“Thank you,” he said, rising to his feet. “Now, we must hurry. We have a long afternoon of training before us.”
My curiosity was pricked. “What training?”
“Sword fighting, archery, martial arts. If you aren’t interested, I can have you excused,” he offered, with a magnanimous sweep of his hand.
I forced myself to breathe deeply, to stem the exhilaration rushing through me like water streaming down a mountain after a burst of rain. My appetite was whetted after General Jianyun’s lesson and I was eager to learn more about the skills which could help me become stronger. Powerful enough to withstand the winds of change or to shift its course, instead of yielding under the slightest breeze. My imagination soared, unfettered, as I fantasized about flying home and breaking the enchantment that bound my mother to the moon . . .
My voice shook with excitement. “Liwei, I’ll play the flute for you whenever you wish—as long as you don’t excuse me from those lessons.”
6
Camphor trees ringed an enormous grassy field, throwing their shade upon us. All around were soldiers, clad in shining armor of white and gold. Commanders shouted instructions to their troops—some fighting with swords, others with red-tasseled spears. On a raised wooden platform, rows of soldiers followed the steps of an instructor. Their movements were as graceful and well-synchronized as a dance, though far deadlier—I thought—as a woman flung a large soldier onto his back. Several target boards were set up on the edge of the field where the soldiers were practicing archery.
As I watched them, a soldier released an arrow—slicing through the air, plunging into the center of the board. Struck by admiration, I clapped until my palms throbbed.
“You’re easily impressed,” Liwei told me.
“Can you do better?” I demanded.
“Of course.”
The certainty in his tone took me by surprise. But then General Jianyun appeared, striding toward us.
“Your Highness, what do you wish to practice first?”
“Archery,” Liwei replied at once.
At the general’s command, the soldiers cleared the round target boards—each painted with four rings that culminated in a red center. Liwei selected a long, curved bow from the weapons rack. Almost effortlessly, it seemed, he drew an arrow and released it at the target. Before I could blink, another whizzed past me. Both pierced the center with loud thuds.
I stared at the board, stunned by his accuracy and swiftness. “You did not exaggerate.”
“I never do,” he said. “Do you want to try?”
My hands reached out, but I snatched them back with a furtive glance at the soldiers surrounding us. I had never held a weapon before, much less one which seemed to require such precision.
Liwei spoke quietly to General Jianyun, who left with the others. When it was just us, I breathed easier. He passed me a bow, smaller than the one he had used.
“Mulberry wood. This is a good one to start with as it’s lighter,” he explained.
My fingers tingled when they touched the lacquered wood, closing around the silk-wrapped grip. The bow did not feel unfamiliar to me, but as though I had wielded one a hundred times before. Had it been so with my father, the greatest archer who ever lived? If my mother had not taken the elixir, if we had remained in the world below, he might have taught me to shoot like him—though I doubted I could bring down one sun, much less nine. My heart ached, a futile pain with no remedy. All the wishing in the world would not bring my family together again.
“Xingyin, are you ready?” Liwei called out.
I nodded, moving across from the target, a distance away, as he had. Liwei stood just behind me, guiding my hands as I raised the bow. “Breathe deeply from your core. As you draw the string, pull your strength from across your body, not just your arms.” He tapped my shoulders and lifted my right elbow up. “Hold these in a straight line.”
My arms strained to hold the position, the string biting into my thumb and fingers.
Finally satisfied, he stepped away. “Adjust your arrow until its tip aligns with the target. When you release it, only that hand should move—keep the other steady on the grip. And don’t feel disheartened if you miss. It’s your first try.”
Something burned in the pit of my stomach. A desire to do well, to live up to my father’s name. Even if no one ever knew it but me. My eyes narrowed on the target in the distance. Everything else shifted into a blur, the board shining as brightly as a beacon in the dark. Holding my breath and keeping as still as I could, I released the arrow. It tore through the air, hitting the target’s outermost ring with a thud.