A sweeping debut inspired by the Chinese folk practice of necromancy, Deathly Fates is perfect for fans of Descendant of the Crane, The Bone Shard Daughter, and A Magic Steeped in Poison.
Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Deathly Fates by Tesia Tsai, which releases on April 14th 2026.
As a priestess paid to guide the deceased home, Kang Siying has never feared death. However, when her beloved father collapses, Siying realizes that even she is not free from the cruel grasp of mortality. Desperate to provide her father with the medical aid he needs, Siying accepts a dangerous job that promises a generous commission, and travels to a hostile state to retrieve the corpse of a missing prince.
But the moment Siying places her reanimation talisman on the dead prince’s head, rather than make the corpse obedient to Siying’s commands, the talisman brings the prince back to life. Worse, he won’t stay alive for long―not unless he absorbs enough qi, or life force, to keep his soul anchored to his body.
In return for a reward worth twice her original commission, Siying agrees to aid the frustratingly handsome prince in finding and purifying evil spirits for their qi. As they journey across the countryside, encountering vengeful ghosts and enemy spies alike, they gradually uncover dark secrets about the prince’s death―secrets that could endanger both Siying’s father and their entire kingdom.
PROLOGUE
The high-pitched chime reached the village gate, death’s waves ringing toward the shores of the living.
Mothers swept their children from the windows into their beds, locking the shutters. Overworked farmers hurried home like rabbits dashing for the safety of their burrows. Even the night sentries abandoned their posts, leaving only a flickering torch to greet their inauspicious guests.
From the shadows of the main road, a tall figure emerged, carrying a staff of peach wood with dangling iron chimes. He wore the crossed-collar cotton robes of a priest, the teal fabric ghostly pale in the moonlight. A square black cap sat atop his head.
Clinging to his side was a girl no older than ten years, her plump face unusually stoic for a child so young.
What followed behind them was what frightened the hiding villagers most: a line of stiff corpses, arms outstretched for balance. Ashen skin peeked out from dust-covered clothes. The scent of sickly-sweet rot hovered over their frames. The Fu talismans taped to their heads like long yellow paper veils compelled them to lumber slowly, wordlessly, after the priest.
As the group approached the quiet village, the priest turned to the girl and said, “Do you know why we must always ring the bells, Siying?”
“To guide the deceased home?” she replied. This was the first time her father had allowed her to accompany him on his journey, and she was eager to impress.
“Correct.” The priest motioned at the village’s empty streets, the mala beads wrapped around his wrist flashing against the torch’s glow. “But there’s another reason as well—we must ring the bells loudly to warn the living. It’s incredibly unlucky for mortals to look upon the walking dead.”
“But what about us, Baba?” asked Siying. “Are we not also living?”
Her father smiled. “As servants of the gods, we walk a fine line between life and death. If you are wise and protect yourself the dead cannot bring misfortune upon you—nor can they physically harm you.”
Siying glanced at their undead flock. Their gray faces were stark against the dark silhouette of the forest behind them.
“Why should the dead harm me?” Siying stared back at her father. He’d secured a living out of serving the dead, but it seemed to have only made him kinder. His brown eyes were patient, almost amused, as she pressed, “We’re shepherds who lead them home and gift them with the proper burial rites. What reason have they to hurt us?”
They’d crossed the village gate, the road narrowing to make space for the homes and establishments that had been built over the years. Not a sound, not even a breath, could be heard through the closed windows and doors. Still, Siying could imagine the villagers praying silently at their shrines, scattering glutinous rice to keep away bad fortune.
Her father led them past the inn without stopping. They never stopped where humans dwelled.
“Not everyone is grateful,” said her father, the bells tinkling with the staff’s movement. ”Among the dead, there are bound to be some who carry lingering ill will. When the evil is strong enough, it can even turn the dead against a well-meaning priest or priestess.”
Siying shivered, looking back at the corpses again. The talismans reanimated their lifeless forms and halted their bodies’ decay, but their faces were blank and soulless, their mouths unmoving. No longer able to think or feel as they once had, they were about as threatening as her younger sister’s straw dolls.
“Have you ever faced such a corpse?” Siying asked.
“Once.” Catching her expression, her father reassumed his smile and placed a protective hand on her head. “Worry not, daughter. With your strong, handsome father around, you’ll always be safe.”
Siying’s laugh broke apart the momentary fear. Familiar as she was with death, she was still a child and not entirely immune to nightmares. She clutched her father’s hand, cheerful despite the somber work they were carrying out. “Promise me, Baba? Promise you’ll stay by my side for a hundred years—no, a thousand.”
He squeezed her tiny fingers, chuckling. “I promise. Alongside your mother and your younger sister—we will always be with you.”
Siying clung to his words, unaware it was the promise of a softhearted father, as easily broken as it was made.
