The tightness in my chest squeezed harder. “If only we had not fled, if only I had killed Wugang earlier. If only I had not gone to the Southern Sea—”

“Stop this.” Wenzhi gripped my shoulders, his tone urgent. “Were you wrong for wanting to protect your family, for wanting to take back what was yours? Should we have surrendered on the beach and let Wugang take us prisoner? He would have killed us all—if not then, eventually.”

“Not Prince Yanming.” My voice was hollow. “He would have been safe.”

“Would you have traded him for your mother? Your father? Shuxiao? Your … beloved?” Brutal questions, impossible to answer—yet it yanked me from the pit of my misery, yielding a moment’s respite to the pitiless anguish.

His tone gentled. “Do not take on the burdens that are not yours to bear. Wugang’s actions are not your doing; he would have come for the laurel and your mother regardless. Prince Yanming died protecting his brother. If he had not, Prince Yanxi would have been killed instead—both terrible consequences. Never forget, this was his choice, just as it had been Ping’er’s decision to save your mother. Do not belittle their sacrifices when they should be honored. Do not let them have died in vain. Do not let this break you.”

“I have made so many mistakes.” My voice was choked with suppressed emotion.

“Xingyin, no one is infallible. Use the past to guide the present, but do not let it trap you. Grow from your mistakes, don’t let them become a weakness.” He lowered his head to mine, his voice throbbing with intensity. “There is good in what you have done. You saved the Celestial Army. You freed the dragons—though I will admit, I was furious then.” His lips pulled into a wry smile, before drawing straight once more. “You reunited your parents. You fought for what you believed was right, when so many others would have given up.”

I bit down on the inside of my cheek, his unexpected gentleness tearing down the last of my barriers.

“Cry,” Wenzhi said quietly. “Let your pain go.”

I was ripped raw inside, just as the night I had fallen to the Celestial Kingdom, alone and afraid—when my heart was broken by Liwei’s betrothal, and yes, even by Wenzhi’s treachery. Somehow his ruthless logic and empathy stemmed the flood of despair I had been drowning in. The tears came then, streaming down in a silent current—for those I had lost, all that was forever beyond my reach. Gasps wrung from my throat in a broken rhythm. And I allowed myself this weakness, because I could no longer hold it in.

For I could not dispel the sinking dread that no matter what I did, death and suffering trailed in my wake as surely as the night follows the dusk.

Part III

Chapter 25