Under Teacher Daoming’s guidance, I learned to coax a breeze from the air, freeze raindrops to ice, raise protection shields, and—yes—even summon the bolts of flame I had dreamed of. Many immortals chose not to exert their powers for mundane things that could easily be done without. Yet in those early days I practiced whenever I could, no task too small nor tiresome. Once, I unthinkingly summoned a hairpin, which plunged into Liwei’s topknot with more force than intended. His head jerked back, a startled breath hissing from him, though he smiled as he glanced my way. No longer was I fumbling in the dark to grasp a sliver of light—my energy darted readily into my grasp, my magic flowing unbound.
Several months into my training, Teacher Daoming brought me to the lush garden just beyond the Chamber of Reflection. It was a windless morning, the lake as still as a mirror. As she raised her hand, five luminous spheres formed in the air. Tongues of flame leapt in one, translucent water lapped in the other. The third contained a chunk of coppery earth, and a hazy mist swirled in the fourth.
Fire, Water, Earth, Air. The four elemental Talents of magic that I recalled from her previous lessons. I peered at the last globe, glowing a rich crimson. “What is this?”
“Life magic, to heal the body’s wounds and ailments. One of the intrinsic Talents.” She stiffened a little, her lips pressing into thin lines.
“One of them? What are the others?”
She fixed me with a hard stare, ignoring my question. “Xingyin, which is the strongest of the elemental Talents?”
I passed my palm over the spheres, the heat mingling with the coolness from the different energies. Fragments of lessons flashed across my mind. Earth might douse Fire, but Fire could scorch Earth. Air might fan a flame or extinguish it. My thoughts wound together into a maze of contradictions.
“It depends on the strength of the Talents pitted against each other,” I finally answered.
Her brows snapped into a frown. “That is half an answer.”
I lowered my head, wishing I had listened more attentively in her class.
She continued, “Each Talent has its own strengths and weaknesses. All four can be equally powerful. What matters most is the strength of the casters, their lifeforce which determines how much energy is at their disposal and the skill with which they wield it.” As she passed her palm over the first two orbs, fire leapt high, engulfing the sphere of water. In the next moment, water surged to drown the flames.
“Those strong enough to specialize, first need to discover their Talent. Most immortals are drawn to one, maybe two. Prince Liwei’s Fire and Life magic are his strongest, while our emperor is one of the few accomplished across the Talents, even able to channel Sky-fire.”
“Sky-fire?” I repeated. It was the first I had heard of it.
“Lightning, as wielded by immortals. A rare and powerful magic. Not an element in itself, rather a unique convergence of one’s magic.”
With a flick of her finger the flames rekindled. “For some, their Talent is innate. For most of us, it stems from our natural environment—perhaps because we unconsciously absorb the energy from our surroundings. Those living in the forests and mountains are more skilled in the arts of Earth and Air. Phoenix Immortals are adept in Fire magic and Sea Immortals cast the most powerful Water enchantments. The Talents of Celestials have always varied across the elements.” She turned to me with a grave expression. “Which is yours?”
A thrill raced through me. Teacher Daoming believed I was strong enough to advance! Most immortals possessed enough magic to cast a repertoire of minor enchantments—lighting fires, healing minor injuries, calling a shower of rain. However, true power lay in the mastery of a Talent and for that, one needed a sufficiently strong lifeforce. It was said that some advanced enchantments were so powerful, they could drain a weaker immortal’s energy with a single casting.
Following her instruction, I reached toward the glowing orbs and released my energy in a cloud of gleaming silver. The Earth, Air, and Life spheres died out at once. Fire flared higher but a gust of wind surged from the translucent orb, extinguishing the flames before it hurtled across the garden. The willow trees bent sharply, whipping the lake into waves.
With a sweep of Teacher Daoming’s hand, the wind calmed and died. Her lips curved into a rare smile, as my heart pounded like a drum. The wind had wreaked utter destruction upon the once tranquil garden; scattered leaves blanketing the ground, trees swaying wildly, snapped willow branches trailing in the water. Had I done this?