Tales of the Celestial Kingdom

Book 3: Celestial Kingdom

by Sue Lynn Tan

Genres: Epic Fantasy; Fairy Tales, Folk Tales, Legends & Mythology; Cultural Heritage

Synopsis

Sue Lynn Tan’s highly acclaimed, bestselling Celestial Kingdom duology is expanded with this new compilation of stories from before, during, and after the events in Daughter of the Moon Goddess and Heart of the Sun Warrior, all from the perspectives of beloved characters.

Return to the Immortal Realm, a world of gods, magic, and legendary creatures—and embark upon new adventures of valor, danger, and love.

Tales from the Celestial Kingdom collects nine spellbinding stories—two previously published, seven original, including the epilogue to the duology—set in the enchanting world of Sue Lynn Tan’s stunning debut. Filled with magic and mythology, friendship and love, these stories intertwine through the past, present, and future of the two novels, told from the perspectives of multiple characters, including Chang’e, Shuxiao, Liwei, and Wenzhi.

With beautiful illustrations from Kelly Chong throughout, these wondrous tales make the perfect complement to Sue Lynn Tan’s breathtaking series.

Release date: February 6, 2024

Publisher: HarperCollins

Print pages: 176

Sample

Chang’e | 嫦娥 Rise of the Sunbirds

A prequel to Daughter of the Moon Goddess, reimagining the myth of the ten sunbirds, set in the world of the Celestial Kingdom.

LIGHT FILTERED THROUGH THE GAUZE screens that covered the windows, the wooden frames latticed in a pattern of squares. I blinked, trying to adjust to the dazzling brightness, my mind still sluggish. Slumber had been hard won—I’d slept with the curtains pulled back from the posts, though it did little good. While I did not perspire easily, my silk robe clung to me, damp with sweat. Breathing in, I almost choked on the air, suffused with a brittle heat unusual in the beginning of spring when the days still bore a remnant of winter. My body felt heavy, each movement languorous, as I pushed myself from the bed. I was alone, Houyi’s blanket still neatly folded at the foot of the bed. Had he not returned during the night?

Walking to the windows, I pushed them apart, quickly—before the wood seared my fingers. Through the slender opening, I glimpsed a crack of sky, ablaze with vermilion flame. I dropped my gaze at once to protect my sight. How long had it been this way, the heat intensifying without relief, day blending seamlessly into night until I could no longer tell them apart? The sun never set—if it still existed—like it was a yolk punctured, spilling across the heavens. It had never been like this, not even in the most scorching of summers. Tendrils of premonition curled in my stomach, spiraling unbound like coils of smoke. This strange and terrible phenomenon did not seem to be of our realm.

If only Houyi were here. He would calm my fears, he would know what to do, always so steady and decisive. Even the king sought and treasured his opinion. At times, my husband’s iron assurance and certainty grated on me, particularly in the moments we disagreed—but now I wished I could lean on it, to have him close when danger hovered around us. Yet since the skies had turned to liquid fire, he was often away at the king’s behest. They had sought the counsel of the wisest elders in the land, of soothsayers and fortune-tellers, yet none possessed the answers needed.

I did not know how long I waited by the window; time had lost its meaning with the position of the sun unknown. At last, familiar steps trod along the stone path outside, firm and quick. Hastily, I tucked in the loose strands of my hair and discarded my robe for a fresh one, a green silk embroidered with lotuses.

The wooden door swung open, my pulse leaping as it always did at the sight of my husband, even when streaked with sweat and dust. His black hair was coiled into a topknot, held in place with a band of silver, and he stood as straight as an arrow. His fine gray robe was wrinkled and scuffed at the hem, fastened with a leather belt studded with jade. Many considered his face to be strong rather than pleasing, with those sharp cheekbones, that distinct cleft in his broad chin. Beneath winged eyebrows, his dark eyes gleamed—his penetrating gaze that struck such terror into an enemy’s heart, even as it quickened mine.

He unstrapped his sword, sheathed in a scabbard of gold and ebony, then set it on the table by the doorway—along with a silver bow he unslung from his shoulder, intricately carved, the ends curving to sharp points. I had never seen it before, perhaps it was a gift from the king. Later, I would take his weapons and polish them. A servant might have done it, but there was satisfaction in caring for my husband’s possessions. Particularly those that kept him safe, that brought him home to me each day.

As he came toward me, I wanted to press closer to him, to drink in his scent, laced with the spice that was his alone. Already the air seemed less stifling, my mood lighter, my fears less dire.

“Chang’e, sit. The doctor said you must rest, for both you and our child,” he told me gently.

“I am well,” I said. “Lying abed all day would be more of a strain.” My stomach was still barely curved. It was early yet, though he treated me like I was made of porcelain. I was fortunate to be spared the nausea that plagued others, just an occasional fatigue that tugged at my limbs.

He smiled at me,

but his gaze remained troubled.

“What’s the matter, Houyi? Why did you not return last night?” Not an accusation but an invitation to speak his cares. He preferred to spare me their burden when all I wanted was to share them. ...