She was not wearing a crown, but an elaborate headdress crafted with jeweled leaves and flowers which clinked as she moved. As I stared at it—enthralled—a bud unfurled, blossoming into an amethyst orchid. Over her fingertips glinted pointed gold sheaths, curved as the claws of a hawk. The silver embroidery on her violet robe caught the fading light streaming through the windows. Unlike my mother’s delicate and calm aura, hers was strong, pulsing with heat. She was dazzling, but her glossy lips against her white skin made me think of freshly spilled blood on snow.
As befitting her exalted position, the empress had not come alone. Six attendants stood behind her—along with a tall immortal man, his complexion darker than the rest. Flat pieces of amber adorned his black hat, his inky robes were fastened with a bronze sash, and white gloves covered his hands. I knew nothing of the Celestial Court, but the way he carried himself seemed to indicate he was of a higher rank than the others. Yet there was something about him I did not like, and as his pale brown eyes sliced across the room, I recoiled, pressing my back against the wall.
After a brief pause the empress spoke again, her voice now cooler than a piece of unworn jade. “Chang’e, a peculiar shift was detected in the energy here. Are you cultivating a secret power or harboring a forbidden guest, violating the terms of your imprisonment?”
I stiffened, my shoulder blades clenching at the way she spoke. An eagerness seemed to coat each word as though she reveled in the idea of my mother’s wrongdoing. Empress or not, how dare she speak this way? My mother was the Moon Goddess, worshipped and loved by countless mortals! How could she be a prisoner? This place was more than our home; it was her domain. Who lit the lanterns each night? Who did the trees sway and sigh for as she walked past? How could she do anything here that wasn’t her right?
“Your Celestial Majesty, there must be some misunderstanding. My powers are weak, as you are aware. And no one else is here. Who would dare come?” my mother replied steadily.
“Minister Wu. Share your discovery,” the empress commanded.
Footsteps shuffled forward. “Earlier today a significant shift in the aura of the moon was detected. Unprecedented, in all my years of study. This can be no coincidence.”
In his smooth voice, I sensed an undercurrent of excitement. Did he relish my mother’s troubles, as the empress seemed to? Anger seared me at the thought, despite my prickling unease. That rush in my veins earlier when I had touched the lights, the whispering in the air . . . had that somehow drawn them here?
“I hope our leniency has not made you bold,” the empress hissed. “You were fortunate before, to have been imprisoned here in comfort for stealing your husband’s Elixir of Immortality. You escaped the lightning whip and the flaming rod then. But that will change if we discover you’re engaging in further deceit. Confess now and we might be merciful,” she lashed out, shattering the tranquility of our home.
My fist flew to my mouth, smothering my gasp. I had never asked my mother how she ascended to immortality, sensing it caused her pain. Yet ever since I read the tale of the sunbirds, one question kept winding through my mind: Where was my father? To hear he had been bestowed the elixir, and my mother was accused of stealing it . . . something twisted in my gut. The empress was wrong, I told myself fiercely, burying a treacherous kernel of doubt.
My mother neither flinched nor denied these vile accusations. Was she accustomed to such treatment from the empress? As I peeked into the room again, she folded over to press her forehead and palms to the floor. “Your Celestial Majesty. Minister Wu. Perhaps this phenomenon was caused by the recent alignment of the stars. The Azure Dragon’s constellation has entered the path of the moon, which may have distorted our auras. When it passes, things should return to normal.” She spoke like a scholar who studied the skies, though I knew she had no interest in such matters.
A long silence followed, punctured by a rhythmic tapping—the empress’s pointed gold sheaths digging into the soft wood of the armrest. Finally, she rose, her attendants gathering behind her.
“That may be so, but we will come again. You have been left alone for far too long.”
I was glad for them to leave, despite the threat that lurked beneath the empress’s tone like a silk cord yanked tight. Unable to bear listening to more, I crept back to my room and lay on the bed, gazing out through the window. The sky had darkened into the elusive violet-gray of dusk, when the last of day gives way to night. My mind was numb, though I still sensed when those unfamiliar auras faded away. Moments later, my mother pulled the doors apart, her face whiter than the stone walls.
My doubts vanished. I did not believe the Celestial Empress. My mother would never have betrayed my father. Not even for immortality.
I scrambled up from the bed, coming to her side. I was almost as tall as her now. “Mother, I heard what the empress said to you.”
She threw her arms around me, clutching me tight. Against her shoulder, I sagged with relief that she was not angry, though her body was tense with strain.
“We don’t have much time. The empress could return at any moment with her soldiers,” she whispered.
“What can they do? We did nothing wrong.” My stomach roiled, an unpleasant sensation. “Are we prisoners? What did the empress mean about the elixir?”
She leaned back to look into my face. “Xingyin, you’re not a prisoner here. But I am. The Celestial Emperor bestowed the Elixir of Immortality upon your father, for killing the sunbirds and saving the world. Houyi did not take it, though. There was just enough for one and he did not want to ascend to the skies without me. I was with child, our happiness seemed complete. And so, he hid the elixir, only I knew where.”
Her voice broke then. “But my body was too weak to bear you. The physicians told us that you . . . that we would not survive the birth. Houyi did not want to believe them, he did not want to give up—bringing me to one after the other, searching for a different prognosis. Yet deep down, I knew they spoke the truth.” She paused, a tautness around her eyes like she was reaching into her memories, those which hurt. “When he was called to battle, I was left alone. The pains began then, far too early, in the deep of night. Such agony tore through my body, I could barely cry out. I was so afraid of dying, of losing you.”
As she fell silent, the question burst from me, “What happened?”
“I took the elixir from its hiding place, uncorked its stopper, and drank it.”
In the stillness of the room, all I could hear was the beating of my own heart. My hands were no longer warming my mother’s but were as cold as hers.
“Do you hate me, Xingyin?” she asked in a shaking voice. “For betraying your father?”
The empress’s words were true. For a moment I could not move, my insides curling at the revelation. If my mother had not taken the elixir, perhaps we might have survived. My family, unbroken. Yet I knew how much she loved my father, how greatly she mourned his loss. And no matter what, I was grateful to be alive.
I swallowed the last of my hesitation. “No, Mother. You saved us.”
Her gaze was distant, veiled in memory. “Leaving your father . . . oh, how it hurt. Though I must admit I did not want to die. Nor could I let you die. Only later did I learn that gifts from the Celestial Emperor came with unseen strings. That such decisions were not for mortals to make. The emperor was enraged that it was I who became immortal instead of your illustrious father. The empress accused me of using trickery to obtain immortality which I had not earned.”