I met his gaze without fear; I was already hollowed through, what else could he do to me? The Sacred Flame Feather had burned me up, devoured every bit of my strength. It was a mercy I was not already dead, though eternal darkness was beckoning. What was left was just skin stretched over bones, and wilted breath in my lungs. Was this how Ping’er and Prince Yanming had felt? It was not as terrible as I had dreaded, this numbing fatigue that stole over me, the weight pressing over my limbs like a shroud of stone—yet a lightness fluttering within like I was almost free …

“Xingyin.”

My mother’s voice yanked me from my fevered daze. When had they arrived? I glanced up, my eyes colliding with hers. Such pain in them, such terror—as black as the abyss that yawned before me. Beside her was my father, Wenzhi and Liwei, their cloud soaring faster than the wind and yet … too late.

I struggled to raise myself up, leaning upon an elbow. My breaths came quick and shallow, the shadow of Wugang’s axe dark on my face. There was nothing left in me to evade or block the blow that would surely fall. Drawing a deep breath, the crisp air filled my lungs, laced with the sweetness of osmanthus. Home at last, my mind whispered.

Wugang’s axe arced high. No matter what he had lost, vengeance would be his. He was a master at exacting it in full. I closed my eyes, unable to bear the terror flashing across the faces of my loved ones. If they called my name again, I did not hear it. A shiver rippled through my flesh. How strange to be cold when moments before I had burned. Something whistled, hurtling toward me. I braced for pain—yet it plunged past my head, rending a stunned gasp from above. My eyes flew open to find an arrow of Sky-fire embedded into Wugang’s chest. His mouth hung open, gaping like a fish torn from the waters—as another arrow hurtled into the center of his forehead, light streaking across his face, down his neck, trailing along the very scars on his palms. He staggered back a step, and then another. A gust of air slipped from his lips, carrying a woman’s name in a tortured breath. His wife? Did he love her still? My heart flinched at the thought. He had been cruel, yet most cruel to himself.

Wugang slumped to his knees, falling upon the grass. His body shuddered violently, his eyes blinking at a frantic pace, before widening and going still, the color draining from his flesh until he was as pale as the petals beneath him. Death had claimed him at last—the mortal who had clawed his way to immortality, overthrown the Celestial Emperor, and reshaped the Immortal Realm.