Guan Yin set a firm routine in place for me the following day, so there was little time to grieve. I woke at sunrise and prepared a simple breakfast for myself, Lung Nue and Shan Tsai. We took turns wiping our dishes and cleaning the kitchen. From there I tended the ponds and gardens, pulling weeds while the official gardeners patiently showed me how to relocate plants that were struggling and shooed the sprites away. After that I had lessons on writing and composition, mathematics, and history with an old man named Wang Lao Shi, who was impatient with my ignorance.

  I was allowed time for a mid-day meal followed by more lessons on science, music, and-when I could stay awake for it-philosophy. Guan Yin dined with us most evenings, teaching us etiquette, and asking thought provoking questions to challenge our reason, and I was dismissed to bed each night just after sunset.

  After a week I noticed that I could never find Guan Yin during the day. Shan Tsai explained that she worked in the world all day, answering as many prayers as she could, or comforting the grieving. He spoke with such reverence that my understanding of who she was shifted. Yet, she was available for me when she was there, inquiring after my studies, complementing me on the gardens, though I knew the real gardeners tended them in the afternoons.

  Once a week the goddess would ask, “Do you still wish to save them?”

  I always give her the same answer. The days turned into weeks; the weeks turned to months until one night Guan Yin woke me from my sleep. She sat beside me and took my hands.

  “Liko’s life is nearing its end. Do you wish to see him before he goes?”

  “What happened to him?”

  Her expression was soft. “He has reached the end of his mortal life. He grew strong and well, married, and had many children. He became a wealthy merchant known for his charity.”

  “But…”

  “One hundred and forty-five years is a very long life by all accounts. We can thank the remnants of Zhilan’s love and qi for that. Liko made good use of each day and he lived well.”

  She had told me that time was different here, but I couldn't understand how he could be gone so fast.

  “Would you like to see him?” she asked.

  I wiped my tears on my sleeve. “Yes, please.”

  “Close your eyes,” she said. “Open them.”

  We stood outside a grand house with ornate flying eaves on the roof. Lantern light streamed out through a partially open window as the snow fell around us.

  “How did we get here so fast?” I asked.

  “Only the gods can travel freely between the realms. The others, the soldiers and fairies, either have to go with one of us, or beg the imperial horses to take them. I travel so often, that it takes less than a moment." She shrugged. "Other gods have different means.”

  The frozen ground crunched beneath my feet as we neared the home and peered inside. The room was filled with the lamentations of men, women, and children. A withered man lay upon a bed, his wrinkled face strained with each labored breath. When his eyes blinked open, I knew him as my brother.

  “Liko.” I covered my mouth as his name evaporated in the cold.

  He turned toward the window, whispering to an old woman who ordered the window open. I stepped back but Guan Yin caught my arm.

  “Only he will see us.”

  He struggled to sit up, his relatives wailing for him to be still, but he did not listen. My stubborn little Liko looked out at me through suddenly clear eyes.

  “Jei Jei,” he whispered and gave a wide, toothless smile.

  Those gathered around him looked past us out the window.

  “Liko,” I said, seeing tears in his eyes.

  “You kept your promise,” he whispered in a voice as dry as an autumn leaf. A series of wracking coughs shook his frail frame as a woman assisted him to lay back upon the bed and covered him with blankets. He closed his eyes as his breath turned to failing gasps and shudders that grew longer apart. The family shut the window and whispered their confusion at his calling for a sister he'd never have.

  Guan Yin rested a steady hand on my shoulder. “We should leave before the Diyu soldiers come to collect his soul.”

  And with that, my brother was gone, leaving my chest hollow with grief.

  I stumbled through the next week only half aware of my surroundings. The heaviness in my limbs resulted in halfhearted work at the lotus ponds, picking weeds and fussing at the sprites whose charm had worn thin. My thoughts were thick and I could only give Lao Shi wrong answers. I kept to my room, avoiding Lung Nue and Shan Tsai with the irrational fear that speaking of my grief would somehow be an acceptance of my loss. I cried alone, rather than sitting in the sun or eating.

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  On the seventh day, Guan Yin came to me. “You must move on.”

  “My brother…”

  “Has been gone for over seven years now. Even his descendants have moved on.” She brushed the hair from my face, a small frown worrying her brow. “Do you regret your decision? I could still arrange a normal life for you if you wish it. Meng Po could wipe your memories and you could have a family and a long, healthy life.”

  I bit my lip. “What of father and Zhilan?”

  “They would go on as they have been.” Her tone carried no judgement. “They would want you to be happy.”

  “Who would save them?”

  She pursed her lips. There was no one else. The emperor’s judgement stated specifically that no one born of Heaven could help them and, other than Lung Nue, Shan Tsai and myself, there was no one else.

  “No. I will stay,” I said. "I have to help them."

  She squeezed my hand. “Take the afternoon for yourself. Go to the stables. Wander the grounds and gardens. Do not stay where the light cannot reach you any longer.”

  I followed her through the door, but she disappeared before the it closed. I wandered the palace grounds, beyond the ponds, moving past the enclosure of Guan Yin’s simple gardens and pocketing a few apples from the orchards before making my way to the stables. The grooms were grumbling about someone neglecting their duties and discussing what to do about him. But there was a hint of fear in their voices, neither of them wanted confrontation.

  The tall, grey horses ate my offerings as they regarded me with annoyed curiosity. I wondered if they had ever smelled a human before, but they ate the apples just the same.

  Sitting under the shade of a pear tree in midafternoon I closed my eyes, the hollowness in my chest suffocating me under heaven’s golden rays. Though I was disconnected from my homeland, and all who knew me were gone, here seemed almost worse. I understood how little I mattered to the gods, who flashed curious sideways looks at me as if I were a graceless novelty. Self-pity brimmed my eyes and slipped down my cheeks, softly at first, then escalating to full sobs with ragged breath.

  A pear dropped beside me. A moment later, another one hit my foot, followed by a small laugh from the branches above.

  Large brown eyes starred at me above pinched features, the boy's head tilted curiously. Not a boy, a monkey. He clung to the tree trunk with one arm, reddish-brown fur in contrast to the greenery of the leaves. He lifted another fruit and flung it, striking my shoulder as I was too stunned to catch it.

  Something inside me boiled. My cheeks turned hot. I launched the fruit back at him. “Stop it!”

  He easily dodged my first assault, but the next throw hit him squarely in the chest. One dramatically placed hand landed over his chest, where the pear had struck him. He laughed before dropping to the ground in a crouch. Standing slightly taller than me, he swayed shyly and offered me a pear. A long tail swooped behind him.

  “Why are you so noisy?” He rubbed his fist against his eyes and frowned.

  Taking the fruit, I shrugged. My throat tightened.

  His sharp teeth tore into the unripe pear, followed quickly by a disappointed frown. He tossed it over his shoulder, spitting the remainder onto the ground and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

  He motioned around us. “We are in Heaven. Shouldn't you be happy?”

  I handed the fruit back to him and he sniffed it suspiciously.

  “I know but…” my words trailed off into sobs which only made me angry at myself.

  He grabbed my hand and pulled me along. “I’ll show you something.”

  I didn’t argue, his childlike manners reminded me of Liko and I took comfort in his directness. We stole figs and persimmons as we dashed through the orchards until we came to a tall, stone wall. He pulled me down behind a bush, motioning to a gate where two Heavenly guards were posted.

  “We can’t go in there,” I whispered.

  “Who says?” He smiled at me conspiratorially. “Don't you want to see what’s inside?”

  I looked at the wall, at the guards, at the tips of branches that brushed the top of the wall forty feet above. I knew I shouldn’t. Guan Yin would disapprove, but I nodded anyway. His eyes widened with glee; his smile too enthusiastic to be trusted. “Hold on.”

  Wrapping my arms around his waist we rose upward until we were deposited along the top of the wall. I balanced precariously. Rows of trees, taller than any of the pines that grew back home, spread out before us. The monkey jumped, landing on the nearest branch, and scampered to the trunk. Turning back, he motioned me to join him.

  I gazed along the wall, then mistakenly looked down. The world spun.

  “Come on,” he hissed.

  I shook my head.

  “I’ll catch you.”

  My legs trembled as I took a breath and jumped. I slipped on the branch as my hands scrambled to find hold. But he caught my arms and hauled me up beside him. We climbed amongst the branches, and I forgot my sadness. Perching on a thick branch, I watched my new friend scour several trees before returning to my side. He held out a peach and flashed a mischievous grin.

  “Are we allowed?” I rolled the soft fruit in my hands. Something about this felt wrong, but its smell made my mouth water.

  He shrugged, taking a bite, and speaking through mushy peach flesh. “If we weren’t, they should have done a better job guarding them.”

  “I couldn’t have gotten in here without you.” I chuckled and shook my head. “Who are you?”

  He wiped his hand on his pants and took another bite. Juice trickled down his chin. “You should already know. But I'll forgive you since you are so young.” The branch bounced under his feet as he stood and postulated. “I have many titles: Mei Hou Wang, Bi Ma Wen, Shi Hou, Sun Hou Zi, Sun Wukong.” He counted them off on his fingers. “A few more than that, but you can call me Hou Zi, if you want.”

  I smiled, repeating the name. “I’m Jiang Li.”

  “I’ll call you LiLi,” he said decidedly. He pointed to the fruit in my hand. “Are you going to eat that?”

  I handed him the peach, looking out across the orchard and smiling. The breeze rustled the hair on his cheeks. “Thank you, Hou.”

  “Hou Zi.”

  “If you can call me LiLi, then I can call you Hou. Or would you prefer ZiZi?” I asked.

  He narrowed his eyes but shrugged, handing me the pit of the peach as he slipped another one into his pocket. “We should plant these somewhere. It doesn’t seem right that these trees should be only here, does it?”

  I nodded, trying not to think of my old home and the plum trees that bloomed every winter.

  “Why were you crying?” Hou asked.

  “My family is gone,” I said softly, trying to quell the tremor in my words. “I am alone here.”

  He scooted closer, swinging his legs in sync with mine as he gently nudged my shoulder. “Not anymore.”