his chest. “If this is the path the gods or the fates have chosen for me, then I will walk it with you to the end.”

Hào’yáng’s hand moves to cover mine. His smile is radiant; the ocean reflects in his eyes as he beholds me. Around us, the waves dance under his command, rising higher and encircling us. Together, Hào’yáng and I turn to the horizon, where the sea meets the skies, where the clouds of the immortal realm linger. A battle wages, and we must play our part in the war that will engulf this world and all its realms.

I will return home. I will heal my mother’s soul, I will see my little sister and hold her in my arms. There, I will marry the mortal heir and secure our political alliance. Together, we will command an army of immortals and mortals alike, and we will call upon the dragons of the Four Seas for their support.

And then we will take back the Kingdom of Rivers.

But first, in this moment, I stand in the arms of my guardian in the jade, surrounded by blue skies and clear waters, cradled by the glittering sea as we watch the sun rise over the realms.

—

Day breaks over the Kingdom of Rivers, warming the clouds and spilling over the land like honey. A journey that once took days takes mere hours flying on Meadowsweet’s back. Autumn has swept over the mortal realm, deepening the foliage to a tapestry of gold and red, the rivers glinting like silver threads.

By the time we land before my village’s pái’fāng, Meadowsweet is once again a horse the shade of moonlight. Hào’yáng’s arms are warm and protective as he holds on to me, allowing me to steer. It is only the two of us. Of the rest of the candidates, a few will return to their own homes, but a surprising number agreed to fight with us against the Kingdom of Night. We have yet to reveal Hào’yáng’s true identity to them. I gave them precise instructions to my village—but there is something I must do first, something that cannot wait.

We canter through the empty streets of Xī’lín. I don’t stop until I see our plum tree.

Beneath its branches, a small figure straightens, and my heart flows out like a river to the sea. Before I know it, I’ve leapt off Meadowsweet and I’m running, my vision blurred by tears, and Méi’zi’s sprinting toward me, calling my name. When we collide, I sweep her into my arms and hold her as if I never intend to let go. She’s shaking, her bony little shoulders digging into mine. When she draws back, I wipe away my tears long enough to take in the flush of her cheeks, the shine to her eyes.

I don’t forget the reason she is still alive. The person who made this moment possible.

“Jiě’jie,” she whispers. “You kept your promise.”

I smooth out her hair. “Méi’zi,” I say, and a laugh bubbles up in my throat as I draw out the pill of immortality from my storage pouch. “Everything will be all right.”

My sister’s eyes go wide as she beholds the pill, and then even more so when she sees the heir and the dragonhorse behind me. I only smile wider and take her hand, stepping into our house. There will be plenty of time to explain after.

In the days since we came to cure her, Méi’zi has cleaned the house. The living room smells like clean sheets and fresh air, and a new bouquet of wildflowers sits on our table in a cracked teacup. In the corner, perched against the couch and staring out the open window, is my mother. She doesn’t react when Méi’zi and I approach.

Méi’zi casts me a frightened look, and I respond with a tight nod. Our fingers are intertwined. Clasped between our palms, gleaming like a pearl, is the pill of immortality we have waited nine years for.

I swallow and give a firm nod. “Together,” I whisper.

“Together,” she echoes.

We slip the pill between my mother’s parched lips, as easy as popping in a tiny sunflower seed. Then we wait, counting down each heartbeat, holding each other’s hands like small children.

Outside, a breeze rises, stirring the branches of the tree and carrying its fragrance into the house. The sunlight shifts, cracking over my mother’s figure like yolk.

Mā blinks. She blinks again, then draws a deep, shuddering breath. Slowly, she turns her head to us, her gaze bleary yet growing clearer, as though she’s waking from a long dream. When she speaks our names, her voice is like the sough of wind, but her eyes: they are radiant and warm, and they hold the sun within.