The Immortal Words (The Grave Kingdom), стр. 35

Someone had closed the lid of the sarcophagus, creating a vault of blackness. The air was stale but not unpleasant. And it smelled of peace and tranquility—her smell.

She felt a gentle pressure against her mind. The voice of the phoenix was much softer now. It was the tiniest of whispers, yet it was as piercing as the birdsong that had opened her heart.

Draw the glyph. We must go.

In the cramped confinement of the sarcophagus, Bingmei lifted her arm. That act felt glorious. Knowledge flooded inside her. She knew how her arm worked. Everything about the blood, sinew, and bone was instantly clear to her. Yet it wasn’t her knowledge. She was borrowing from the phoenix’s vast understanding. She traced the glyph Shijian on the lid of the sarcophagus, and it sparked to life, illuminating the crypt. The word Shijian was made up of two different symbols merged together. As she drew the parts with her finger, another aspect of the glyph became clear to her. Time could either slow or quicken.

Something tugged inside her heart.

He’s ready for you.

Again, the whisper came so softly, she could barely hear it. She felt that other strand inside her, the one connecting her to Rowen’s heart, and followed it as the magic of the glyph enveloped her.

The stone box fell away as the curtains of time opened to her. A shaft of light encircled her, and she could feel the wings on her back pumping as she vaulted over the chasm of time. The sensation of flying was deliriously enjoyable.

The brightness of the light intensified before fading into an ordinary noonday sun, revealing Bingmei’s surroundings to her. She was flying over the mountains surrounding the palace of Fusang. Not the Fusang of the otherworld, but the one she had visited beneath the glacier. Roads had been built connecting the palace to the bay, where huge trading ships and junks came in and out of the waterway.

The wind was crisp against her cheeks as she soared overhead. She recognized the area just outside Fusang—the sandy shore where Keyi had docked his boat, and the waterfall behind which Muxidi and his Qiangdao had concealed themselves. But it was different now—there were roads and wagons, even houses built against the base of the cliffs. Everywhere she looked, there was evidence time had passed.

Bingmei followed the river from above, looking for the splendid palace. As she approached it, she realized she no longer feared it. The energy had changed completely. And when she swooped down from the sky, she saw the massive marble slab separating the staircases to the Hall of Memory had changed. The artwork now depicted one phoenix and one dragon on each side of an orb. When had the carving changed, and who had done it?

Bingmei knew where to find Rowen. She could feel him waiting for her, a persistent tugging at the line connecting them. He wasn’t in one of the major palaces but one of the smaller structures beside a garden.

She felt like a bird coming down, half falling, half floating, until she settled on the garden path leading to the building. The air was fragrant with the smell of flowers and trees. And then, to her astonishment, she realized this garden was an exact replica of the hanging trees garden from Sajinau, the one in which Rowen had urged her to flee the falling city.

When she looked down at herself, she was surprised to see her hair white again, white as snow.

The smell of the flowers wrapped around her, intoxicating. It felt wonderful to smell something other than emotions, to inhabit her body again.

Thank you, she thought to the phoenix. She didn’t sense its presence now. She felt that she was by herself. But hadn’t she been warned of this? Whether or not she could feel the phoenix, it was there. It was part of her.

Bingmei walked to the small building with the sloping roof. A little siskin was sitting there, waiting for her, and it chirped excitedly. She smiled in greeting, sensing Rowen inside, waiting for her.

When she reached the door, she pushed it open and stepped inside. The room had upper windows, open to the sweet scent of the flowers. She saw Rowen pacing by a large couch. His hair was longer than she remembered it being, tied back in a queue. How much time had passed? It was difficult to tell, for he had a youthful face still, clean shaven. He wore a silk jacket with colorful embellishments.

When she saw him, she felt her heart erupt with so many pleasant feelings, those she had resisted for so long. She tried to speak his name but found herself unable to do so. Some unknown power prevented her, although it didn’t feel like a harmful force. Rather, it felt like this was part of her destiny. Their destiny.

Rowen turned toward the doorway, his head cocked slightly. He didn’t look at her, and she realized, by his troubled, milky-clouded gaze, that he was still blind.

His hand reached out and groped for the edge of the couch. “Is it you?” he asked, his voice nearly a whisper. “Is it?”

She tried to speak again, but again the power prevented her. But it felt right. She stepped toward him, walking softly. He rested his hand on the couch, and Bingmei could see it tremble.

“This is it, isn’t it?” he gasped. “It felt like it would happen today. Are you there? Are you a ghost? Tell me you are real. Tell me this hasn’t been madness.”

She came up to him, feeling overwhelmed by the intensity of her longing. Knowledge flickered in her mind. This was the moment he had seen in a vision all those years ago. He had accepted his fate long before she had accepted hers. She wanted to ask him questions, to reassure him. But she still couldn’t speak. Instead, she put her hand on his atop the couch.

“You are real,” he said with