At ten years old, Ji Xuanyue had three great enemies.
The first was ceremonial footwear.
The second was Master Wen Shuren's conviction that every princess ought to memorize three hundred poems before being permitted to form an opinion of her own.
The third was the eastern wall of Jade Crescent Palace.
The wall was the most reasonable of the three.
It did not pinch her toes, criticize her handwriting, or insist that the tragic death of a poet who had lived nine hundred years ago contained lessons essential to the governance of Lanyue Kingdom. It merely stood between Xuanyue and the object of her immediate concern: a painted wooden swallow caught in the upper branches of an old flowering tree.
The swallow belonged to Qiao Meiyu.
More importantly, it had been made by Meiyu's elder brother before he departed for the western border, and its left wing had already begun to bend beneath the morning wind.
Xuanyue regarded the distance between the palace wall and the branch.
Then she regarded her silk slippers.
"Those will not help," Meiyu whispered from below.
Xuanyue looked down.
Her companion stood in the shadow of the wall, clutching the end of a length of decorative red cord. At eleven, Meiyu was a year older, half a head taller, and possessed what Queen Lanyin called excellent practical judgment.
This excellent judgment had not prevented her from helping Xuanyue escape Master Wen's lesson.
Nor had it prevented her from tying together three curtain cords so that a princess of Lanyue could scale the eastern garden wall.
"I know," Xuanyue whispered back.
"You said that before you started climbing."
"I knew then too."
"That makes it worse."
Xuanyue ignored her.
One slipper had already fallen into the peonies. The other remained caught between two carved stones several arm-lengths below her. She had decided to regard its loss as a sacrifice demanded by the wall.
The top was close.
All she needed was one more foothold.
She pressed the side of her bare foot against a narrow ridge in the stone, tightened both hands around the cord, and reached upward.
Her fingers touched the upper edge.
The wall was warm from the morning sun.
Xuanyue smiled.
"There."
"You have not reached the swallow."
"I have reached the wall."
"That was not our problem."
"It was an intermediate problem."
Meiyu made a quiet sound that suggested she had spent too much time listening to Master Wen.
Xuanyue pulled herself higher.
For a moment, her elbows rested upon the top of the wall and her feet swung uselessly below her. Beyond the palace grounds, Yunjing spread beneath the pale-blue sky.
The capital did not look like the maps in her father's study.
On maps, Yunjing was a collection of orderly districts divided by straight ink lines. The Luoshui River curved through the city in a graceful ribbon. The royal avenues were broad, the markets precisely placed, and the outer walls so neat that Xuanyue had once wondered why enemy armies did not simply walk around them.
The real city refused to behave so obediently.
Roofs of red, brown, green, and blue crowded together beneath drifting cooking smoke. Traders were already filling the eastern market. Barges moved slowly along the Luoshui, their square sails bright in the sun. Festival ribbons had been stretched between towers, and enormous paper moons swayed above several streets.
The Moon-Turning Festival would begin before sunset.
Xuanyue had been waiting for it for forty-three days.
Master Wen had attempted to convince her that a princess ought to measure the passage of time through seasonal duties, ancestral observances, and the meetings of the royal court.
Xuanyue preferred counting mornings until festivals.
The wooden swallow flapped helplessly above her.
Its painted eyes seemed accusing.
"I am coming," she told it.
"What?" Meiyu called.
"Nothing."
Xuanyue swung one leg over the wall.
That was when the curtain cord slipped.
Meiyu gasped.
Xuanyue seized the stone edge with both hands. Her body struck the wall, knocking the breath from her lungs. The red cord slid past her shoulder and dropped into the garden below.
For one suspended instant, she remained draped across the top of the wall, half within the palace and half beyond it.
"Your Highness?"
The voice came from beneath the tree on the other side.
Xuanyue slowly lifted her head.
Commander Han Qingshan stood below her.
The captain of the royal guard was a broad-shouldered man with iron-grey beginning to show at his temples. He wore no helmet that morning, which allowed Xuanyue to see the exact degree to which his eyebrows had risen.
Two palace guards stood behind him.
Both had become deeply interested in the surrounding flowers.
"Good morning, Commander Han," Xuanyue said.
He looked at the red cord hanging down the inner side of the wall.
He looked at her missing shoes.
Then he looked up at the wooden swallow trapped in the tree.
"Good morning, Your Highness."
Xuanyue waited.
Commander Han waited.
Meiyu, still hidden from his view, appeared to have stopped breathing.
"I can explain," Xuanyue said at last.
"I am certain you can."
"It is an important mission."
"Of course."
"The swallow is in danger."
Commander Han's gaze moved to the toy.
The wooden bird rocked gently upon the branch.
"I see."
"It may fall."
"So may you."
"I was going to retrieve it first."
"That is considerate."
There were moments when Xuanyue suspected Commander Han had learned sarcasm from her mother.
He stepped closer to the wall and raised his arms.
"Come down, Your Highness."
"I am almost at the tree."
"You are almost in the infirmary."
"But—"
"The swallow will be recovered."
"By whom?"
Commander Han glanced at one of the guards behind him.
The guard immediately stopped studying the flowers.
"Guard Liu will climb the tree."
Guard Liu stared at the highest branch.
The swallow had become lodged at least twenty feet above the ground.
"Gladly," he said.
Xuanyue considered the matter.
There was no dishonour in delegating a task to a qualified subordinate. Her father had said so during a council meeting.
He had also said that a ruler who demanded dangerous sacrifices for trivial reasons was an idiot, although Xuanyue suspected she was not supposed to have heard that part.
She released the wall with one hand.
Commander Han's expression changed.
"Slowly."
"I know how to climb down."
"You knew how to climb up."
"That is why I am here."
"Precisely."
Xuanyue turned carefully and lowered herself into his reach. Commander Han caught her beneath the arms and set her upon the grass.
The palace wall had scraped one knee and left grey dust across the front of her pale-yellow robe. A smear of green marked one sleeve. Her hair, which Meiyu had spent nearly half an hour arranging, had come loose on one side.
Commander Han examined her with the resignation of a man inspecting the aftermath of a minor siege.
"Are you injured?"
"No."
"Truly?"
"My knee hurts a little."
He crouched to inspect the scrape.
Xuanyue endured this with dignity until Meiyu emerged from the garden gate carrying both slippers.
Commander Han turned his head.
Meiyu stopped.
One of the slippers hung from each hand.
"Lady Qiao," he said.
"Commander Han."
"Did you assist Her Highness in climbing the wall?"
Meiyu looked at Xuanyue.
Xuanyue looked at Meiyu.
"No," they said together.
Commander Han closed his eyes.
"That answer was impressively coordinated."
"We practiced," Xuanyue said.
Meiyu made a strangled noise.
Commander Han opened his eyes again.
"Master Wen has been searching for both of you."
Xuanyue's satisfaction vanished.
"How long?"
"Long enough to involve the servants."
"That seems excessive."
"You disappeared from a royal lesson."
"We left a note."
"You left a drawing of a swallow."
"The note was on the back."
Commander Han held out his hand.
Meiyu surrendered the slippers.
He placed them before Xuanyue.
"Shoes."
Xuanyue considered asking whether she might walk barefoot instead. The commander's expression answered before she spoke.
She pushed her feet into the slippers.
The ceremonial shoes pinched immediately.
Enemy one had survived.
Above them, Guard Liu climbed cautiously through the branches. He reached the swallow, freed its painted wing from the leaves, and brought it down without incident.
Meiyu took it in both hands.
The relief on her face was so open that Xuanyue decided the scraped knee had been worthwhile.
"Thank you," Meiyu whispered.
Xuanyue smiled.
"You are welcome."
"I meant Guard Liu."
Guard Liu attempted to hide his laughter behind a cough.
Xuanyue narrowed her eyes at her companion.
Commander Han began guiding them toward the inner palace.
"Where are you taking us?" Xuanyue asked.
"To Her Majesty."
Xuanyue stopped walking.
Commander Han continued for two steps before looking back.
"Could we go to Master Wen instead?"
"No."
"I believe I have developed a deeper appreciation for poetry."
"I am sure he will be delighted to hear it after you have spoken with your mother."
Xuanyue looked toward the rooftops of the inner palace.
The day had begun so promisingly.
By the time they reached the queen's private courtyard, Xuanyue had prepared four possible explanations.
The first emphasized filial duty. Meiyu's brother had departed to defend Lanyue Kingdom, and preserving his gift was therefore an expression of respect for a serving soldier.
The second emphasized royal responsibility. A princess ought not to abandon an object merely because retrieving it presented difficulties.
The third blamed the wind.
The fourth blamed Master Wen's poetry.
Xuanyue intended to select whichever explanation best suited her mother's mood.
Queen Su Lanyin sat beneath a flowering trellis, drinking tea.
She wore a robe of pale blue embroidered with silver reeds. Her dark hair was gathered with a single white-jade pin, and the morning light softened the elegant lines of her face.
Two cups waited upon the table before her.
Xuanyue looked at the cups.
Then at Meiyu.
There were only two.
Commander Han bowed.
"Your Majesty."
Lanyin's gaze travelled over her daughter from loose hair to dusty robe to scraped knee.
"Thank you, Commander."
He bowed again and withdrew.
The traitor did not look back.
Meiyu began to follow him.
"Meiyu," the queen said.
Meiyu froze.
"Yes, Your Majesty?"
"Your mother is waiting in the adjoining courtyard."
Meiyu's shoulders dropped.
Xuanyue gave her a look of sympathy.
Meiyu returned one that said sympathy was inadequate compensation for shared guilt.
She bowed to the queen, clutched the wooden swallow against her chest, and departed to meet her fate.
Xuanyue remained standing.
Her mother lifted the teapot.
"Sit."
Xuanyue sat.
Lanyin poured tea into the second cup.
It was not tea.
A sweet fragrance rose from warm pear juice.
Xuanyue's hope returned cautiously.
Her mother did not usually provide pear juice before severe punishments.
Then again, her mother believed uncertainty cultivated reflection.
Xuanyue took the cup.
"Did you reach the swallow?" Lanyin asked.
"Guard Liu did."
"Then the expedition succeeded."
Xuanyue studied her mother's face.
"Yes."
"And what did it cost?"
"One slipper."
"Commander Han recovered it."
"A scraped knee."
"Physician Mu can examine it."
"My lesson."
"That remains lost."
Xuanyue lowered her cup.
"I can complete it this afternoon."
"You cannot. We are attending the public petitions this afternoon."
Xuanyue had forgotten.
She tried not to show it.
Her mother saw anyway.
"You remembered the festival."
"I have been counting."
"And forgot the duty that allows you to attend it."
"I did not forget. I misplaced the knowledge temporarily."
Lanyin took a measured sip of tea.
Xuanyue could never tell whether her mother's silences indicated amusement or judgment. Often, they indicated both.
"Why did you climb the wall yourself?" the queen asked.
"It was Meiyu's swallow."
"That does not answer the question."
"Her brother made it."
"Still not an answer."
Xuanyue frowned.
Because it had mattered to Meiyu.
Because Meiyu's brother was far away in the White-Reed March, and because the toy was one of the few things he had left behind.
Because the swallow's wing had looked fragile.
Because waiting for an adult would have taken too long.
"Someone had to," Xuanyue said.
Her mother set down her cup.
"There will always be something that someone must do. A princess cannot climb every wall herself."
"Father says rulers should never ask others to do what they are unwilling to do."
"Your father also has Commander Han inspect the city walls rather than hanging from them by curtain cords."
"That is because Commander Han is better at walls."
"And Guard Liu was better at trees."
Xuanyue looked down at the pear juice.
The answer was obvious after her mother spoke it.
That made it irritating.
Lanyin reached across the table and adjusted the loose side of Xuanyue's hair.
"Your instinct was kind," she said. "Your method was foolish."
Xuanyue considered this.
"Can both be true?"
"Frequently."
"Does one cancel the other?"
"No. That is why decisions are difficult."
Her mother's fingers lingered briefly against her cheek.
"You will apologize to Master Wen. You will complete the missed lesson tomorrow morning, and the curtain cords will be replaced from your personal allowance."
"That may take months."
"Then you will remember the price of rope."
Xuanyue sighed.
"May I still attend the festival?"
"That will depend upon your conduct during the petitions."
This was not a refusal.
Xuanyue sat straighter.
"I will conduct myself perfectly."
Lanyin's mouth curved.
"Try to remain inside the palace until noon."
"I can do that."
"Without climbing anything."
Xuanyue's confidence weakened.
"I can probably do that."
Her mother laughed.
It was not the graceful, restrained laugh she used during public ceremonies. It was warm and bright and belonged only to their private rooms.
Xuanyue loved that laugh.
She finished the pear juice while her mother repaired her hair.
The Hall of Listening stood near the southern edge of Jade Crescent Palace.
Its name had always struck Xuanyue as hopeful rather than accurate.
Most adults who entered the hall seemed primarily interested in speaking.
On petition days, representatives from across Lanyue Kingdom were permitted to bring disputes and requests before the royal court. Provincial officials came dressed in formal robes. Village elders arrived with weathered hands and carefully prepared speeches. Merchants brought ledgers. Soldiers brought reports from the marches. Occasionally, two furious neighbours travelled for weeks to argue over a wall, a tree, or a goat.
Xuanyue had attended three previous sessions.
The first had lasted so long that she had fallen asleep behind her mother's sleeve.
During the second, she had attempted to count the ceiling tiles and lost track after four hundred.
The third had included the goat.
Today, she sat to the left of her father's raised seat and promised herself she would listen.
King Ji Mingyuan did not look particularly kingly when he visited Xuanyue's chambers in the evenings.
There, he wore simple robes, stole preserved plums from her mother's trays, and complained that the palace cooks respected the queen more than their king.
Inside the Hall of Listening, he seemed taller.
His formal crown was not elaborate by the standards of neighbouring realms, but the dark-jade band and silver crest framed the severity of his face. His deep-blue robes bore the crescent-and-river emblem of Lanyue.
Xuanyue had inherited his eyes.
Her mother said this whenever her father accused them both of conspiring against him.
The first petitions concerned grain storage in Qinghe Valley.
The second concerned repairs to a bridge crossing the Luoshui.
The third concerned an irrigation channel.
Two men knelt before the royal seats.
One was an elderly farmer named Old Chen, whose village had maintained the channel for generations. The other was Steward Luo, who represented a recently expanded silk estate upstream.
Steward Luo claimed the estate possessed written rights to divert part of the water.
Old Chen claimed the diversion had reduced the village paddies to mud.
A provincial magistrate presented three sealed documents.
Then everyone began speaking.
Xuanyue listened.
She truly did.
For nearly half an hour.
The estate had purchased land from a noble family. The noble family possessed an old charter. The charter allowed the construction of waterworks. The village possessed an older agreement granting it seasonal access to the channel. The estate argued that access did not guarantee volume. The village argued that water too shallow to reach the paddies did not count as access.
The Minister of Works proposed widening the channel.
The Minister of Revenue objected to the cost.
Steward Luo offered to fund part of the work if the estate received a tax reduction.
Old Chen accused him of stealing water and then demanding payment for returning it.
The ministers began debating the precise meaning of the word access.
Xuanyue felt a ceiling-tile count becoming increasingly attractive.
Then she noticed Old Chen's hands.
Mud remained beneath his nails.
He had dressed carefully for court, but the cuffs of his robe were mended in three places.
Steward Luo's robes were immaculate. His estate could afford advocates, surveyors, and copies of documents bearing seals from three reigns ago.
The village had sent Old Chen.
Xuanyue lifted her hand.
Her father saw.
The ministers did not.
Mingyuan raised two fingers, and the hall quieted.
"The princess has a question," he said.
Dozens of faces turned toward Xuanyue.
She immediately regretted having a question.
Her mother sat on the king's other side. Lanyin did not rescue her.
Xuanyue folded her hands in her lap.
"When was the estate's diversion built?"
Steward Luo bowed.
"Three months ago, Your Highness."
"And when did the village plant its rice?"
Old Chen answered. "Four months ago, Princess."
Xuanyue looked at Steward Luo.
"Did you know the paddies had already been planted?"
"The estate acted within its rights."
"That was not my question."
A murmur moved through the hall.
Steward Luo paused.
"Yes, Your Highness."
"If the village loses this planting, what happens?"
Old Chen bowed until his forehead nearly touched the floor.
"We will have little grain for winter."
Xuanyue turned to the Minister of Works.
"How long would widening the channel take?"
"With sufficient labour, perhaps six weeks."
"The rice cannot wait six weeks."
"No, Your Highness."
Xuanyue looked at her father.
"The estate should stop diverting water until the harvest. Then both sides can widen the channel together."
Steward Luo opened his mouth.
Xuanyue continued before he could speak.
"The estate knew the village had planted. The village did not know the estate would take the water. That is not equal."
Silence followed.
She wondered whether she had said something foolish.
Her father did not smile. He rarely smiled while sitting in judgment.
"What of the estate's charter?" he asked.
Xuanyue thought.
"They can use it after the harvest."
"If a royal charter grants a right, may the Crown simply suspend it whenever exercising that right causes hardship?"
The question was more difficult than the wall.
Xuanyue looked again at Old Chen.
Then at Steward Luo.
"No," she said slowly. "But a right to build waterworks is not a right to ruin a crop that was already planted."
One of the older ministers stroked his beard.
Mingyuan leaned back slightly.
"And who bears the cost of delaying the estate?"
Xuanyue had not considered that.
"The kingdom?" she suggested.
The Minister of Revenue looked stricken.
A few people laughed softly.
Her father's mouth almost moved.
"Perhaps not the entire kingdom," Xuanyue amended.
She thought of her mother asking what the wall had cost.
"The estate loses three months because it acted without warning the village. The village would lose a year because the estate acted without warning them. Those are not the same cost."
Mingyuan looked toward Steward Luo.
"Did your estate provide formal notice before diverting the channel?"
"No, Your Majesty. The charter did not require—"
"I did not ask what the charter required."
Steward Luo lowered his head.
"No."
The king turned to the ministers.
"The diversion will cease until the conclusion of the village harvest. During that period, the Ministry of Works will survey an expansion of the channel. The estate will bear half the expense. The provincial treasury will bear one quarter, and the villages receiving the expanded flow will provide labour equal to the remaining share."
The Minister of Revenue relaxed.
"Before any further diversion," Mingyuan continued, "water volumes will be fixed by season and witnessed by both parties. The old charters will be reviewed. Rights granted without obligations produce disputes, not prosperity."
Both petitioners bowed.
The matter was concluded.
The next petition began.
Xuanyue leaned slightly toward her mother.
"Was my answer correct?" she whispered.
"Partly."
"Which part?"
"You noticed who had been given no warning."
Xuanyue waited for more.
Her mother faced forward.
"That is all?"
"That was the most important part."
Xuanyue looked across the hall again.
Old Chen was being guided toward a side chamber where a clerk would record the judgment. Steward Luo followed at a respectful distance.
Her father had considered the charter, the harvest, the estate, the village, the treasury, and the future of the channel.
Xuanyue had considered only the rice.
Perhaps ruling meant seeing all the pieces.
Perhaps it also meant knowing which piece would be crushed while everyone else debated.
The remaining petitions passed more quickly.
Or perhaps Xuanyue had become better at listening.
When the session ended, her father removed his crown with visible relief.
"Your mother tells me you attacked the eastern wall."
"The wall was unharmed."
"That was not my concern."
"The swallow was rescued."
"So I heard."
Mingyuan bent and examined her scraped knee.
Xuanyue submitted to a second inspection.
"You have your mother's caution," he said.
Lanyin looked at him.
Xuanyue looked at him.
He reconsidered.
"You have inherited qualities from both of us."
"That is safer," Lanyin said.
"I am king. I do not require safety."
"You require it more than most."
Mingyuan offered Xuanyue his hand.
"Come. We have delayed the festival long enough."
Yunjing changed after sunset.
The ordinary lamps remained, glowing behind windows and beneath shop awnings, but thousands of festival lanterns joined them.
Paper moons floated above the streets in white, gold, blue, and silver. Children carried lanterns shaped like rabbits, foxes, fish, dragons, flowers, and stars. Musicians performed upon temporary stages. Vendors called from stalls heavy with sweets, dumplings, grilled river fish, carved toys, ribbons, painted masks, and tiny brass charms.
The Luoshui reflected it all.
Light trembled across the dark water until the river appeared to carry another city beneath the first.
Xuanyue walked between her parents wearing a plain lavender robe beneath a hooded cloak. Meiyu followed with her mother and two guards dressed as household retainers. Commander Han and several more members of the royal guard remained scattered through the crowd.
No one had forbidden Xuanyue from knowing they were there.
They had merely asked her to pretend not to notice them.
She pretended very well until she saw Commander Han purchase two sticks of candied fruit from a vendor.
"You said guards on duty should remain vigilant," Xuanyue told him.
Commander Han looked at the candied hawthorn in his hands.
"I am inspecting the food."
"Both sticks?"
"A thorough inspection."
Meiyu laughed.
Commander Han handed them each one.
The inspection proved successful.
They passed a row of puppet stages where painted heroes fought river spirits and bandits. At another stall, a storyteller described distant Realms whose mountains floated through the sky and whose oceans shone with their own light.
Xuanyue stopped.
"Are there truly oceans that glow?"
The storyteller had not recognized her beneath the cloak. He grinned broadly.
"There are oceans that burn, young lady. Oceans that freeze beneath three suns. Oceans so vast that ships sail for a hundred years without finding land."
"Has anyone from Yunluo seen them?"
"Realmfarers have seen stranger things than I could invent."
Her father placed a copper coin in the storyteller's bowl.
"Do not encourage her too much," he said.
The storyteller laughed.
"No child has ever been harmed by a large imagination."
Mingyuan glanced toward the palace rooftops visible above the city.
"My eastern wall might disagree."
Xuanyue pulled lightly at his sleeve.
"How many Realms are there?"
"More than anyone has counted."
"Have you visited any?"
"Three."
"Only three?"
"Your disappointment wounds me."
"Which ones?"
"The Hengshan Realm, when I was young. The Suyin Realm for your mother's coronation delegation. And the Molan Realm during a border accord."
"Were they different?"
"Very."
"How?"
He began describing them as they walked.
The Hengshan Realm possessed mountains taller than the clouds and cities carved into their sides. The Suyin Realm was covered by forests whose leaves changed colour with the phases of its two moons. The Molan Realm had broad black plains where silver grass grew higher than a horse's back.
Xuanyue listened to every word.
"Will I visit them?"
"When you are older."
"All three?"
"Perhaps."
"And others?"
Her father looked down at her.
"How many others?"
"All of them."
Mingyuan laughed.
"That may require more years than you possess."
"Then I will begin with the nearest ones."
"A practical compromise."
Her mother joined them near the river.
Lanyin had purchased a white paper lantern painted with a single silver crescent. She handed it to Xuanyue.
"For the turning."
The Moon-Turning Festival marked the beginning of Lanyue's warm season.
According to the old stories, the first rulers of the kingdom had crossed the Luoshui beneath a moonless sky. With no stars to guide them, they released lanterns upon the river and followed their reflections downstream until they reached the valley where Yunjing would eventually stand.
Master Wen insisted that the story was symbolic.
Xuanyue preferred to believe the lanterns had truly known the way.
She carried hers toward the riverbank.
Hundreds of people were already gathering there. Families wrote wishes upon their lanterns before setting them on the water. Some asked for successful harvests. Some asked for health, marriages, children, advancement, safe travel, or fortunate business.
Meiyu wrote carefully upon the lower edge of her wooden swallow's likeness painted onto her lantern.
"What did you wish for?" Xuanyue asked.
"If I tell you, it will not happen."
"Who decided that?"
"Everyone knows it."
"I do not."
"That is because you never listen."
"I listened all afternoon."
"You listened to petitions. That is different."
Xuanyue considered writing that she wished to visit every Realm.
It was a good wish.
A large wish.
But the storyteller had said there were more Realms than anyone had counted. A lantern might become confused if given such a difficult task.
She glanced at her parents.
Mingyuan and Lanyin stood together several paces away. Her father had said something quietly. Her mother was smiling at him.
Meiyu's mother adjusted her daughter's cloak.
Commander Han pretended he was not finishing the last of the candied fruit.
The Luoshui moved gently beneath the lights.
Xuanyue lowered her brush.
Upon the lantern, she wrote:
May everyone I love return safely home.
It was a proper festival wish.
Meiyu's brother would return from the White-Reed March.
The fishermen would return from the river.
The merchants would return from distant roads.
Her father would return from court each evening, and her mother from every royal ceremony, and Meiyu from every scolding administered by her formidable mother.
There was room beneath the words.
Xuanyue added:
And may I see at least one glowing ocean.
She showed the lantern to Meiyu.
"That is two wishes," Meiyu said.
"They are both smaller than every Realm."
"That is not how wishes work."
"Have you studied wish law?"
"No."
"Then we cannot know."
Together, they carried their lanterns to the edge of the river.
A temple attendant lit the small candles inside.
Xuanyue crouched and placed her lantern upon the water. For a moment, she kept one hand against its paper frame.
The current tugged gently.
She released it.
The white lantern drifted away from the bank.
Meiyu's followed.
One by one, hundreds of lights joined the Luoshui until the river became a path of stars.
Xuanyue stood between her parents and watched her wish travel through Yunjing.
Her father rested one hand upon her shoulder.
"Where do the lanterns go?" she asked.
"Most are collected before they reach the southern farms."
"That is not a very good story."
"No," Lanyin said. "Your father is remarkably poor at festival stories."
Mingyuan looked offended.
Her mother leaned closer to Xuanyue.
"They follow the river until the moon reads every wish. Then they become stars."
Xuanyue looked up.
The true moon hung above Yunjing, pale and nearly full. Stars surrounded it in numbers too great to count.
"Which story is true?"
"Both," her father said.
"That is impossible."
"You will discover that adults use the word truth very carelessly."
Lanyin nudged him with one elbow.
Xuanyue watched the lanterns.
She decided her mother's version was more beautiful and her father's more useful.
Perhaps both were necessary.
Behind them, drums began to sound from the central square.
The great festival moon was being raised.
It was a vast sphere of paper and bamboo taller than three men, painted with silver mountains and white clouds. Ropes lifted it gradually above the rooftops while the gathered crowd cheered.
Xuanyue cheered too.
She forgot court etiquette.
She forgot her scraped knee.
She forgot Master Wen's poems and the price of replacement curtain cords.
She took Meiyu's hand and pulled her toward the square.
They ran beneath the lanterns while their parents followed at a more dignified pace.
Musicians struck cymbals. Dancers in moon-white robes turned through the crowd. Children chased one another with painted masks. Someone placed a silver ribbon in Xuanyue's hair. Someone else handed Meiyu a little clay whistle shaped like a bird.
For that evening, the entire capital seemed to breathe with one contented heart.
Later, when the moon stood high, the royal family returned to Jade Crescent Palace.
Xuanyue fell asleep during the carriage ride.
Her father carried her from the gate to her chambers despite her mother's observation that ten was too old to be carried whenever she became tired.
"She climbed a wall this morning," Mingyuan said. "Her strength has been exhausted."
"She climbed half a wall."
"A heroic half."
Xuanyue heard them through the soft blur of sleep.
She kept her eyes closed.
Her father placed her in bed. Her mother removed the silver ribbon from her hair and drew the blankets over her.
The painted wooden swallow stood safely upon the table beside Meiyu's empty chair. She had forgotten it when they returned from the festival.
Xuanyue would bring it to her in the morning.
Outside the window, Yunjing's lanterns continued to glow.
Somewhere beyond the palace, her own lantern was travelling down the Luoshui. Perhaps servants had already collected it. Perhaps the moon had read the words. Perhaps both stories were true.
Xuanyue drifted toward sleep thinking of oceans that shone beneath alien skies.
She imagined herself older, standing upon the deck of a Realm-crossing vessel while unfamiliar stars burned above her. Her parents would be waiting when she returned. Meiyu would demand a gift from every world. Commander Han would complain that no number of guards could adequately protect a princess determined to inspect burning seas.
The future seemed immense.
Not frightening.
Only distant, bright, and full of places she had not yet seen.
Ji Xuanyue was ten years old.
Her home was warm.
Her family was near.
And the world, in every direction she knew, was kind.