Tomorrow would be his birthday. A grand celebration was planned as this year was a special one, marking the assumption of his court duties as the Crown Prince. He had invited me to attend but I’d declined, having little interest in spending an evening with Their Celestial Majesties and their court. Nonetheless, I had agonized over his gift as I owned little of value, and finally settled on composing him a song. He had a keen appreciation for music though he did not play an instrument himself. However, it took longer than anticipated as I could only work late at night or early in the morning, weaving a privacy shield around my room to prevent the music from drifting across the courtyard.
I rummaged through the drawers, pulling out the white shell I had bought from the market years ago. It gleamed in my palm, the curved whorls ending in an elegant spire. Placing the shell on the table, I cast a shred of wind into it to awaken its magic. Then I lifted the flute to my mouth, letting my breath slide into the instrument. The shell glowed as the melody poured forth, its light fading once the last note ended. Hastily, I wrapped it with a piece of silk. I had taken too long; I was already late.
I dashed across the courtyard, halting just outside his chamber. A powerful aura pulsed within—jagged, sharp, and strong—one I had done my best to avoid so far. Sweat slicked my palms as I slid the doors open and entered. The Celestial Empress sat beside Liwei, while her attendants stood behind her. Her green robe pooled on the floor like a carpet of moss, gold leaf-shaped pins gleaming from her hair. I had never seen the empress at such close quarters before. Memories of my parting from my mother flashed across my mind, cutting me as though it had been yesterday.
I knelt to greet her as etiquette demanded, folding my body over until my brow and palms touched the floor.
The empress did not give me leave to rise. “Is this the behavior of the Companion to the Crown Prince? To rise this late and leave my son to attend to himself?” Her voice was thick with censure.
I should have apologized or pleaded for forgiveness. But though my body was taut with tension, my lips stayed tightly sealed. I was no longer a cowering child, afraid of her shadow.
“Rise,” Liwei said.
I lifted my head from the ground yet remained on my knees. I would give the empress no reason to dismiss me.
“Honorable Mother, Xingyin was only late this morning because of my task.” Liwei looked at me. “Did you find the snow ginseng root?”
“Yes.” I was glad for his quick thinking.
“Could you give it to the kitchen to be brewed into a tonic? Ask them to send it with the afternoon meal to Their Celestial Majesties.”
Conscious of the watchful attendants, I pressed my forehead to the ground in acknowledgment. Rising to my feet, I hurried to the entrance, eager to escape.
The empress’s voice drifted after me, a more pleasant tone now that I was gone. “Liwei, you’re a filial son,” she praised him. “Tomorrow’s banquet will be a grand event. The Flower and Forest Immortals will join us, as will the sea monarchs—a rare chance to affirm our goodwill toward the Four Seas. We will also be honored by the attendance of Queen Fengjin and her daughter.”
“Princess Fengmei?” Liwei asked, with a catch in his voice.
“Of course. The Phoenix Kingdom is our most important ally—more than ever, with the threat of that cursed Demon Realm still hanging over us.” She added, in a tone laden with meaning, “I hope you’ll be an attentive host. And that you know what’s expected of you.”
Beyond the doorway, I glanced back at Liwei in sympathy. He did not enjoy such occasions, avoiding as many as he could. But it would be impossible for him to escape his own celebration, particularly with the sharp eye of his mother watching his every move.
Liwei and I had planted a small garden in a corner of the courtyard. Grabbing a shovel, I dug up the snow ginseng root, grown from a seed just a month ago. While it usually took years to cultivate ginseng, Liwei’s enchantment helped the plants mature faster. Admiring the perfectly formed root, its flesh so white that it was almost translucent, I deemed it a worthwhile sacrifice to save my hide.
In the bustling kitchen, I found Minyi, whom I had grown to know well. After passing her the ginseng, I decided to wait while she prepared our food.
She scrutinized me, her nose wrinkling. “Xingyin, you’re so pale. Are you eating enough?”
“I was late this morning and Her Celestial Majesty scolded me,” I told her.
She sighed in commiseration. The empress was much feared for her temper—fierce, malicious, so easily roused—and few were spared it.