The Awakening Dragon delegation was the last to arrive, despite their territory sharing a border with that of the Flowing Purewater. The Heavenly Empire of Qin was enormous, and the Awakening Dragon was the greatest of all the sects—first among equals. The sect proper was much further north than their border with the Flowing Purewater, and unlike the imperial clan—which had to travel from further north still—they were not all xiantian cultivators.

  Yan Ren had split from the returning invasion force and traveled north to meet his brother in craft and hasten their arrival, and had it been just Yan Hao’s disciple they may have arrived much sooner. However, their pace was defined by someone they had no right to hurry—Long Chunhua, Yue’s mother and the matriarch of the ruling Yan family in her husband’s absence.

  Without a more concrete ruling, Yan Yue was the de facto grandmistress of the Great Awakening Dragon sect, but her mother remained in charge of the clan until such time that the proverbial reins could be officially passed on. It was a small distinction, but a meaningful one, and it meant—among other things—that Long Chunhua refused to be rushed.

  Qin was a land of rules and traditions, plots and secrets, where words were weapons and face was more valuable than gold. Because of this, people found meaning in everything. Every single detail of a meeting had a purpose—a hidden message, whether deliberate or otherwise. The distance between speakers, the location of the room and its decorations, and even—in this case—the order of arrivals.

  What even self-proclaimed masters forgot was that the meaning wasn’t rigid. What one took as an insult, another might see as a compliment—and the truly savvy could arrange for both at once from multiple perspectives. The rules were there to be bent and broken—just another tool with which to manipulate one’s foes.

  Some would say that it was embarrassing to tarry for so long when others had already arrived, or that it was the height of rudeness to keep the imperial clan waiting. The truth was that it didn’t matter when you arrived at all—but rather how you presented it.

  Long Chunhua never arrived ‘fashionably late’ nor was she ever early. Her arrival happened precisely when it was meant to, and that was because she made sure it always happened on her terms. She did not rush or dawdle. Thus, when she was called to this ‘summit,’ she left with adequate preparations, and traveled at a comfortable pace. She welcomed Yan Ren’s techniques speeding them along, but aside from that, she would arrive when she arrived and if that troubled her counterparts, it was their failing, not hers.

  Yan Hao worried that this would fail to give face to the royals, and Yan Ren was anxious not to give his perceived enemies time to plan and prepare. What Long Chunhua knew was that losing face in order to give it was foolish, and that if she had any enemies at the summit, their plans and preparations had happened long before she ever received an invitation.

  As they approached the narrow spire of the Purewater Peak, she turned an enchanted piece of white jade over in her hand. It hadn’t changed. Pristine, unblemished, and completely dim. Yan De’s spiritual jade tablet was not something just anyone had access to. The one in their inner sanctum was a fake—her husband was more paranoid than most realized, and he did not trust just anyone with the resonance of his soul. He did trust her, however.

  It was an odd relationship. She had not married for love, but she had an understanding with her husband, and he trusted that if nothing else. Now, his spiritual tablet was dead. Not broken, just unresponsive, as though his soul had vanished.

  “Or changed...”

  Chunhua glanced at the tablet in her other hand. It was bright. Too bright. Her daughter’s soul had grown beyond what the simple jade talisman could properly convey, and had she returned home at any point, Chunhua would have upgraded it.

  She was proud of Yue. Though she’d encouraged her where possible, Chunhua had never expected Yue to actually achieve such heights before being tied down by her other duties. Arguably she hadn’t, but Chunhua could own that her daughter had been fairly clever about shirking her obligations long enough to free herself from them.

  She was also worried. Yue had thrown her lot in with this foreign empress, and while Qin had never condescended to acknowledging foreign sovereignties—the southern isles excepted—they had put down more than a few attempts to unite the frontier. The fractured feudal lords of Yamato and the isolated shield cities of Goryeo suited the empire as impotent foes to wage war against. If they had the will, Qin could have united the continent ages ago. They didn’t, because it was convenient to have an enemy—some external threat to keep the great sects from turning their ambitions too far inwards.

  Now Yue was that enemy. And yet, Chunhua gazed at the shining tablet of jade.

  “She’s happier than I’ve ever seen her.”

  Oh yes. Yan De was right to be paranoid. Spiritual jade tablets could do so much more than simply confirm the well-being of the one attuned to them. Imperfect or not, it was a reflection of the soul, and with the right techniques, that reflection could be read. That was what she had given Yan De, and what she had been forbidden from teaching even her own daughter. It was why he trusted her, where he would doubt even the God-Emperor.

  He could read them too.

  The power upon which he’d founded his sect was nothing compared to that. The Dragon’s Heart had earned Chunhua his attention, but it was the Dragon’s Soul that earned her his hand. Techniques passed down from mother to daughter for generations, only to be sold off in the end by a wretched coward to secure a comfortable life for herself.

  She didn’t regret it. Chunhua had done what she needed to do. Yue, it seemed, had no regrets either.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “I do not know what you sacrificed, Yan Yue. My daughter...”

  Long Chunhua produced the last of the jade tablets she carried with her. It had broken a long time ago, but she couldn’t bear to discard it. She clutched the two neatly bisected pieces of stone which once reflected Yan Zhihao’s soul to her chest, imagining that they still contained some dim echo of her son within.

  “I only hope it was worth it.”

  Yue was not nervous or anxious as she and Yoshika awaited her mother’s arrival. Anxiety implied some level of uncertainty or fear, but Yue felt neither. Anticipation, yes, but she knew what was coming, and though she expected that the initial meeting would not be pleasant she didn’t fear it. Resignation, if she was being uncharitable—dread if she wanted to be outright rude, but no, those didn’t describe her feelings either. She was, if anything, looking forward to it. She had missed her mother greatly, and was overjoyed for the opportunity to reunite, regardless of the circumstances.

  Jia was visibly confused, and thought Yue was overreacting, but she’d see for herself soon enough. Until then, Yue was...braced. For an exercise comparable to sparring with Master Ienaga Yumi. A difficult and painful activity with a foregone conclusion, unpleasant in the moment, but enlightening and fondly remembered.

  Long Chunhua did not arrive with an army at her back, or a parade to herald her—that was not her way. A lady’s presence spoke for itself, and it would be poor form to compete with the royals anyway. She entered the city on a magical palanquin, but disembarked as soon as she entered the gates. She wouldn’t walk or run on a long journey, but neither was she so lazy or decadent that she required to be carried hither and thither through the city. With Ren and Hao at her flanks, she ascended the steep stairway to the Flowing Purewater herself.

  She was dressed up as much as Yue and Jia, though in her case it was an everyday occurrence. Her black hair was all tied up in an elaborate golden headdress, with gold and jewels hanging from elaborate loops of hair that took hours each day to prepare. Yue suspected that she’d had it done before the journey and simply maintained it constantly along the way. Like Yue, her eyes were a deep emerald green, enhanced by dark eyeshadow and red wings of liner. The rest of her face was made pale white by makeup, except for her ruby red lips and a gold chain of shimmering gemstones decorating her forehead.

  Her dress continued the pattern of red and gold—both to match her hair and eyes, and because they were the colors that represented the Awakening Dragon sect. Unlike Yue and Jia’s dress robes, Long Chunhua wore a dress, a purely impractical fashion item that threw function to the dirt. Less an article of clothing, and more a piece of art that was worn on the body. Nevertheless, it fit her perfectly, and she did not need to lift it out of the way of her feet as she made her way up the steps—practically gliding her way over them as though she never even touched the ground.

  Long Chunhua did not meet Yue’s eyes as she ascended, keeping her gaze straight forward as though she could not even see anything that she had not already acknowledged. She was, in every way, exactly as Yue remembered.

  Only once she’d arrived on the same plateau before the temple did she finally look in Yue’s direction. Just a momentary glance, then she bowed to Jia with a warm smile.

  “Empress Yoshika of Jiaguo, Lady Long Chunhua greets you on behalf of my clan and the Great Awakening Dragon sect of the Heavenly Empire. We are honored by your invitation to attend this summit, and thank you for the hospitality which you have granted us.”

  Jia returned the bow smoothly.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Long Chunhua. I’ve heard great things about you. I welcome you as my guest, and offer you to avail yourselves of the full amenities of our hosts on my behalf.”

  “I’m pleased that my reputation endears me, Your Majesty, and may I also offer my gratitude to you and our hosts for taking such good care of my daughter.”

  “Please, feel free to call me Lee Jia or Yoshika. Yue has taken care of us as often over the years as vice versa, so your gratitude, while appreciated, is unnecessary.”

  Yoshika obviously wasn’t quite at home with the overly formal manners of Qin introductions, but she’d practiced and Yue thought she handled it well enough. Chunhua gave her an approving nod—not that such a thing could be taken at face value—then turned her attention, at last, to Yue. The moment had finally arrived.

  “Yue.”

  “Mother.”

  That was it. Neither bowed or nodded to each other, and their expressions gave nothing away as they exchanged the simplest, blandest greeting possible. The warm smile Chunhua had given to Yoshika had vanished, leaving only flat, disinterested scrutiny in its wake. Her eyes did not flicker or move, but Yue knew that her mother was taking in every last detail of her appearance, and that assumption was proven right in an instant.

  “That pin you wear—what is it?”

  The Moon Lady’s Pride was a simple golden pin that Yue had worn for so long that most people—herself included—forgot it was even there. An intrinsic part of her personality which she had made herself under Murayoshi’s instruction. Once an invaluable channel for the Darkness qi she used in her Melody of the Dreaming Moon, Yue now only wore it for sentimental purposes, having long since outgrown the amateur enchantment.

  Rather than say all of that, Yue picked out only one salient fact—no doubt the only one her mother would care about.

  “I made it myself.”

  “That much is evident, but why are you wearing it? The magic in it is worthless to you, and any mortal jeweler could make a better accessory.”

  “It is a reminder, mother. Of who I am, who I was, and who I strive to become.”

  “It doesn’t suit you. Such a flaw is unbecoming of a daughter of Yan.”

  Yue smiled at that. A decade ago, she’d have been mortified by the criticism.

  “And yet it is part of who I am. Imperfection is not failure, mother—merely the opportunity for growth. I believe you will find I’ve done quite a bit of that since last we met—have you?”

  Long Chunhua was infamously difficult to read, but Yue had spent her entire childhood learning to notice the tiniest hints. A twitch of the brow, a faint quirk of the lips, and then a fractional nod of acknowledgement.

  “We shall see. It is good to see you again, Yue. You have been dearly missed.”

  “Likewise, mother.”

  “It would please me greatly for you to attend dinner with me tonight. I would not impose upon the empress’ time, but please extend my welcome for her to join us at her leisure.”

  Yue bowed as Chunhua proceeded past them, already calling for a servant to give her a tour of the temple.

  “Yes, mother.”

  Hao and Ren strode past them without a word as part of her mother’s entourage, leaving Jia and Yue alone on the plateau. When they were finally gone, Jia relaxed enough to give her an incredulous look.

  “Yue, what the hell was that?”

  “That, my dear, was my entire childhood. And likely to be the rest of our evening. Jia, meet Long Chunhua—my mother. Yes, she’s always like that.”

  “Ancestors, that explains so much.”

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