He paused. “It’s now known as the Demon Realm.”
I choked on my tea, coughing and sputtering, as Liwei passed me a handkerchief to wipe my chin. The Demon Realm was said to be a land of mist and fog, home to fearsome beasts, monsters, and evil sorcerers. Somehow, it was easier to despise them before realizing—as Liwei had said—they were like us.
My mind spun with all I had learned and I could not help asking, “Did you agree with what your father did?”
He grimaced. “According to my father, there can be no respect without fear. To be a powerful leader, one needs to govern with an iron hand, to crush resistance with even greater strength. I’m a disappointment to him; he reprimands me for being too soft. But no matter what he does, I can’t change who I am.”
“What does he do?” A tightness formed in my gut. I had never seen Liwei look so troubled before.
His fingers curled into a fist on the table. When he spoke, his voice was low. “He only wants what’s best for me. But when my turn comes to take the throne, I will not rule as he does.”
Reaching out, I touched his clenched knuckles in comfort. All I knew of such matters were from our lessons, what I studied in the texts, the stories of great kings and queens—both mortal and immortal. But I was sure of one thing, that the Celestial Kingdom—any kingdom—would fare better under a ruler who listened with an open mind, than one who demanded unswerving obedience.
I had no love for the Celestial Empress and less for the emperor who had imprisoned my mother, although I had never met him before. From what I gleaned from gossip and learned myself, Liwei was nothing like his parents. Unlike many in positions of power, he took no pleasure in imposing his will or pushing others down. Never did he condescend to me, as far too many had. He morphed from a laughing friend to a patient instructor, and whichever role he took, his care and consideration warmed me. Whenever we debated our lessons or sparred, he drove me to improve myself, never surrendering an advantage I had not earned. Each night I went to bed aching and exhausted, yet my heart aglow to be treated as his equal.
Archery was where I shone—whether using the short bow, which was lighter and faster, or the longbow, which allowed for greater accuracy. A few commanders soon instructed their troops to watch me while I trained. Their presence unnerved me; I was afraid of making a fool of myself by dropping my arrows or missing the target. Yet the moment I drew my bow, a calm spread over me. Perhaps my control over my emotions had improved with Teacher Daoming’s instruction, although it was still far from perfect.
One afternoon, I arrived at the archery station to find it set up differently, with just two targets in the distance. Liwei stood there, holding a bow in each hand. A little behind him was General Jianyun with a small cluster of soldiers, Shuxiao among them.
“It’s been three months. Did you forget?” Liwei called out.
My spirits sank as I recalled my reckless wager. Still, I plastered on a bright smile as I took the bow from him. “Of course not. What are the terms?”
“Three arrows each?” he proposed. “The winner is whoever scores the most points.”
I nodded in acceptance, moving to stand behind the line. His arrow whistled as it flew toward the target, but I averted my gaze. His performance was a distraction I could ill afford. Keeping my attention upon my board, I released the first arrow, piercing the target in the center. The second followed in its trail, into the crimson eye of the board. And my last arrow split the former right down its middle. Having scored three perfect strikes, my confidence swelled—until I saw Liwei’s board, a mirror of my own.
General Jianyun frowned, unable to decide the victor. Striding to the weapons rack, he pulled out a clay disc, no bigger than my fist. “Our advanced archers use this to practice their skills. When the disc is released, it will soar away. The first person who shoots it down will be the winner.”
I groaned inwardly. I did not have much experience with moving targets.
“Perhaps this is too difficult for Xingyin,” Liwei said.
Pride got the better of me. “It’s fine,” I said curtly, drawing an arrow through my bow.
General Jianyun threw the disc high. It shot through the air, faster than anticipated. I blinked—half a heartbeat of hesitation—my arrow already hurtling toward the soaring disc . . . as Liwei’s gold-feathered arrow shattered the clay.
I fought down my dismay. It had been a fair match. “You win,” I conceded.
“I’ll collect tomorrow.” He flashed a grin at me, which raised my hackles. “Another month or two, I wouldn’t be able to beat you. Time your battles better next time!”