Chapter Fifty Enemy of My Enemy

CHAPTER FIFTY

ENEMY OF MY ENEMY

I throw myself around Qin Zheng as he stomps forth and dangles Yizhi off the side of the building by his neck.

“He knows what we don’t!” I cry, the spiked ball of my meteor hammer slipping to the ground with a heavy clang .

“There’s a bomb on the ship,” Yizhi chokes out, raising something in his fist. His loose sleeve doesn’t fall to his elbow but somehow floats like red mist. His whole robe drifts around him as if it’s under water. “If my thumb leaves this button, it’ll go off and level this entire block. You won’t survive.”

“You have no idea what I am capable of surviving,” Qin Zheng hisses, morphing his meteor hammer into a single long sword.

“You have no idea what kind of bombs the Melians can make!” Yizhi glares at him, eyes lined all the way to his temples and painted with graduated shades of red.

“What do you mean by ‘Melians’? Is that what these so-called gods are?”

“See? You don’t…know…anything!” Yizhi’s face grows redder and his words grow weaker.

Against my shrieking instincts, I let go of Qin Zheng and step back. The more desperate I appear to save Yizhi, the more it might worsen Qin Zheng’s wrath. The fact that he’s merely dangling Yizhi over a ten-floor drop instead of standing over a headless corpse means his good sense is winning over his rage.

“He’s right,” I say, as calmly as I can, while reeling in my meteor hammer and attaching it to my hip opposite my sword. “We won’t get any answers if you kill him. And don’t forget, he didn’t come alone.” I glance back at the…ship, Yizhi called it? Its stairs have retracted, leaving no visible way in.

“Who’s in there?” Qin Zheng demands.

“Not…telling…unless…” Yizhi gasps and wheezes louder. His bare legs kick in the air.

Qin Zheng swings Yizhi around and drags him in through the hole in the roof. I give the ship an extra wary look before following them. With careful pumps of my wings, I drop halfway down the building, where Qin Zheng tosses Yizhi onto a balcony.

“How are you here, and what are the gods?” He points his sword at Yizhi, the metal gleaming under the aquarium’s shifting blue light.

Yizhi coughs and struggles for air. Everything, from his robe to his makeup to the neon sticks in his hair, glows in the dimness. He pushes to his feet, swaying on his high-heeled shoes. Their sloping arches and pointed tips remind me disturbingly of my own feet before the surgery, though the shoes are big enough that I don’t think he had to break any bones to wear them. But they can’t be comfortable. I have a bad feeling about why he’s dressed like this and what he’s been doing in the Heavenly Court.

“I got contacted as a backup to Sima Yi and told to report any sign of ‘aggression’ by you,” he croaks at Qin Zheng. “They see you as a dangerous dictator of a rogue state. After you found out about the plan to keep you contained, I convinced them to take me up here, since they were the ones who endangered my life.”

“So are these cretins human or not?”

“They are. Nothing supernatural about them. They just have really advanced technology. The universe is much, much bigger than you think, and there are hundreds of inhabited planets out there. This is a trade station established by the Melian Republic, the most powerful planet. Most people who live here are Melian soldiers or employees of a company called Vivasi Minerals.”

My chest draws tight, and my head spins with every bit of information he gives. There are hundreds of other worlds besides ours? I can barely imagine the other human strongholds on our own single planet.

Qin Zheng paces in a small circle, looking like he’s about to explode. “How dare these pretenders make us worship them as gods!” he says with a lash of his sword.

“Technically, they don’t,” Yizhi says, gaze dull. “They just never correct our assumptions or the mythology we spin about them. The Melian government’s official policy is ‘minimal interference with more primitive civilizations.’?”

“ Primitive? ”

“Aren’t we?” Yizhi raises his glowing, buoyant sleeve. Although the style of his robe looks more familiar than anything I saw in the photos in that home, I can’t comprehend the material it’s made from. Dragons shaped by shining gold dust move on the drifting flaps as if alive. It reminds me of a proverb: “Heavenly clothing has no seams.” Guess we got at least one thing right.

“If they say they don’t interfere, why did they take Shimin hostage to demand things of me?” I question, my voice unsteady.

Yizhi meets my gaze, his eyes glistening in the wavering blue radiance around us. After everything that’s happened, it’s like looking into the eyes of a stranger, a boy capable of deceiving an empress, an emperor, gods . Did I ever understand him? I’m no longer sure I want to.

Yet, at the same time, I fear for him.

What did they do to you? What have you been through? Did you find Shimin here?

“The Melians say a lot of things they don’t really live by,” Yizhi says. “You’ll see. Bring me back to the ship and come with me if you want more answers. I know where the armored transport ships are, and those are weaponized and engineered with spirit metal. That means you could pilot them if you got your hands on one.”

A sharp breath hitches in Qin Zheng’s chest.

“Wait, can they hear us right now?” I hush my tone, scanning our surroundings.

“Probably, but it doesn’t matter,” Yizhi says. “They’d love nothing more than for you to leave the habitat rings. As long as you’re here, they can’t turn any of their best weapons on you without risking a ton of collateral damage, including civilian deaths.”

“Civilians,” Qin Zheng spits out like a foul taste. “What have they promised you in exchange for leading me astray? A better position in their little paradise?”

“If all I cared about was my own well-being I would’ve slit your throat when I had the chance!” Yizhi glares at him with a raw, naked disdain that must’ve been festering inside him since the first time they spoke. “I didn’t spare you just to keep Huaxia from falling apart. Despite how I worked with the Melians, I always hoped you would make it here one day and kick them out. Though I expected that to take years, not this soon. But now you’re here, and I have the information you need. Are you going to reject it out of spite?”

“You expect us to trust you?”

“What else will you do? Run around killing at random until you run out of—behind you!” Yizhi points, shock overtaking his face.

Qin Zheng whips around and throws me behind him. We scan the atrium.

There’s nothing new in the aquarium’s dancing light.

“See?” Yizhi says, casual again. “You don’t know this place. You don’t even know what to be afraid of. How do you plan on taking it down without guidance?”

Qin Zheng turns back with a loud curse, grip quivering around his sword. “I could end you right here.”

“Try it.” Yizhi raises the detonator.

“Questionable move, asking me to trust you as you threaten my life.”

I side-eye Qin Zheng. “You do that to me basically every week.”

“Not the time!” He flashes his palm at me.

“Exactly, we’re running out of time!” I move toward Yizhi. “Dawdle all you want. I’m going.”

“Fine!” Qin Zheng bars me with his arm. “If you insist, my love.”

He pulls me in and kisses me.

I jam my hand against his chest, but relax against it the next second. If I want to keep Yizhi safe, I can’t let Qin Zheng think the relationship I used to have with Yizhi matters to me in any way.

When I break from the kiss, Yizhi’s face is perfectly still, except his eyes are a little too wide, angled at the floor and unblinking. I keep my demeanor passive as well, despite the acrid heat singeing my face.

What did you expect, once you’d left me with him? I wish I could shout at him.

Not that I blame him, of course. I walked into Qin Zheng’s arms by my own will, knowing it was a mistake. One I made many, many times.

“Give me your qì.” Qin Zheng yanks Yizhi close like they’re dancing, clutching his waist and clasping his hand. It would almost look romantic if not for Yizhi’s cry of pain and the blood leaking from their joined palms. Yizhi’s meridians flicker aglow, his qì flowing visibly into Qin Zheng, who then launches them both up into the air with a crack of his wings.

I fling myself over the balcony to keep up. Yizhi clings to Qin Zheng with his detonator-holding arm, jaw clamped tight. He almost buries his face in the crook of Qin Zheng’s neck, but he jerks his head back at the last second. Their qì-lit eyes meet with utter mutual hatred. After we emerge back on the roof, Qin Zheng continues to siphon Yizhi’s qì, holding him in place like they’re locked in battle.

“Stop!” I step toward them.

Qin Zheng turns a luminous glare on me.

“Save some for me.” I make a gesture of incredulity.

He huffs, but detaches his gauntlet and holds out Yizhi’s bloody, trembling hand. My skin crawls at the concentration of tiny holes on it. I had to pierce my palm the same way when I gave my qì to resurrect Qin Zheng, but that was way less messy. He did this poorly on purpose.

I show no emotion as I take Yizhi’s hand, something that would’ve made me feel so warm and safe a different lifetime ago. Even though I have him to thank for that half a year of being out of Qin Zheng’s reach, Yizhi’s lies to him don’t cancel out his lies to me. I don’t hate him anymore, but I don’t forgive him either.

“Tell me when you feel faint.” I puncture his palm with my own needle-thin constructs, not hard to make after months of training.

Yizhi winces. “Will do.”

My meridians sting with the flood of his qì, feeling like veins engorged to the brink of bursting. It’s not soothing, like when he used to nourish the Vermilion Bird. It’s something more unnatural. More unbalanced.

“Did you find Shimin up here?” I whisper while Qin Zheng is distracted keeping vigilant of our surroundings. I might go mad if I hold this question in any longer.

“They let me see him once.” Yizhi’s painted eyelids droop over his radiant eyes. “I couldn’t bear to stay for more than a few seconds.”

“So there’s no way to bring him back?”

“Not without giving up the chance to destroy this whole station.”

In the dawning sunlight, I see Yizhi more clearly. No hesitation exists in his eyes. Although his skin is finer, not a single pore visible, he’s also skinnier, the bones of his face more pronounced. However he’s lived these past few months, it has taken a toll on him.

“What about the tribute girls?” I ask. “What really happens to them up here?”

Yizhi is quiet for a beat before gesturing at himself with his detonator. “We are liberated from our sexually oppressive cultures and empowered to work at an entertainment center,” he says, pointedly loud and as though he’s reciting someone else’s words. Behind him, Qin Zheng tenses up at what must be a reminder of his mother. “Not just us, but girls from other Orichaean regions, too. That’s what they call our planet.” He peers up at it. “Orichaea, after orichalite, their name for spirit metal.”

Orichaea .

I try to wrap my mind around this name I never knew our world had. Something that unites all of us born under its skies, even though we’re isolated from one another.

I clutch Yizhi’s hand tighter. “Is there a way to send the girls back safely?”

“Maybe after we get hold of a cargo ship…But it’d be a stretch to pick up the girls and fend off the Melians at the same time.”

I release a long sigh and gaze up at our planet.

How often must the girls have done the same, mourning a home so tantalizingly close yet an impossible journey away? The sun has fully emerged from behind it, looking like a gleaming diamond against the black void of space.

“Okay, I don’t think I can give any more,” Yizhi says on a strangled breath, flexing the hand entwined with mine.

I disengage from him at once, feeling more jittery than refreshed, as if I drank too much tea to stay awake. Yizhi waves at his ship. Its stairs drop down with a hiss of air.

“Don’t do anything rash,” he says to me and Qin Zheng. “Remember, you don’t know how to make this thing fly.”

Qin Zheng doesn’t protest. He no longer moves with reluctance when we make our way up the stairs. If he doubted Yizhi’s motives when it comes to the Melians before, I don’t think he does anymore.

Low purple light seeps from the ship’s inner surface, illuminating two seats I’m almost surprised to see solidly attached to the floor.

In one seat is a bone-pale person with short, fluffy, pink-and-blue hair.

“Nothing rash!” Yizhi shouts as Qin Zheng and I reach for our swords. “This is Helan. Their mother was a Huaxia tribute. They’re here to help.”

My heartbeat goes off kilter, thudding in my ears. Here is a false god in the flesh. Someone who has peered down on us from the stars our whole lives, untouchable. Yet they look so thin and dainty, even I could probably snap them in half. The strange jacket they’re wearing cuts off at their rib cage, exposing the narrow width of their waist. Radiant colors shift at the collar and hems.

“ N-neehow .” Helan gives a shaky wave.

Only seconds later do I realize that was an attempt to say hello in Hanyu.

“That thing looks nothing like us!” Qin Zheng yells.

“Look at their eyes. Black, like ours.” Yizhi points at his own.

“Those are not black eyes. These are black eyes.” The air chills as Qin Zheng channels Water qì. His irises turn void-black, and so do his meridians, crawling in black paths across his face.

Helan shrieks.

“Stop that, you’re wasting qì!” I smack Qin Zheng on the side, though my own skin goes clammy and cold beneath my armor. Watching this false god get flustered is worse than if they were solemn as a statue. It’s proof they’re as human as us.

So why do they get to live in this paradise above the skies while we have to fight for our survival on the ground?

Qin Zheng powers down with a glower. “Is that a boy or a girl?”

“Neither,” Yizhi says.

“Excuse me?”

“Many things work differently here.”

“ Woh dwei neemen… ” Grimacing, Helan taps a smooth strip on the curve of their ear. A glowing dot appears on their throat. When they speak again, an artificial voice that sounds like their own translates their words into much smoother Hanyu.

“I am sorry for the way my people have treated yours. You have a beautiful culture I adore. It is full of deep spiritual wisdom.”

Qin Zheng and I stare at them.

“Kill yourself,” Qin Zheng says.

I smack him again while Helan flinches.

“I—I am willing to help you acquire the means to better negotiate with my people!” Helan stammers.

“Helan is part of an organization called the Society of the Friends of the Primitives,” Yizhi says. “They have the support of the Unity Party, one of the two big political factions in Melia. The Melians think I kidnapped Helan, but Helan’s actually here to help the Unity Party win the next election.”

I blink, barely following any of this. “I’m sorry—what? Election? Why would helping us help any of the Melians?”

“Because the Unity Party’s chief rival, the Prosperity Party, is currently in power. Every five years, the Melians vote for their leader. Like a worker council, except it’s the whole country. The next election is projected to be very close, but this trade station getting attacked under the Prosperity Party’s watch could push a lot of voters toward the Unity Party.”

“The Prosperity Party is a danger to our democracy,” Helan adds, a plea shining in their eyes. “They cannot be allowed to win again.”

“You’re telling me your leaders must engage in a mandatory power struggle every five years?” Qin Zheng exclaims. “What kind of inefficient political system is this?”

Yizhi shrugs. “Is it really worse than letting the guy with the biggest Chrysalis decide everything, even though there’s a constant danger of him suddenly dying in battle?”

“That poses no issue when it’s me !”

I put my hand to my face. “Qin Zheng, we are literally on a suicide mission.”

“It doesn’t have to be one if you accept Helan’s help,” Yizhi says with more seriousness.

Helan turns to Yizhi to say something, but gasps upon noticing his bloody hand, which he’s kept clenched until now. Helan’s fingers fly to the ship’s dashboard. A digital interface awakens, full of neon colors. A compartment slides open with a tap of a button. Helan fishes out a small white can with a red cross on it before taking Yizhi’s hand.

The familiarity in the gesture gives me pause. I don’t buy that a false god would be sincere in wanting to help us, but whatever kind of person Helan is, whatever role they played in lording over Huaxia, Yizhi trusts them. How did they meet? What’s happened between them in the past few months?

Helan sprays a foamy substance on Yizhi’s mutilated palm. The perforations fizzle and seal up. A clear layer solidifies above the fizzing.

Unbelievable.

I don’t care about floating couches, but this kind of technology could have saved so many lives in Huaxia.

“Can that thing be used by anyone?” I ask, unable to keep the bitterness out of my mouth when I think of the festering wounds I saw after floods and typhoons. “You just point and spray?”

“Yes.” Helan nods. “It is stem-cell based.”

I don’t know what that means, but I beckon for it. “Give it to me.”

Helan almost drops it in their haste to pass it over. I tuck the can against my thigh by making a pocket in my armor. It could prove useful in battle.

“Where is the bomb?” Qin Zheng inspects the ship’s smooth innards. “Keep your guard up against me all you want, but I do not think it wise to keep that onboard while flying into conflict.”

Looking him right in the eye, Yizhi takes his thumb off the detonator. My heart misses a beat, but nothing happens. He presses a symbol on the tube and applies a fresh coat of lip gloss with an applicator that spins out.

I have to hold Qin Zheng back yet again as he unleashes a volley of curses so colorful he slips into his street dialect.

Yizhi tucks the lip gloss into his robe and takes the seat beside Helan’s. He says something in what I assume is the Melian language. A voice responds from the dashboard, so natural-sounding that I can’t tell if it’s another person or just the ship’s systems, though I lean toward the latter when the interface proceeds to project a model of the Heavenly Court. Or this “trade station,” apparently.

“We need to go up to the central corridor.” Yizhi gestures at the long axis linking the two massive habitat rings to a bunch of modules and panels on the other end. “The hangar is on the other side of the station, past the cargo holds. The problem will be getting through the junctions.” He spins the projection and zooms in on one of the ring spokes connected to the central axis. “The government has probably locked down every gate leading to the hangar by now. You might have to get out and smash through them somehow, because this ship doesn’t have firepower of its own.”

A change comes over Qin Zheng throughout the mission brief, as if he’s switching modes to all war and no emotion.

“Leave it to me,” he says.

Yizhi nods at Helan, who taps another button on the interface. Two extra seats unfold out of the floor. Once Qin Zheng and I sit down, straps dart across our bodies, buckling in the middle.

With a soft hum, the ship rises.

I jump when the walls go transparent, showing an unobstructed view of the outside. Though judging by how the ship’s outline remains traced out in neon, this must be a digital illusion.

“Could someone take control of this ship?” I ask, recalling how easily the Melians can hijack devices in Huaxia.

“Helan disabled the components that could let that happen,” Yizhi says. “We’ll have to fly without some functions, including communication with Helan’s allies, but here’s hoping it works.”

“Go to the Yellow Dragon!” Qin Zheng points toward the melted blob in the distance that really shouldn’t be called a dragon anymore. “We ought to give this vessel some additional protection.”

Helan turns a steering wheel that seems able to move in any direction, like a cobra’s head jutting out of the dashboard. Neon rulers project around it in three dimensions, little lines moving along the numbers with every shift of Helan’s hands. The ship cruises off the roof and toward the Yellow Blob.

“Emperor Qin, I have seen serial dramas from Huaxia about you,” Helan says, pale cheeks reddening. “I still cannot believe you have come to life again.”

“ Our serial dramas?” I say, while Qin Zheng makes a puzzled face. He never got into modern media. Neither did I, honestly, but those dramas can’t have been historically accurate.

Helan nods. “It is incredible, the stories Huaxia can produce despite your rudimentary technology. You are oddly inspiring, Emperor Qin. Many call you a tyrannical dictator, but I think you are misunderstood. You do bad things for good reasons, because you do not want the children of the future to experience what you did.”

Oh, no. What was in those drama scripts?

“So you were the one watching my every move?” Qin Zheng lurches forward, straining his straps.

“No!” Helan shakes their head. “Only the government has access to that kind of data. It was through my mother that I discovered stories from Huaxia. Please know I have done everything in my power to advocate for your people.”

“Have you?” He lets out a cold laugh. “How gracious.”

“If your mother is really from Huaxia, where is she now?” I ask.

“She passed away a few years ago.” Helan’s real voice breaks while the translation coming from their earpiece remains smooth. “Not every Orichaean adjusts well to life on the station.”

My heart sinks. I have many more questions, but the ship lands. The machines still on the ground swarm toward us.

Qin Zheng and I bolt out to defend against them.

While I hack at them with my sword, he lashes a line of spirit metal at the Yellow Blob. The whole thing turns liquid, at which point he hauls it as a molten wave onto the ship, coating its surface. The non-spirit-metal pieces of engineering in the pilot seats slip to the ground. Helan calls to him through the ship’s speakers about the parts that must be left uncovered.

Once they confirm we can fly again, Qin Zheng announces he’s not going back in, then he vaults on top of the ship. Which is probably for the best, since I don’t know if Helan will keep helping us if they speak any longer with the real Emperor Qin.

He crouches down, sword ready. As I’m torn between whether to duck inside or join him in his madness, something stirs in my spirit sense. I whirl in its direction.

“What are you waiting for?” Qin Zheng yells.

“I-it’s moving,” I gasp. “Shimin’s spirit signature is moving.”