As I raised my hand, a breeze rippled from my fingertips. It wound through the osmanthus trees at the other end of the forest, encircling them and rattling their branches. A decoy, to draw the soldiers’ attention, allowing my mother and Ping’er to escape unhindered. As we sensed their auras rushing away, Shuxiao and I wove delicate threads of air coated with translucent flame, braiding them into a snare around the laurel’s trunk—to be set off with a single touch.

A heaviness crashed against my consciousness like I had slammed my head against stone. I shuddered as the wards that Liwei and I had so painstakingly constructed were ripped apart like rice paper, the roaring in my mind fading to a deep stillness, the type that plunged ice down my spine.

Tremors rippled through the ground, soil scattering over our shoes. Shuxiao’s eyes rounded as she gestured ahead. Pale tendrils streaked the night like fingers clawing at the sky, the smoky bitterness of ash entwined with the sweetness of charred cinnamon. My home … it was afire. Flickering flames devoured the once-white walls, gray smoke spiraling high. A writhing anguish took root within me, choked gasps wrung from my throat.

Shuxiao’s hand gripped my shoulder. “Grieve later.”

Steeling myself, I nodded, turning from the hellish sight. A flash of brightness splintered the dark as a bolt of light shot past me, striking Shuxiao’s ribs. She gasped, reeling back as I grabbed her arm—my turn to steady her—as she pressed a palm to her wound, her magic streaming forth to close it. Grasping my energy, I wove a shield over us just as another wave of malevolent light plunged forward, crashing against our barrier.

An immortal appeared, clad in the Celestial armor of white and gold, wielding a great axe in his hand. His brown eyes gleamed, his hair slicked into a glossy topknot. Wugang, without his soldiers—an opportunity I would not waste.

His lips tilted into a mocking smile. “Still here? You’re not as clever as I thought.”

“Alone?” I shot back. “You’re not as clever as you think.”

I drew my sword—not the bow, as its light would draw every Celestial from the skies. Yet he did not move to defend himself, letting his axe blade rest upon the ground as he leaned upon its handle.

“Why do you hate us?” The question burst from me, one I had longed to ask before. “We did nothing to you.”

He shrugged. “My dear girl, I don’t hate you in the least. Call it a misalignment of fates; you stand in the way of what I want.”

Rage seared me at his callousness, his indifference as venomous as malice. My fingers tightened around the hilt of my sword. Make this quick, my mind urged, the part not incapacitated by terror, sickened by this needless destruction of my home. What did it matter if he refused to fight?