“You . . . you are here,” I stammered, all coherent thought having fled me.
“Uninvited. But not unwelcome, I hope?” He reached out to take my hand.
Such intimacy caught me unaware, as did the unrestrained warmth in his gaze. “No, never that,” I finally managed.
With precise timing, my mother and Ping’er declared they were needed elsewhere. By leaving me alone with him, my mother signaled her wholehearted approval of Liwei, despite her earlier reservations. He had a way with people, a sincerity that drew others to him even before they knew who he was. Just as when we had first met.
“Have you been well?” he asked.
“Better than expected,” I replied truthfully. Restful sleep undisturbed by nightmares. A carefree existence without responsibilities. No one to set my heart alight or drown it with despair. Such luxuries could work wonders on one’s constitution. Since my return, my lifeforce had been strengthening, too. The moon possessed a powerful rejuvenating energy which I was unaware of before, perhaps because my magic had been suppressed. It would take a while before I regained my strength, but it might be sooner than I had anticipated.
Though my body was healing, my spirit was restless. There were only so many times I could walk through the osmanthus forest. Only so many hours I could while away in reading and music.
“Have you been well?” I echoed his question. Dread gripped me as I recalled his defiance of his father. And shame seared me, too, that I had left him to bear the brunt of his parents’ wrath alone. All that consumed me after that wrenching confrontation had been a desperate eagerness to return home, to leave the Celestial Kingdom, half fearing that the emperor might change his mind and demand the return of his seal.
Liwei’s hold tightened, his dark eyes pinning me where I stood. “Nothing I haven’t been through before.”
I bit my lip, wanting to ask more. And yet the intensity of his stare, his nearness, gave me pause. Was there something different about him today? It was almost as though he had reverted to the Liwei of old, before . . . I discarded the thought. He was here, I was glad for it. And I had a favor to ask of him today, to take my mother and me to the Mortal Realm. To take us to my father.
Selfishly, I had waited to tell my mother the news. To let us enjoy a few days of unadulterated happiness, basking in our reunion and her newly regained freedom. But I knew that she longed to fly to the Mortal Realm to seek my father at the first opportunity. One evening, when I could delay no more, I had clasped her hand in mine.
“Mother, I have something to tell you.” Unwelcome words filled with foreboding. Or had it been the tremor in my voice which turned her face to ash?
Her cold hand slid from my grasp. “I don’t want to hear it.”
Her childlike plea had pierced me. I wondered, should I let things go on as they had? Half in hope, half in denial? Something in me reared away. Better to cut the cord clean, than to let it fray toward the inevitable end.
“I’m sorry. The Black Dragon told me . . . Father is dead.” My voice had cracked over the words as my throat closed tight.
She had crumpled then, her body heaving as it folded over. I held her fast, trying not to flinch from her choked cries. My words had struck all hope from her as a knife cutting down an ailing plant still clinging to life. I had lost a father I never knew, but my mother lost a husband she loved still.
Together, now, the three of us flew to the Mortal Realm. My mother’s face was white as she plucked at her sleeves nervously. It had been too long since she had left the moon. Fortunately, Liwei’s cloud glided as smoothly as a bird through the air.
The Black Dragon had described the place well. Where the two rivers merged, we found the small hill covered with white flowers. At the highest point rose a large circular grave crafted from marble. Characters inlaid with gold spelled out the name:
后羿
Houyi
All around were paintings of my father’s achievements; the battles he had won, the enemies he had vanquished. It was a magnificent tomb, worthy of even a king in this world. Yet it grieved me that there was no mention of his family or descendants. Had he lived alone until the very end?
My mother clutched my arm, her step faltering. She stared at the grave, her face stricken with grief.
“We can leave, if you wish,” I whispered, through the ache in my chest.
“No,” she cried fiercely. She pushed her long sleeves up, picked up the broom, and began sweeping with a burst of energy. For a moment, I wondered what the mortals would think, if they saw the revered Moon Goddess sweeping as industriously as any common villager. In a flash it struck me, they more than anyone would understand the respect she wanted to pay to her husband. To show him that even in death, she honored him still. I crouched down, using my handkerchief to wipe away the dust and grime from the marble, polishing the characters until they shone once more. Liwei stood apart at first, before bending to clear away the weeds.