Yuling was resting.
The healer had come and gone, confirming she and the baby were stable—for now. The pouch had been taken in for analysis, and the room had been cleared of anyone who so much as looked suspiciously perfumed.
I was just starting to think we'd have a moment to regroup. Then the Queen showed up. She entered Yuling's quarters like she owned the air. Robes gliding. Hair perfect. The kind of entrance that made even chairs feel like they weren't polished enough.
Everyone stood—well, except Yuling, who was lying on her side giving the Queen the polite-but-exhausted look of a woman two inches from calling the royal guards just to escort her back out.
"I heard about what happened," the Queen said, tone full of sugary concern. "Such an unfortunate incident. Naturally, I came at once."
Naturally.
She glided further into the room and glanced around, eyes passing over each of us like we were moderately offensive furniture. Then her gaze landed on the now-infamous pouch, sitting sealed on the tray beside Yuling's bed.
"Ah," she said lightly. "That. I believe there has been a misunderstanding. That pouch wasn't meant for Consort Yuling."
She turned slowly to face me.
"I believe it was meant for you."
My stomach dropped. "Me?"
She gave a dainty little smile—the kind that belonged to someone politely suggesting poison as a tea flavor.
"Yes," she said smoothly. "Since you are the only one who is not… expecting, I imagine someone simply confused your quarters. Incense, when misused, can have such... unfortunate effects."
I stared at her.
Did she just mock me for not being pregnant?
The little—Before my brain could assemble a proper response, complete with biting wit and maybe a chair throw, she leaned in with the next hit.
"Perhaps," she added, voice like silk dipped in venom, "of all people, you were never meant to be someone's consort in the first place. Don't you agree?"
That's when I froze. Because I knew exactly what she meant. That was no petty jab. That was a fully sharpened dagger with "dismantle Prince Wei's influence" engraved on the handle. My brain stalled. Just—completely blue-screened right there in the middle of the conversation. All systems down. Not a single rational thought in sight.
So, naturally, I said the absolute dumbest thing possible. Because if panic had a voice, it would apparently be mine. I lifted my chin and declared, far too loudly:
"Your Highness, how could you say such a thing? My love and dedication to Prince Wei will never change!"
Like that would stop the Queen from yeeting me into the main palace and slapping a divine title on my forehead before I could finish my next sentence.
Honestly, I think I even threw in a dramatic little hand gesture. For emphasis. Because why just light yourself on fire when you can be curtsy while doing it?
The silence that followed could've vacuum-sealed the entire room. Wei Wuxian choked on air, doubling over with a startled cough like someone had slapped him with a scroll mid-thought.
Shen Kexian turned to me slowly—like if he moved too fast I might explode—and gave me a look that said, what did you just say?
Ming Yu, in the corner, closed his eyes and gave a microscopic shake of his head. The kind of head shake that said, I had faith. That was my mistake.
I regretted everything immediately. The words.The vowels.The very concept of language.
The Queen blinked once. Her smile remained perfectly in place. "Of course." Just like that, she turned back to Yuling, cooed a few vague words of "concern," and swept out of the room like she hadn't just drop-kicked me into the center of palace politics with no shoes and one functioning brain cell.
The door clicked shut.
Wei Wuxian cleared his throat, still recovering. "Love and dedication, huh?"
I buried my face in my hands. "Don't."
Shen Kexian coughed delicately. "Very moving. Almost had me in tears."
I didn't look at Ming Yu. Mostly because I saw, out of the corner of my eye, the barest twitch at the edge of his mouth.
Traitor.
***
A few days later, as expected, the Queen's plan unfolded like a perfectly rehearsed play.
My title was elevated. Officially. Publicly. Unstoppably.
I was no longer Consort Li of Prince Wei's quarter. I was now The Goddess of Water—emphasis on the capital letters, ceremony, and isolation.
Which meant I could no longer seek refuge in Wei Wuxian's rooms. Or even be seen walking the same hallway as him for longer than five seconds without someone raising a fan and whispering into a sleeve.
Instead, I'd been given new lodgings. Technically, they were elegant. Practically, they were exiled.
My new "residence" was a chamber tucked beside the Temple of Elemental Harmony, which sounded poetic until I realized it was just a glorified stone corridor with incense damage and no teapot warmers.
Xiaohua was currently in the middle of unpacking our things. She was also in the middle of pouting hard enough to wrinkle her entire forehead.
"I don't like the Queen's maids," she muttered, shoving a silk bundle into a cabinet like it had personally offended her. "They're all cold and creepy. Like they were raised in a basement full of mirrors and lies."
The guard rotation outside my new quarters was heavier than before. Twice the usual number. Always in pairs. One stationed at the corridor bend, another by the inner gate. Even Xiaohua had to show her passband just to get back in after stepping out for steamed buns.
So naturally, it was now nearly impossible for Ming Yu to sneak in.
He used to appear like mist—silent and steady, slipping through shadowed doors and soft-curtained windows. Now, I doubted he could get within ten feet of my threshold without half the temple security asking who he was, who I was, and if we'd submitted a form for emotional contact clearance.
I hadn't seen him in a week and I already missed him more than I wanted to admit. I missed the way his voice dipped when he was worried. The way he looked at me like I was still just Mei Lin, not a title, not a symbol, not someone etched into a temple wall.
Now it was all distance and incense and soft-footed maids whispering about purification rituals.
By the eighth day, I was starting to lose my mind.
I'd never been good at sitting still. My hands needed tasks. My mind needed motion. My body—ideally—needed to be dodging something, rescuing someone, or solving a problem that shouldn't belong to me.
But now? Now I was a decorative object with divine branding. There were no duties. No sparring sessions. No urgent scrolls. No emergencies. Just stillness. Soft steps. Silent maids. The occasional over-dramatic offering tray delivered with too much bowing.
I couldn't even barge into Yuling's quarters under the pretense of consort chit-chat. That privilege, it seemed, had expired with my title. And walking into Wei Wuxian's room just to hang out? Unthinkable now. There were too many eyes. Too many layers of formality. Too many whispered rules about "sacred status" and "maintaining divine distance."
To make things worse—Shen Kexian was nowhere to be found, again.
Which, logically, shouldn't have bothered me. He wasn't exactly known for his consistent scheduling or emotional transparency. But still.
Wasn't he supposed to be training me? You'd think after all his dramatic talk about strengthening our connection and surviving future battles, he'd show up at least once to float a ribbon of water around and glare at my posture.
Instead, nothing. Was he off chasing more intel? Did he go AWOL again, unraveling secret threads in the Queen's scheme while I sat here being spiritually decorative?
That night I was so fed up, I did the unthinkable. I snuck out. Not exactly my smartest idea, but at this point, sanity was a luxury I could no longer afford.
The temple was quiet. The air was cool. The guards were just starting their midnight rotation, and Xiaohua was asleep with her face buried in a half-unpacked robe drawer. I slipped past the door like a shadow with questionable impulse control and absolutely no exit strategy.
Maybe I could be discreet. Or maybe I was just emotionally desperate and one stupid choice away from divine scandal.
But the heart wants what the heart wants, right?
And mine? Mine wanted to find Ming Yu. Just to see him. Just to feel something that wasn't incense smoke, marble floors, and polite isolation. Something real.
I managed to sneak past the first set of guards with nothing but sheer dumb luck and a very dramatic sideways roll into the bushes. My heart was pounding so loud I was sure someone two wings over could hear it. I crouched low behind a stone lantern, waiting for the second pair of guards to pass.
Their footsteps echoed—slow, even, too clean for midnight.
I was ready to run. I had a route in mind. It wasn't good, but it existed, and at this point, that counted.
Then a hand clamped over my mouth. Another arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me backward fast.
I yelped—silently, thank the gods—and flailed for about half a second before I registered the scent of sandalwood, ink, and sarcasm.
Shen Kexian.
Of course.
He dragged me deeper into the bushes like we were rehearsing for an amateur palace play titled Bad Decisions: Goddess Edition.
I twisted in his grip just enough to glare at him. He didn't speak. Didn't smile. Just raised an eyebrow that said, Really? without a single word.
He didn't let go right away. Instead, he dragged me—still half-thrashing, half-embarrassed—into a darker corner between two stone columns near the back edge of the temple wall. The shadows there swallowed us whole. My foot caught on a root, my hair got snagged on a stray branch, and my dignity was somewhere about three steps behind me, wheezing.
Once we were out of sight, he finally released me—just enough to turn and face me, eyes blazing in that low, furious way he reserved for special occasions.
"Are you crazy," he hissed, "or are you trying to get yourself killed?"
I opened my mouth, but he didn't give me a chance to answer.
"Where," he demanded, "do you think you're going?"
The words weren't loud, but they didn't need to be. The way he looked at me—jaw tight, eyes dark, voice low and cutting—was louder than any shout.
I narrowed my eyes at him and whispered, "How did you even get here?"
He exhaled through his nose, tired. "Because I knew you were going to do something this reckless."
I blinked. "You were waiting for me?"
He gave me a pointed look. "Am I wrong?"
I stared. He stared harder. I pouted. Which didn't help my case.
"I just wanted to go out," I mumbled.
His expression didn't budge. "Out," he repeated flatly.
"Yes. Out. Into the fresh air. For mental clarity. Freedom."
"To him," he said, eyes narrowing. "You just wanted to run off and see him, didn't you?"
His voice wasn't sharp, but it landed with too much accuracy. It wasn't even a question. It was an accusation wrapped in certainty and something heavier beneath.
I opened my mouth but then closed it. I was caught—with twigs in my hair and feelings I didn't want to admit.
He sighed, and this time it wasn't just frustration, it was the kind that sounded like he was tired of being right. His jaw clenched for a moment before he looked at me, straight on. No teasing. No sarcasm. Just quiet, controlled exasperation.
"It was tempting," he said, voice low. "To let you go. To let the guards find you two together and force the palace's hand."
I stiffened. "To let him be executed for daring to touch the Goddess of Water."
His words hit like a slap, even if he didn't mean them to. But then his tone softened. The anger drained, and something else crept in—something tired. Something that sounded a lot like concern.
"But I know you," he said. "And I know you'd lose your mind if that happened."
His eyes searched mine, not accusing now, but pleading.
"I'm trying to protect you, Mei Lin. Not just from them—from yourself. Can we not do something this silly again?"
I didn't know what to say because I had no real defense. Just guilt curling low in my chest, hot and heavy, as his words echoed louder than the night around us.
"Fine," I muttered, slumping slightly. "You win. I give up."
His shoulders relaxed a little, like he'd been holding his breath. I crossed my arms and glanced at him. "Where were you, by the way? Why haven't we been training?"
His expression shifted—just a flicker of surprise, maybe something else too. Then, predictably, the smirk returned.
"Goddess of Water," he said, voice smooth, "don't tell me you missed me?"
I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly sprained something. "Not a chance."
But my heart? Yeah. That traitor had different plans.
He chuckled, clearly pleased with himself. "Don't worry," he said, tone lighter now. "Training resumes tomorrow. I've been… rearranging a few things."
That probably meant secret scrolls, veiled threats, and another round of spiritual whiplash. But somehow, the way he said it made it sound almost considerate. Then he straightened, glanced around once, and held out his hand.
"Come on. Let's take you back before something actually bad happens."
I hesitated—just long enough for him to notice.
He didn't wait. He reached down and took my hand in his, like it was the most natural thing in the world, and turned without another word.
I didn't resist and just like that, he walked me back through the shadows, his grip firm and steady, like he was pulling me out of something I hadn't realized I was sinking into.
I tried not to think about how warm his hand felt. Or how quiet the palace was at night. Or how the most reckless thing I'd done today still ended with him dragging me home.
***
The next morning, Xiaohua burst in with her hair half-pinned and a rice bun still in her hand, eyes wide. "There's no guard at the door," she said, voice hushed like the air might hear her. I blinked, shuffled to the door, and peeked through the screen—and she was right.
The post was empty. No silent figures standing watch, no polished boots by the threshold, just a quiet, unguarded corridor stretching into the early light like someone had forgotten I was important.
About an hour later, there was a soft knock at the door—two gentle taps, the kind that already made my heart trip over itself. I opened it, and there he was. Ming Yu. No disguise, no cloak, no urgency in his eyes—just him.
I didn't hesitate. I shut the door behind him and wrapped my arms around him in one breathless motion. He hugged me back, steady and warm, and whispered, "I missed you."
I pulled away just enough to look at him. "How did you even get in here?" He reached into his sleeve and handed me a scroll, the wax seal still faintly warm. "Someone's pulling strings," he said. I unfolded it carefully. The writing inside was clean, formal, unmistakably official.
It read: Advisor Liu Ming Yu is being requested reassignment to serve the High Priestess of Water. My eyes snapped up to his.
"How?" I asked, still staring at the scroll like it might explain itself if I glared hard enough.
Ming Yu shook his head. "I don't know. The request was already processed when it reached me. The seal is from the main palace."
I frowned, trying to piece it together. Then, like a sharp breeze through fog, a memory came back to me—"I was rearranging things," Shen Kexian had said, just last night.
No. No way.
He pulled the string? Why would he do that? Wasn't he the one constantly warning me to stay focused? Wasn't he supposed to be the one keeping Ming Yu away from me?
I had no idea what Shen Kexian's angle was, but for now, I didn't care. Because the person I wanted to see most had just walked through the door—and wasn't leaving anytime soon.
However, Ming Yu's smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
I caught the shift immediately and stepped closer. "What's wrong?"
He hesitated, then looked down at the scroll in my hand. "Me being reassigned to you… it means Wei Ying loses another piece of influence. Another person loyal to him is no longer in his service."
My heart sank. He was right. I hadn't even thought about that—too caught up in my own relief to consider the bigger game at play.
Another thread pulled. Another quiet move in the Queen's strategy to weaken him.
With Lan Wangji already technically assigned as my guard, no one had made much of a fuss about it. Mostly because he never acted like my guard. He didn't hover. He didn't report. He didn't even stay with me most of the time—he just existed nearby Wei Wuxian, like a silent force field with eyebrows.
In truth, he was still far too important to be treated like regular palace security. He spent most of his time training the elite cultivators or reviewing tactical reports, so no one dared question his lack of constant presence at my side.
And really, who would? It's not like anyone could tell Lan Wangji to do things. His aura alone said "try me" in six different dialects. People gave him wide berths, polite bows, and absolutely no instructions.
At this point, it was becoming painfully clear: if we didn't find a way to crown Wei Wuxian soon, the Queen would finish stripping him of every last thread of power before he could so much as sneeze without permission.
Once that title was gone? He'd be nothing more than a charming historical footnote with a very dramatic fan base.
We needed to move fast. But what were we supposed to do? The palace was locked tighter than ever. The Queen controlled the court. Half the ministers were either loyal to her or too cowardly to speak up. The other half were likely being blackmailed with very convincing calligraphy.
We had no allies with real power left. No clear path to coronation.
A soon-to-be high priestess under surveillance, a powerless consort with a baby on the way, an intelligent Lord who may or may not be manipulating fate behind the scenes, and now a re-assigned Ming Yu who smelled like quiet rebellion and emotional damage.
I looked at the scroll again.
"We have to do something," I muttered.
But I had no idea what.
***
As if things weren't already complicated enough, Shen Kexian had taken it upon himself to relocate our training room.
Apparently, walking a few corridors to find me was too much of an inconvenience—so now, my morning spiritual workouts took place in a room near a stone courtyard just steps from my temple door.
Which meant there was officially no escape.
I wasn't even sure how he managed it. One day the space was an unused archive chamber, and the next it had been cleared, swept, sealed with a sound barrier, and furnished with exactly one too-small bench, a water basin, and far too many sharp objects.
Ming Yu saw it once.
Once.
He stood in the doorway, stared at the setup, looked at Shen Kexian, then looked at me like I had married a disaster in a dream.
"I'll pass," he said with the kind of calm that only barely concealed his simmering.
To his credit, he knew. If he stayed, it would be a bloodbath. Not physical—probably—but certainly emotional and full of spiteful eye contact. The kind of fight that only gets interrupted by royal scandal or a ceiling caving in.
So he left. Quietly, and with dignity.
He told me he'd be helping Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji train the cultivators. Said the palace guard recruits were behind in sword form and spirit discipline. Said it would "keep him sharp."
I didn't argue. Even though I missed him the second he walked out.
As Ming Yu disappeared down the corridor, Shen Kexian just shrugged and mumbled under his breath, "Your loss."
I turned to him slowly.
"You want him to stay and get punched to the face?"
He didn't say anything. Instead, he moved to the edge of the training platform and adjusted the placement of the water basin like nothing unusual had happened—like he hadn't just reorganized half the palace.
I crossed my arms. "How did you pull this off, anyway? The training room. Ming Yu's reassignment. The guards are disappearing."
He didn't look at me. Just kept organizing the scrolls on the edge of the bench like we were talking about weather.
"I went to the Queen," he said simply. "Negotiated."
I blinked. "You what?"
"She agreed to let Ming Yu serve under you," he continued. "Said it would help dissolve Prince Wei's remaining influence."
I stared at him, stunned.
"You knew this would hurt Wei Wuxian's position. And you still did it?"
My voice came out sharper than I meant, but I didn't take it back. Shen Kexian paused. Then sighed. His hands stilled over the scrolls.
"How else," he said quietly, "was I supposed to get the Queen to trust me?"
He finally looked at me—calm, but tired.
"I needed to be useful to her. And right now, you're the most valuable asset in the palace. That makes me valuable, too. It buys us space. It buys us time."
I didn't answer right away. Because I hated that he was right.
I crossed my arms tighter. "How else are we supposed to gain back his influence, then?"
Shen Kexian didn't even blink.
"Through negotiation, of course."
I stared at him.
He said it like it was obvious. Like regaining political leverage in the middle of a power-hungry monarchy was as simple as bartering for extra dumplings at dinner.
The dumbfounded look on my face must've been louder than I realized, because he sighed again—deeply, like a tired tutor forced to explain the same equation to the same mildly hopeless student for the fifth time.
His expression shifted into something halfway between, do I really need to explain this and I can't believe you're still surprised.
And somehow, I hated that he was smarter. Not just politically. Strategically. Emotionally. It wasn't fair that someone who looked like a celestial painting came to life also got handed extra IQ points in the middle of palace warfare.
Shen Kexian stood with his arms crossed, his tone even as he laid out the next step. If I wanted to gather support—if I wanted the people and the court to shift their loyalty—I had to become more than a title. I had to become the image of the Goddess of Water. That meant blessings, acts of charity, carefully staged miracles.
I needed to walk through the palace and the city not as Mei Lin, but as a figure of reverence—graceful, generous, untouchable.
And beneath it all, I had to let the right whispers spread. Rumors tying me, the divine figure, to Prince Wei. Subtle alignment. Careful implication. The goddess favored him, and if the goddess favored him, perhaps heaven did too.