Chapter 37

ZHEN

Zhen's head snapped toward Xian. Seeing the disbelief and devastation that splintered across the other boy's face was a hundred

times worse than being repeatedly plunged into the cultivation pool.

Then Xian seemed to compose himself. Without a word, he strode toward the inner court.

Zhen started to follow, but Feng caught his arm.

"Let him be. He needs to see her alone." Feng turned to the physician who had delivered the news. "What happened?"

"About an hour ago, she became deeply disturbed," the physician replied. "She kept asking for Prince Xian, saying that she

needed to see him. Her handmaids tried to calm her down, but she became more and more hysterical before losing consciousness.

We did our best to save her... but we couldn't."

A prickle rose across Zhen's skin. An hour ago—they were in Leifeng Pagoda, and it was about the time Fahai had struck Zhen to kill him and take the pearl's power. The jade amulet had repelled the attack, causing it to rebound onto Fahai. Xian's mother must have sensed the evil that had broken her protection charm; she thought something terrible had happened to her son, and in her fragile state, the panic and agitation had overwhelmed her.

Zhen sank to his knees in despair. Xian could've insisted that Zhen heal his mother before they went to Leifeng Pagoda to

rescue Qing. But he hadn't.

Even if it costs my life, I'm going to save her, Zhen had said.

I know, Xian had replied. And I will stay by your side.

Later that afternoon, Zhen walked along the streets of Xifu with Qing. It reminded him of the times they'd spent together

in Changle while they were on their meal breaks—lounging under the shade of scholar trees, trading gossip she'd heard from

the kitchen and news he'd picked up from the stable. That had been less than two weeks ago, but it felt like a distant memory.

News of the death of the king's favorite consort—the mother of the newly appointed crown prince—had spread beyond the palace,

and the atmosphere in the town was somber. Merchants selling their wares of charcoal, tea, oil, and wine spoke in hushed tones.

Children were stopped from running around and playing flutes in the streets. A woman chided her husband for being drunk at

such an early hour.

Zhen looked at Qing. "Where were you when you heard the message I sent through the trees?"

"I was already on my way to Wuyue to find you," Qing replied. "Hei Xing—well, the person I thought was Hei Xing—asked to meet

me at a secluded spot outside the palace. When I showed up, Fahai was waiting. He overpowered me and brought me to the pagoda."

She sounded morose. "I'm sorry I let him use you against me."

"He deceived all of us," Zhen said. "He expected me to bring him the pearl as payment of my debt to him for saving my life.

He must have been incensed when he found out I swallowed it instead, but he hid his fury well." He sighed. "None of this would've

happened if I had just given him the pearl in the first place. Little did I know I would set off a terrible chain of events

that would hurt so many."

"You're the one who told me that everything happens for a reason," Qing pointed out. "Without the pearl, you and Xian wouldn't

have met."

Zhen shook his head. "I would rather he had never met me and had his mother by his side, in good health. He would have been

happy... and that's enough."

Zhen would've been an ordinary snake living in the West Lake, oblivious to the fact that just beyond the palace walls lived

a prince who, in another time and place, would've been the love of his life.

He had taken what did not belong to him—including Xian's love. Xian was never meant to be his. He had stolen Xian's heart,

and Xian had paid the price.

The equilibrium always finds itself.

Zhen halted in front of the stone steps leading to a small temple. During his time as a human, he had avoided visiting temples

for the same reason he had chosen not to return to the West Lake. Being in a place of worship made him feel more unworthy.

The temple's outer wall was painted red; its pillars were black. There were three doors. Above the doors on the right and

left, a pair of wooden boards in the shape of an unfurled scroll were each carved with two different sets of characters that

Zhen couldn't read: 寶蓋 and 慈航 .

"I'd like to go inside for a while," he told Qing.

"Sure," Qing said. "I'll come with you."

"Actually, I would prefer to go alone," Zhen replied. "I have something I need to ask. Can you wait for me out here? I won't

be too long."

He hadn't paid close attention to which of the three doors people used to enter and exit the temple. There was no one to follow,

so to be safe, he walked through the middle doorway, which was the broadest.

An elderly monk inside stared at him in astonishment, and Zhen assumed he'd made the wrong choice.

The monk came up to him and bowed his shaved head. He was dressed in a cross-collared saffron robe embroidered with the yin-yang

symbol.

"It is not every day that we are honored to welcome a spirit," he said with reverence. "How may I be of service to you, my

lord?"

Zhen wondered how the monk knew he was a spirit creature in human form.

"I have an important decision to make," he replied. "I hope to ask the gods for advice."

The monk held out two crescent-shaped blocks painted red. "Perhaps the jiǎo bēi will reveal their answer."

Zhen took the curved bamboo blocks. He had seen people tossing them into the air and watching where they fell—it seemed that

the way the blocks landed on the floor was the answer to whatever they had asked about.

Zhen closed his eyes and spoke the question in his mind.

Can I still save Xian's mother's life?

He threw the blocks into the air.

When he opened his eyes, one crescent was facing up, and the other was facing down.

He looked to the monk for the interpretation.

" Shèng jiǎo ," said the monk. If he was puzzled that a spirit didn't know how to read divination, he didn't show it. "The gods are in

accord with what you have asked."

Zhen's chest constricted. Fate was cruel. Just when he thought he and Xian had finally overcome the odds, the hope that they

could have a future together dissipated like incense between his outstretched fingers.

When Zhen walked out of the temple, Qing was eating a juicy watermelon slice. She handed him a bamboo skewer of candied hawthorn

berries. "Try this, it's delicious."

Zhen took a bite of the dark pink fruit coated in syrup, which gave the tart hawthorn berries a saccharine glaze.

Qing wiped the back of her hand over her mouth. "So, did you get the answer you were searching for?"

An ache went through Zhen, but he pushed it down. "I did."