“How will you keep Wugang from sensing the Sacred Flame Feather?” Liwei asked.

My smile was bright, my voice infused with false confidence. “The same enchantment that allows me to bear it.”

“It won’t work,” Liwei said flatly. “I sense the feather on you now.”

He was right. Even bound by these enchantments, heat radiated from the feather in waves, thrashing against its shield. “I will keep it in here.” I tapped my temple lightly as though it were a simple matter.

“Within your lifeforce? Just like how King Wenming kept his artifacts?” Liwei’s tone was incredulous. “One slip, and the feather will incinerate you.”

“There will be no slip.” I had become a fine actress; my gaze unwavering, my tone calm. For if I quailed, if I showed the slightest flicker of unease, they would redouble their efforts to stop me. And I did not know if I had the will to withstand it.

Finally, he relented. “I will be close by. If you are in danger, I will come to you.” His fingers strayed toward the Sky Drop Tassel by his waist, brushing the clear stone.

My mother tugged at my father’s sleeve. “Houyi, come. Let’s go.”

“I have more to say—”

“It can wait.” Her voice was laden with meaning as she turned away, my father following her.

Liwei stared after them. “After all these years, they finally found their way back to each other. A great love story, as the mortals might say.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “Though my parents would have preferred the joy without the suffering.”

“No love is perfect.”

“Only in fairy tales,” I conceded. “And if it were so for my parents, no one would know their names.”

“Is that a fair price?” he asked.

“Not to me,” I said pensively. “Fame is how the world sees you, what they imagine of your life. A fleeting thing, as capricious as smoke, and as easily reshaped through malice.”

Liwei’s face darkened—did he recall how swiftly he had been maligned and abandoned by his court? Nor could I forget how readily others had believed the rumors of me.

“True happiness springs from within, a contentment with oneself. And while it may be humbler and quieter, there is nothing more precious and lasting,” I added.

“We could have that,” he said gently. “We could be happy again, if you would let us.”

I drank in the sight of him: the sculpted planes of his face, the way the light fell upon his eyes, glittering over their dark surface. As he moved toward me, his blue robe swirled in the breeze, the glossy tail of his hair swinging behind him. He looked just as he did when we first met by the river. So much had changed since then, and yet he was still the young man brimming with compassion, as I was the girl with fire in her heart. Although this time, the blaze might consume me.