I sank into a chair, my fingers tracing the grains of the wood. I’m home, I whispered to myself, staring at my mother—afraid she might disappear if I glanced away. That all this would vanish, leaving me alone in my bed in the Celestial Kingdom. Perhaps I had been plagued by too many nightmares, perhaps I had grown accustomed to disappointment—there it was still, that tight kernel of fear in my chest that this was just an illusion. I pinched myself until red crescents appeared in my arm, relishing the sting that told me this was real.
Ping’er pressed a warm cup of fragrant tea into my hands. The questions flowed then: Have you been well? Happy? Where have you been all this time? What have you been doing?
I answered them in as much detail as I could, trying to satisfy years of anxiety and curiosity. While some memories as my time in the Golden Lotus Mansion were a blur, others cut sharper than I wished. When I spoke of entering the Jade Palace, my mother grabbed my sleeve and tugged it.
“Did the Celestial Emperor discover your identity?” She glanced over her shoulder, as though expecting armed soldiers to barge through our doors.
“Not then,” I assured her. Before she could probe further, I quickly described my training in magic, combat, and archery.
“Archery?” There was a catch in her voice. “Just like your father,” she said with pride.
A lump swelled at the back of my throat. For so long I had lived in fear of who I was—never speaking the names of my parents, pretending to the outside world that they did not exist . . . like I was some weed sprung wild in an open field. Now, I wanted to shout it to the world.
Once, my mother interrupted me. Unguarded in my home, a warmth filled my voice whenever I mentioned Liwei’s name.
“What is your relationship with the Celestial Crown Prince?” she asked.
I caught the slight puckering across her brow. “We’re . . . friends,” I stammered, heat creeping up my neck.
“This Captain Wenzhi, is he your friend, too?” My mother’s tone was deceptively mild.
“No,” I cried out, more vehemently than intended.
There was an awkward pause as my mother exchanged a worried glance with Ping’er, and I was glad when they asked no more. Hastily, I began describing the battles I had been in, the creatures and enemies I fought in the service of the Celestial Army.
Better by far those monsters, than the ones that dwelled in my mind.
Ping’er shuddered at my description of Xiangliu, as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Were you afraid?”
“All the time.” Some might think me a coward, but I felt no shame in admitting it. I was not one of those valiant heroes who plunged into danger so fearlessly. I had been terrified of getting hurt, of failure, and most of all—of death. To never see my mother again, or my loved ones. To regret all the things left unsaid or undone. To leave my life . . . unlived. I had been lauded for my bravery, yet I knew the truth—that I had done these things despite my fear. Because not doing them frightened me more.
They were stunned to hear of how I had saved Liwei’s life. I did not tell them of the vicious things Lady Hualing made us do; I was not keen to unearth those painful memories, nor did I wish to distress them further. Although, my mother’s face turned ashen at the reveal of my identity and the bargain I had struck with the emperor.
“How could you do such a thing? Take such a risk?” She shot to her feet and paced the room, her hands clasped so tight that their knuckles were white. “What if you were sentenced to prison? To torture? To death?”
“Those were all very real possibilities then,” I laughed. But my mirth vanished, at the sight of her grave face. “Mother, I had won the Crimson Lion Talisman. The emperor’s favor. There was no better time to ask this of him. If I did not, I would not be here today. I would be spending my days ruing this lost opportunity, wishing I had tried. And that would be a worse fate.”
I paused then, searching her face. “You risked yourself, too, Mother—when you drank the elixir.” She went so still, so quiet, I almost regretted the words. “You saved me then, and I thank you for it.”
A faint smile formed on my mother’s lips, even as tears slid down her cheeks.
“Ah, enough with this sadness,” Ping’er said, wiping her eyes with a corner of her sleeve. “This is a happy day. The happiest. We will weep no more.”
“And as you can see, I’m well,” I assured them, rising to my feet and stretching out my arms. Their eyes lingered on me until they were satisfied that I was not suffering from any apparent injury. Though I said nothing of the web of white scars splayed across my chest. My wounds, still tender, from the emperor’s Sky-fire. I did not think they would ever go away; I was forever marked. But what did that matter? A few scars were nothing to what I had regained.