I stood frozen in front of the palace gates, mind spinning at exactly two hundred thoughts per second.
Wang Yufei was somewhere behind me, laboring, clutching the hand of a man who was definitely not her royal husband. Jiang Wei was probably preparing to sneak her through a servant's corridor right about now.
And me? I was supposed to buy time.
Create a distraction, I'd said. Simple, right? Except I hadn't thought that far ahead. There were guards posted, of course, but no convenient fruit cart to tip over, no overly dramatic goose to release into the courtyard.
Then my eyes landed on it. The Drum of Injustice. Bold. Centered. Impossible to ignore. The ancient call for justice, traditionally reserved for the most serious grievances—corruption, murder, betrayal.
And now, apparently, me.
My feet moved before my brain fully approved the decision. I marched up, picked up the striker, and brought it down on the drum with a resounding THOOM that echoed through the entire front courtyard.
The guards jumped. Several attendants shrieked. I flinched at the sound but—too late now. I hit it again.
THOOM.
Again.
THOOM.
Okay. That was probably enough. I stepped back, heart racing, palms already sweaty. A few people peeked out of side halls. A clerk stared from a balcony. A curious buzz stirred in the air.
Perfect. Distraction accomplished. But then the nobles arrived. And the ministers. And the guards. And—oh gods—half the court started spilling out of the palace like someone had sounded the start of a royal emergency.
I swallowed.
A few of them gathered at the front, already whispering. "Is that the Goddess of Water?" "What happened?" "Did someone offend her?"
A high-ranking soldier stepped forward and cleared his throat. "Goddess of Water," he said respectfully, "what injustice have you brought before the court?"
My brain stalled. Wait. I have to actually say something? I thought this was just a guard post thing! Like a 'make noise and get someone's attention' kind of situation!
Oh no. I hadn't prepared a grievance. I hadn't written a speech. I hadn't even picked an enemy. I blinked at the growing crowd. Everyone was staring. Waiting. Expecting divine rage or tears or at least a spiritual metaphor.
So I took a breath. Raised my chin and declared, "I seek justice!" The crowd collectively leaned in. I said the absurd things I could think of.
"My sacred training has been abandoned! The man responsible has vanished without explanation—"
There were actual gasps. "And how can I, the Goddess of Water, fulfill my divine duties when my mentor has GONE MISSING?!"
Now there were shocked murmurs. Someone in the back whispered, "Lord Shen Kexian?"
I stood tall. Dignified. Totally not panicking inside. Things escalated fast.
The drum echoes were still reverberating when the palace gates swung wider, guards scrambling to form a perimeter as more people poured into the courtyard. Ministers, officers, petitioners—everyone who'd been pretending not to care about me for the last month now looked very interested in my so-called spiritual crisis.
Through the shifting crowd—like a breeze slipping past a storm—I saw them.
Wang Yufei and Jiang Wei.
They moved with calculated grace, heads bowed, robes pulled close. Jiang Wei said something quietly to a guard and the man nodded, letting them blend in with a group of nobles heading toward the inner gate.
They were in. Good but probably not home yet. Which meant: more time. I turned slightly, searching. Xiaohua, my eyes screamed. Now what?! She stared back at me, face blank, brain clearly buffering.
I cleared my throat and said, louder this time, "I would like to speak with the person responsible for scheduling my training."
There was a pause. A long, awkward one. Someone near the front murmured to another, "Is that… a minister role?"
I had no idea if such a position even existed. Honestly, I was pretty sure Shen Kexian just made it up and then bullied the palace into letting him train me without paperwork.
No one answered. Which was ideal. So I stepped forward, lifted my chin with full divine dignity, and said, "I will wait here until that person arrives."
I clasped my hands together like a statue and stared pointedly at the horizon, channeling my inner drama queen. A few minutes passed. Just long enough for the silence to turn uncomfortable and the nobles to start whispering in every direction.
Then, finally, one poor minister came hurrying out from the side hall—robes half-tidy, scrolls still tucked under one arm, and the look of a man who'd just been handed the job no one else wanted.
He gave me a deep bow.
"Goddess of water," he began carefully, "according to the records, Lord Shen Kexian is the one overseeing your training."
I gave him a solemn nod, like I didn't already know that and hadn't just publicly called him out in front of half the court for ghosting me.
The minister hesitated, sweat beading along his temple. "Unfortunately… he is not currently in the capital. But we can—of course—send him a word. Immediately."
He bowed again, a little deeper this time, then cleared his throat.
"And if I may…" he continued, glancing nervously toward the drum behind me. "Using the Drum of Injustice for this kind of… spiritual grievance… is a little…"
He didn't finish the sentence. Didn't dare. But his face said it all. A little excessive. A little dramatic. Possibly treason-adjacent.
I met his gaze with the calm, unbothered serenity of a woman who absolutely meant to start a full palace crisis just to sneak a pregnant enemy consort through the gates.
"I see," I said sweetly then smiled like I hadn't just banged the kingdom's sacred gong because a man skipped my appointment.
"In that case," I said calmly, folding my hands, "I'll wait, then."
With that, I turned on my heel and walked away. No further explanation. No apology. No divine follow-up. Behind me, I could practically feel the confusion ripple through the crowd—ministers blinking, nobles whispering, guards glancing at each other like they'd just witnessed a spiritual tantrum or some kind of celestial test they definitely failed.
But I kept walking with my chin high and back straight. Like I hadn't just weaponized the kingdom's sacred justice drum over an abandoned training session.
It wasn't until I turned the corner near my residence, finally out of sight, that I let out a long, bone-deep exhale.
"Oh my god," I muttered. "That was… embarrassing. And dreadful."
Beside me, Xiaohua let out her own matching sigh. "I thought I was going to pass out," she whispered. "Or get smited."
I rubbed my face with both hands. "We are never doing that again."
But deep down, I knew we probably would.
About two hours later, the news spread like spilled ink across parchment.
Consort Wang Yufei was in labor. Not in some quiet, behind-closed-doors way. No, this was full-blown palace announcement territory. The kind of news that made attendants drop trays and ministers pause mid-argument.
I didn't wait for a summons.
I lifted my skirts and ran straight to Wei Wuxian's quarters, heart pounding—not just from the physical sprint, but from everything that had come before it.
By the time I arrived, the doors were already open. Guards lined the hall, serious-faced. And inside—All three of them were there. Wei Wuxian. Ming Yu. Lan Wangji. Gathered in the main room, already mid-discussion, as if they'd been waiting for me to catch up to the chaos I helped create.
Judging by the look on Wei Wuxian's face, he had definitely heard about me banging the Drum of Injustice and possibly the part where I yelled about being abandoned and spiritually untrained in front of a good third of the court.
Wei Wuxian spoke first, arms crossed, voice deceptively casual.
"So… you hit the Drum of Injustice asking for Shen Kexian. Is that true?"
Oof. Right out the gate with it.
I glanced between them. Ming Yu wasn't looking at me, but his jaw was set just a little too tight. Lan Wangji, of course, said nothing—but his brow raised just enough to qualify as judgment in Lan dialect.
I adjusted the hem of my sleeve and tried to sound calm.
"Well. I mean. Technically, yes."
Wei Wuxian's eyebrow lifted.
"I had to create a distraction," I said quickly. "And—before you say anything—it worked."
Silence.
Ming Yu still said nothing. But his arms were crossed now too, and he shifted his weight slightly, like he was deciding whether to sigh or glare.
So I told them everything. About seeing Wang Yufei in the alley. About the sudden labor. About Jiang Wei showing up and the very clear not-Prince-Wei parentage of the situation. About her begging me, genuinely, to help.
And about how, in the moment, that was the only way I could get her back into the palace unseen. By the time I finished, no one interrupted. But the room felt heavier.
Wei Wuxian exhaled and rubbed his temple.
"Well," he muttered, "this is going to get complicated."
I sighed and rubbed the bridge of my nose. "If we tell everyone… she's dead."
No one argued. "She knows that. That's why she was out there alone. That's why she begged me."
I looked at Wei Wuxian directly. "Also, Jiang Wei looks nothing like you. If the baby leans more toward Wang Yufei, it might be passable. People won't question it too much. It's not like we can check DNA and do a proper paternity test or—" And then mentally slapped myself so hard I nearly flinched.
Right. Ancient world. No lab coats. No swabs. No dramatic reveal in front of a screen.
I cleared my throat. "Anyway. Not important."
Ming Yu finally spoke, voice quiet but even. "We can only wait now. If she gives birth to a son… it'll raise expectations. If it's a daughter, the palace might lose interest."
Right. Because nothing says ancient patriarchy like a royal scandal hinging on a baby's gender.
I turned to Wei Wuxian. "Are you going to see her?"
He blinked at me like I'd just asked him to walk barefoot through a fire pit.
"I mean," I continued, "wouldn't it be more suspicious if you don't?"
His face twisted into the most put-upon expression I'd ever seen. "Why do I have to go? That's not my kid."
"Mhm," I hummed, deadpan. "And yet… legally, publicly, politically—it is."
He groaned like the weight of royal inconvenience had just crushed his soul. Lan Wangji, who had been silent this whole time, finally spoke. Quiet. Steady.
"You should go."
Wei Wuxian turned to him slowly, eyes wide, like Lan Wangji had just sprouted antlers and a second personality.
"What?"
Ming Yu nodded, arms crossed. " He is right. If you don't visit her, it'll raise suspicion. The court already thinks you favor Yuling. Ignoring Wang Yufei now—especially during childbirth—will only make it worse."
Wei Wuxian's jaw tightened. He didn't look angry. He looked… trapped.
Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji left to go see Wang Yufei—hopefully with enough court-approved solemnity to sell the performance.
I finally made my way back to my quarters, the weight of the day trailing behind me like the train of an overworn robe. For once, I didn't have anything clever to say. Just quiet. The kind of quiet that settles deep, just under the ribs.
Ming Yu walked beside me the whole way, matching my pace without saying much.
When we reached my door, he paused and gave a gentle, familiar smile. "Good night."
I hesitated. Then, in a moment of pure unscripted impulse, I reached out and tugged gently on his sleeve.
The move was supposed to be cute. It came out clumsy. Like I was trying to reenact a scene from one of those soft-focus love scrolls Xiaohua hides under her bed.
Still, he looked at me—surprised, then amused.
"…Can you stay for a little while?" I asked, voice soft, trying not to sound too desperate.
He smiled again. Warm. The kind that settles somewhere behind your sternum and stays there. "Of course."
We went inside. I hadn't planned on anything. Just a little comfort. Just lying next to him. Maybe a quiet moment, maybe a kiss or two—something innocent. Calming.
But then his arm settled around me. His fingers gently traced down my back like he was committing every curve to memory.
Suddenly… everything wasn't so calm anymore. His scent—faint sandalwood and white tea and something uniquely him—hit me all at once. Familiar. Steady. Intimate in the way that no words ever could be.
His warmth seeped into me, chest to chest, breath to breath. And just like that, all the restraint I thought I had started slipping sideways.
It had been too long. Too many nights of stress and storms and silent longing. And now, here he was, right next to me. Holding me like I was something precious. Something of his.
My thoughts tangled, stumbled. My need flared—quietly at first, then not-so-quiet. I shifted slightly, my fingers curling into his robe. My heart beat a little faster.
Because even though I told myself this was enough… my body remembered otherwise.
I think he could feel it too. Because a moment later, I felt the distinct shift of him hardening against me, the slow press of need growing through the layers of silk between us.
His breath caught slightly. I sighed, pressing my forehead lightly to his collarbone. "Ming Yu… next time, remind me to harass Wei Wuxian for one of his soundproof talismans."
He chuckled, low and warm against my hair. "You'll be teased for life."
"I know," I groaned, "but it would be so worth it in situations like this."
Without a word, he reached into his robe. My eyes widened as he pulled out a slim, neatly folded talisman—sigil already marked and charged.
"I guess," he said with a smile, that rare spark of mischief flickering in his eyes, "I already took the teasing for you."
I stared at the talisman in his hand like it had just rewritten the rules of the universe.
He held it between two fingers, gaze fixed on mine—warm, steady, and just a little smug.
"Ming Yu," I breathed.
His smile softened. "Do you want me to use it?"
I didn't answer with words but nodded shyly.
The moment the talisman activated with a faint golden hum, the room shifted. It felt smaller, sealed—not just in sound, but in everything else. Like the rest of the palace had vanished, and it was just us, wrapped in silk and heat and permission.
No more sneaking.
No more holding back.
Chapter 88.5: The Storm Unleashed (Continued)
I looked up at him, my fingers trailing slowly along the edge of his jaw, watching the tension rise just beneath the calm in his eyes.
"You always act so composed," I whispered, brushing my lips over his throat. "But I want to hear your voice tonight."
His breath hitched.
My hands moved deliberately, parting the folds of his robe, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath. I kissed down slowly, deliberately, lips leaving a path of fire along his chest, then lower. He leaned back, propped on his elbows now, eyes fixed on me with disbelief and anticipation all tangled together.
He inhaled sharply, hands gripping the edge of the bed as I sank to my knees between them.
"Mei Lin…" he said, already breathless, "you don't have to—"
"I want to," I cut in, looking up at him. "I want you to lose that perfect control of yours. I want you to ask. I want to hear you say you need it."
His eyes darkened, the kind of heat that flickered between pride and desperation. I kissed lower, slow and deliberate, my palms tracing down his thighs, coaxing him apart.
He was already beginning to fray beneath me, the calm, composed Advisor Liu unraveling thread by thread under the slow drag of my mouth, the heat of my breath, the maddening patience I knew he wasn't used to receiving teasing.
I loved it.
I loved him—his restraint, his reverence, and the way he was trying so hard not to beg, even as his hands clenched the sheets and his chest rose and fell like he was trying to keep air from escaping too fast.
"Mei Lin…" he groaned, breath caught like it physically hurt. "You're teasing."
I pressed a kiss to the base of his stomach, looking up at him with mock innocence. "I am."
His fingers curled into my hair.
My tongue traced lightly—too lightly—and I watched him bite down on a moan that still broke free anyway.
"I can't—" he started, then stopped.
I didn't let up.
"Please," he whispered. "Please, Mei Lin."
Still not enough.
I kissed higher, then lower again, letting the anticipation burn hotter between us like an invisible fire stoked by every breath he released.
His voice cracked finally. Raw. Bare.
"I need you."
That was it. The plea I'd been waiting for.
I met his eyes one last time, saw the hunger, the desperation, the absolute surrender in them.
Then I took him fully—no more teasing, no more mercy.
His whole body tensed, his hand flying to cover his mouth out of reflex—but he didn't need to be quiet anymore. Not here. Not with me.
And oh, the sound he made when he finally let himself feel—it was worth every second of restraint.
I felt the way his whole body quivered beneath me—the tension in his thighs, the way his stomach tightened, the tremble in the breath he tried and failed to hold back. He was so close already. I could feel it in the way he kept whispering my name between low, broken sounds, like it was the only word he remembered.
But I wasn't done. Not yet.
I pulled back, just slightly, just enough to hear the sharp gasp he made, and the low groan that followed when my tongue slowed, softened, dragged.
"Mei Lin—" he breathed, voice cracking again.
I looked up at him, lips still grazing him, my hands firm on his hips. "You're not there yet."
He half-laughed, half-pleaded. "You're cruel."
"I'm careful," I said, kissing him again, slow and soft. "And I like hearing you beg."
He tried to rise up into me, but I pushed him gently back down, keeping control of the rhythm. Every time he got too close, I pulled back just enough. Every time he shuddered with restraint, I smiled.
"Please," he said again, voice almost a whisper now. "Mei Lin, please… don't stop this time. I—I need—"
"Yes?" I asked sweetly, letting the tip of my tongue flick where I knew he was most sensitive. He nearly broke.
"I need to finish," he groaned. "Please. Let me."
That was the moment I gave in—fully. No teasing. No restraint.
I took him again, deeper, more certain now, and the sound he made—gods—it shot through me like lightning.
He moaned my name one last time, choked and desperate, and then he came—hard, full-body tense, one hand clutching the pillow like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.
I didn't stop until he finished trembling.
Until he collapsed fully back against the sheets, flushed. utterly wrecked.
He was still catching his breath, chest rising and falling, eyes half-lidded and dazed when he finally looked at me. A breathless laugh escaped him—low, rough, and utterly undone.
"You…" he whispered, reaching up to tuck my hair behind my ear with shaking fingers, "you're going to be the death of me."
I smirked, pleased with myself, but before I could say anything clever, his hands moved—stronger now. Certain.
He pulled me up to him in one smooth motion, and his mouth met mine in a kiss that was no longer sweet or shy.
It was fire.
"Time for revenge," he muttered against my lips, voice thick with promise.
I barely had time to respond before he shifted us, laying me back onto the bed like I was something precious he planned to dismantle—gently, thoroughly, and without pause.
His kisses moved lower, down my neck then across my collarbone. His hands worked with skilled precision, sliding silk aside like he'd imagined it a hundred times—memorized every layer before he touched it.
And then— His mouth. Lower. Soft at first. Then firmer. Focused.
He took his time, every movement deliberate. Every flick of his tongue, every slow press of his lips sent heat spiraling through me until my spine arched and my fingers curled into the sheets.
He wasn't just returning the favor. He was claiming me in return.
"You wanted to hear me," he whispered against my thigh, "now it's your turn."
And gods—I did. Every breath he stole from me was replaced with something hotter, deeper. He teased. Drew patterns. Paused at the exact wrong moments just to watch me squirm. Pushed me toward the edge, then pulled me back until I whimpered, gasped, pleaded.
"Ming Yu—" I breathed, trembling under him.
"Yes?" he asked, wicked and warm.
"I—please."
Only then did he give in, mouth locking to the rhythm of my pulse, until the world shattered in heat and sound and everything that had built between us came undone.
He kissed his way back up my body, slow and unhurried—trailing heat and reverence with every press of his lips. When he reached my mouth again, I could taste myself on him, sweet and dizzying. His hands framed my face like I was something fragile and burning in his grasp.
"I'm not done with you," he whispered, voice low and hoarse.
I arched up into him, fingers sliding into his hair. "Then stop teasing."
He laughed softly—dark and warm—and pushed inside me in one deep, claiming thrust. My gasp hit the air between us, and he stilled—just for a breath—eyes locked on mine.
"You feel…" he murmured, almost reverent, "…too good."
I cupped his cheek, dragged my thumb over the corner of his mouth. "Then don't stop."
And he didn't. He started to move, slow at first—deliberate, savoring every inch like he was trying to memorize the shape of me from the inside out.
"I've thought about this," he groaned, picking up pace, "about you… like this… begging under me."
"Then make me," I gasped. That changed him. His grip on my hips tightened, his rhythm shifted—deeper, harder, rougher with every thrust. He leaned in close, lips brushing my ear.
"Say it," he breathed. "Say you want me."
"I want you," I choked out, meeting every movement, my nails dragging across his back.
"More."
"I need you—Ming Yu, please—"
He growled low in his throat, like the sound of my voice was unraveling the last of his control.
We moved together in a rhythm that was no longer patient, no longer restrained. Each thrust came deeper, harder, and with it, the tension in my core twisted tighter, sharper. My fingers dug into his back, pulling him closer, needing more—all of him.
And this time, we didn't have to be silent.
This time, we let go.
Our moans filled the room, unfiltered and unashamed. My cries echoed with every stroke of his hips, and his low, guttural groans only pushed me closer to the edge. The talisman sealed us from the world, and for once, we could let the sound of our pleasure exist—loud, breathless, raw.
He buried his face into the crook of my neck, whispering my name like it was the only thing anchoring him to earth.
"You feel so good," he groaned, voice thick and trembling. "I'm not going to last."
My body clenched around him, heat building, unbearable and exquisite. "Then come with me," I breathed, arching up to meet him. "I want to hear you when you do."
That undid him.
His hand gripped my hip tighter, movements rougher now, more frantic as his control slipped completely. I was already shaking, light flashing behind my eyes, the heat inside me twisting into something too big to contain—
We came together—loud, breaking, desperate.
My voice rose into a sharp cry as he called my name with a gasp that sounded like surrender.
And in that moment, with nothing between us but breath and heat and the weight of everything we'd held back—
We let it all go.