Bingmei finally managed to open her eyes again. Quion’s face was transported with joy. She felt it as well, swelling and brimming inside. The pangs she’d endured all night seemed a lifetime ago. She was still exhausted but not as spent as she’d been moments earlier.
“Then why did you react the way you did?” she asked. He looked so radiant holding the baby, swaddling it in his own clothes. “I smelled it, Quion. You can’t hide it from me.”
He finally pulled his gaze away from the baby and looked at her. “I was just surprised. But I’m not anymore.”
“Surprised at what? Tell me.”
Quion pressed his lips against the babe’s forehead. “This whole time you’ve been calling the baby your daughter. I thought you knew. Thought the phoenix had told you.” He grinned at her. “It’s a boy. Here.” He shifted the little bundle and offered it to her. “Hold your son.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Fate Accomplished
As Bingmei watched her baby sleep in the reed basket that Quion had woven for him, she stared at the tiny face, tiny fingers, the little puckered mouth that showed contentment, and she wondered whether her heart would burst from the feelings of love she had for her son.
Eight days had passed since the ordeal of childbirth, but already Bingmei’s memory of the event had been muted, stripped of consequence compared to the wonder of her child. She couldn’t stop staring at him. This little thing had come from her, and as she gazed at him, she found herself imagining her own mother and father kneeling by her cradle. And their parents before them. And their parents before them, backward in time, generation on generation, until the feeling swelled in her again and made tears prick her eyes.
“Have you thought of a name for him yet?” Quion asked, bringing her a ladle with water from the pot they used to melt snow near the fire glyphs.
She accepted the ladle and drank from it, sipping the water and quenching her thirst. She was always thirsty now. Her body continued to shift and retract from the experience of carrying a child, but she had begun doing deep stretches again and meditation, recalling the forms she’d learned and preparing herself to begin training again.
“I’ve considered so many,” she said with a sigh, leaning her head on her arm. “I could name him Shulian after Rowen’s father. Or Juexin after his brother. Or Jiao after my grandfather. Or my father’s name. But none of those feel right, even though they are all honorable people.”
“So you haven’t decided yet?”
“No, I think I have. My mind keeps coming back to it, but I’m unsure of myself. I worry about what Rowen will think. Would he want his son named after him?”
Quion pursed his lips. “You’re the one who did most of the work, Bingmei. And he’s not here to offer a suggestion. Do you think he even knows?”
“He knows something,” Bingmei said. “He never shared all that he’d seen in his dreams. Maybe he already knows our son’s name.” She smiled at that thought.
“What is it?”
She gazed down at the face of her child. He’d been a very calm baby. Only whimpered when he was hungry or needed to be changed. They kept him wrapped in furs and extra clothes, and he seemed full of starlight when he opened his eyes and gazed somberly at her while suckling.
“When I went beyond the Grave Kingdom,” she said, stroking the edge of her finger lightly along the babe’s cheek, “I learned the Immortal Word for the concept of time. The word is Shijian. The glyph representing it enabled me to travel into the future, to go to the palace of Fusang when Rowen is king.” She remembered a moment she and Rowen had shared on the ensign’s first voyage to Fusang. He’d asked her to serve on his ensign when he became king. She’d thought he was speaking about the throne of Sajinau, and yet . . .
Had he known it was her back then? Had he known he was destined to rule Fusang?
One look at Quion reminded her he was still waiting for her to finish. She sighed. “But there is another Immortal Word that is very similar in sound.” The phoenix had been teaching them to her, one by one, throughout the cold season. “The word is Shixian.”
“Shixian,” Quion said, speaking the word with reverence. “What does it mean?”
“It is a word that empowers something to be accomplished. It lends strength to the one performing the task, allowing them the chance to achieve the unachievable. And when I look at this baby, and when I think of what he must grow up to be . . . to do . . . that word keeps coming to mind. I think his very name should be a word of power. It will help him shatter Echion’s control of the Grave Kingdom. My little Shixian.”
She smelled Quion’s approval and satisfaction at her choice.
“I’ve never heard of anyone named that before,” he said. “But it’s perfect for him. I don’t think Rowen would argue with you about it.”
“He can be stubborn,” Bingmei said, smiling. She grazed her fingers through the feathery tufts of hair inside the cradle. The little one squirmed and rubbed a fist into his nose. “That is your name,” she whispered, dipping her fingers into the ladle of water and touching his scalp with her wet fingertip. “I name you Shixian,” she said and drew the symbol on his head.
A gray dove flew into the phoenix shrine. Its sudden arrival startled Bingmei, and she sat up, watching as the dove lighted on the far edge of the cradle. It cooed its throaty sound, and she felt
