Page 113 of The Blood Orchid

Wenshu gripped my hand harder, crushing my fingers, cutting off my next words. “What’s the worst that could happen?” he said. “We die? Been there, done that.”

“Or I somehow mess up and destroy the whole world,” I said.

“It’s a pretty awful world, anyway,” Yufei said, shrugging. “Don’t alchemists want to raze it all down and start again? Now’s your chance. End the world, Zilan, I dare you.”

I cracked a smile, tightening my grip on their hands. “Okay,” I said. “One more time.”

I took a deep breath, then reached for the sound of the river.

I knew at once that this time was different.

Alchemy rushed like white lightning through our arms, stinging through our veins. I could tell from the way Wenshu and Yufei stiffened that they felt it too.

Our rings suddenly blazed star bright, casting red light on the ceiling. The gold tiles beneath my knees dissolved into a sparkling mist. A ringing began in my ears, an angelic hum like the vibration of a crystal drinking glass, the whole universe clicking into alignment. The river roared louder in my ears, its waters crashing into the hallway, shockingly cold as the ceiling fell away to a starless night sky.

Together at last, the shadow makes three.

I’d assumed it was the joining of the three stones that opened Penglai, but perhaps it was three souls, three hearts with the same dream, intention clear and bright. Just as Zheng Sili had said, the man in the poem wasn’t actually alone—he had his shadow behind him and the moon above him.

Take us to Penglai, I thought. The river inhaled the words and began to rise.

Waters wrapped around me in warm ribbons, my whole body suddenly so relaxed that I almost let go of my siblings’ hands. As if they could sense it, both of them tightened their grip around me as the current lifted us off our feet.

The water carried us forward into warm darkness, its touch like silk as it ferried us forward. It felt nothing at all like drowning in the river of life, but rather like falling slowly into a dream.

The waters set us delicately on soft ground and retreated, cool waves kissing over our feet, warm light cast over our faces. The air smelled of summer, years spent splashing through cool mud with my cousins and sharing half a dragonfruit on the front stairs and hunting for summer constellations. The memories scorched away all my fears, just as my father’s notes had said.

It is a place of no pain, or hunger, or winter.

“Zilan,” Wenshu said, tugging my sleeve. “What are you waiting for? Look where we are.”

But I waited a moment longer, too aware that I was balanced on the precarious edge between dreams and reality, the moment when a wish became truth. Nothing could ever be as beautiful as a dream. At least, that was what I’d always believed.

I opened my eyes.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Sunlight had never felt so gentle on my face. It was like my mother cupping my cheeks in her hands and saying,You are my whole world. My toes sank into sand as soft as silk, a warm bath of it molding to the shape of my feet.

We were standing on a shore, the waters around us spanning all the way to the horizon, clear with shifting sunbeams. The waves captured the gentle light, sparkling far out to the horizon. I could make out glimpses of colorful fish and bright coral beneath the surface, swaying dreamily in the waves.

Over my shoulder, parasol trees cast the island in shade, the shifting leaves carrying the scent of fruit and salt. Cottony cloud formations dotted the pale blue sky and gathered around a mountain peak in the hazy distance.

All the aches I’d felt from travel, and thirst, and worry had melted away, leaving my body warm and pliable as clay, yet somehow lighter than it had ever been before. I looked down at my clean hands, no dirt or blood beneath my nails. I wore robes of white silk that fluttered in the breeze, rippling behind me.

I turned to Wenshu and Yufei, who looked like ghostly versions of themselves, their scratched and sunburned faces once again smooth, hair clean and untangled.

“Wow,” Wenshu said, eyes wide as he turned to look out across the sparkling sea, then up at the mountains that faded into lavender high above us. “You were right, Zilan.”

“About what?” I said, my own voice an ethereal echo.

“Penglai Island is real,” he said.

I shoved his shoulder. “You never thought it was real?”

He shrugged. “You have to admit, all this”—he gestured to the bright island before us—“Is a bit unlikely.”

Yufei was already wandering off toward the tree line, pulling a pear from a low-hanging branch.

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