Thinly veiled envy shone in the eyes of the courtiers, while some smiled with sinuous ease. As I passed Teacher Daoming and General Jianyun, I bent my head low in greeting. It gladdened me to find them here, high in favor. Wise advisors with the courage to speak their minds were rare indeed.

As I approached the dais, Liwei’s aura swept over me: warm, bright, and achingly familiar. Lifting my eyes to the jade throne, a tenderness suffused me, threaded with remorse—yet devoid of regret. I would not have been content by his side here, nor could I have made him happy when I was yearning for something that no longer existed.

Liwei’s features were arranged into a regal mask, betraying none of his thoughts. His yellow brocade robe was embroidered with azure dragons, a heavy gold and sapphire crown upon his hair. The pearl strands of his father’s crown were gone, and I would be glad to never hear their ominous clicking again. How magnificent he looked, like the emperor he was, granting an audience to a commoner.

I clasped my hands and lowered myself to the ground, stretching my cupped hands before me. He had not demanded it, yet it was expected by all, and I would not diminish his dignity here. As I lifted my head, I caught the slight narrowing of his eyes as he gestured for me to rise. He did not like this any more than I did, his fingers curled in his lap. If he were still the prince, he might have sent them all away—the attendants, courtiers, and guards. But an emperor was at once elevated to greater power, yet bound tighter to ceremony, decorum, and the weight of infinite expectations—at least for a ruler who strove to be worthy of their position.

“Why are you here, Xingyin?”

“I have something to ask of Your Celestial Majesty.” I spoke formally, my tone guarded. Every word uttered here would be weighed and turned over. How I missed the ease of the past when it was just the two of us in the Courtyard of Eternal Tranquility, but those days were gone as irrevocably as water slipping into the soil.

Liwei inclined his head. “Ask anything you wish.”

Restraint was prudent, but I was too anxious for news. “Your Celestial Majesty, what does it mean when an immortal spirit leaves our realm?” A pause, before I added, “I can no longer sense him.”

He straightened, his shoulders seeming to clench beneath his robe. “Whom do you mean?”

“Wenzhi.” His name fell out like a broken chord. While I had dreamed it, whispered it in my mind—I never thought I would speak it aloud again, and certainly not in this hall of Celestials.

“Have you been searching for him all this time?” A note of sadness weighed his tone.

“Yes.”

“What did you find?” he asked.