It started with bells.
Not the soft ceremonial kind. These were sharp, echoing through the palace like they were trying to peel the paint off the walls. Summons bells.
By the time I reached the Hall of the Eastern Wind, everyone else was already there—Wei Wuxian seated with his arms crossed and jaw tight, Ming Yu standing just behind him with that practiced stillness he wore like armor, and Lan Wangji off to the side, unreadable as ever.
The King was there too and beside him, like some walking embodiment of a bad idea, stood Minister Wang.
Back from exile. Back with a smug expression like he'd never been executed in public rumor or caught red-handed orchestrating quiet coups.
Apparently, negotiations with Qiuli had failed.
Disputes over land, troop movements, and old border lines had boiled over, and now the king—our king, mind you—had decided the only logical step was to bring him back. Because nothing says "good governance" like inviting the fox back into the henhouse wearing a fancier robe.
Minister Wang turned to face us like we were fresh recruits—wide-eyed, untested. Not the group that had literally saved the palace. Not the ones who had exposed his last scheme and pulled the curtain back on his carefully cultivated image.
If he was embarrassed, I couldn't see it. His face was smooth as jade, voice polished like he'd spent the last week rehearsing in front of a mirror.
"The situation at the border is deteriorating," he said, hands folded neatly in front of him. "Tensions with Qiuli rise by the day. Their envoy has left with nothing resolved. We need strength. Loyalty. Visibility."
Visibility. What a word. What a knife hidden in a velvet glove.
His eyes swept over the room—Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, Ming Yu, and then me. When he landed on me, he paused. Just long enough for it to be noticed. Just long enough for me to file that away for later.
"I am requesting that the Crown Prince lead our army to remind Qiuli that Luyang is the greatest kingdom—and that we do not bow to anyone. With the Goddess of Water beside him, her presence will bless the troops and raise morale."
Request, my foot.
Wei Wuxian scoffed—sharp, dry, and loud enough to make a few ministers flinch.
"How bold," he said, arms still crossed. "Requesting the Crown Prince and the Goddess of Water to march off to war. Tell me, Minister Wang—has exile made you courageous, or just embarrassingly reckless?"
Minister Wang didn't blink. "Desperate times require decisive measures, Crown Prince "
"That's not an answer," Wei Wuxian said, his smile anything but warm. "Are you sure this is about Qiuli? Or are you just hoping I die somewhere convenient in a border skirmish?"
The words hit the room like a thrown blade. Several ministers shifted uncomfortably. The King didn't speak.
Yet.
Minister Wang's smile held, but it tightened at the edges. "You've always had a flair for drama, Your Highness. I assure you, I speak only for the safety and strength of Luyang. Our people look to their leaders. They want to see action."
"And what they'll see," Ming Yu said, his voice quiet and cutting, "is the Crown Prince being forced to fight in a war stirred by the same man who tried to have him removed."
The silence that followed was thick. Even the King's fan, usually fluttering in his hand, stilled mid-motion.
Finally, the King spoke—his voice calm, but distant. "The court is divided. The people are watching. If the Crown Prince is not seen as active, we risk losing their faith. And their loyalty."
Wei Wuxian didn't respond right away, but the tightness in his jaw deepened.
The King continued, gaze sweeping over us all. "That said… Crown Prince, you may select your own escort. Bring as many cultivators as you deem necessary to ensure your safety. That is allowed."
A flicker of tension in the room shifted. It was a small gesture—too small, if you asked me—but it was something. A thin layer of protection wrapped in the illusion of choice. Minister Wang didn't so much as twitch. His expression stayed composed, diplomatic. But I saw it—the tiniest flicker of annoyance in his eyes. Like a plan had just bent slightly off course.
Wei Wuxian inclined his head slightly, sharp and measured. "Then I'll choose well."
Minister Wang inclined his head, as if the King had just agreed to tea and not the possibility of sacrifice.
"We all have our duties," he said smoothly. "Let each of us fulfill them."
Wei Wuxian's jaw clenched, and for once, he didn't answer. Lan Wangji remained silent, his hand drifting almost unconsciously to the sleeve where his sword would usually rest.
Ming Yu didn't move, but I saw it—the tightening around his eyes. He was memorizing every word, every shift in posture, like he might need to quote it back on the battlefield later.
And me? I didn't flinch. I smiled. Because smiling was easier than rage.
But inside, I was already calculating—what it meant to be sent to the front as a symbol. How useful a goddess was when politics used you like a weapon. And how far revenge could stretch when draped in gold and duty.
***
After the summoning, I returned to my quarters to pack. We were to leave at first light. No ceremony, no farewell procession. Just armor, orders, and the weight of knowing too much. I moved quietly through my quarters, folding what I could carry, making peace with the fact that this time, I wouldn't be returning to the same life. Again.
As I set aside the last of my robes, I turned to Xiaohua.
"You're staying," I said gently but firmly. "Yuling needs someone with her. And it's safer here."
She froze in the middle of gathering my hairpins. "Miss Mei Lin…"
"Really. You'll be more useful in the capital. With the Consort and the baby. I'll be fine."
She shook her head, lips pressing together.
"No, miss… I won't leave you alone. Not now. Not when you're going to the front."
Her voice was soft, but sure. I stared at her for a long moment. Then I nodded once. Because I knew better than to argue with her when she got like that.
That evening, just as I was contemplating throwing myself face-first into my bed and pretending none of this war business existed, something hit my window with a dull, feathery thud.
I froze. Please don't be what I think it is. I crossed the room, pushed the window open, and there it was—ruffled, smug, and suspiciously well-trained.
A pigeon.
Of course it was a pigeon.
Of course it was his pigeon.
I sighed, muttering a quiet thanks to the universe for not letting me have a single peaceful hour, and untied the scroll from its leg. The bird flew off like it had better things to do.
I unrolled the scroll.
"Meet me in Wei Wuxian's underground room. One hour."
That was it. No greeting. No explanation. No signature. Just an address and a deadline.
I stared at the words. Then stared at the wall. Then I looked back at the scroll like maybe, if I blinked slowly enough, it would change into a message that didn't sound like the start of a very bad decision.
Wei Wuxian's underground room.
Also known as the secret dungeon. Also known as the absolute last place anyone sane would schedule a meeting with no context.
First of all—how did Shen Kexian even know about that room?
It was supposed to be a secret. A tightly held, sworn-to-secrecy-under-possible-punishment kind of secret. Only four of us had access, and none of them were prone to gossip.
Second—why that room? Why a room that was specifically enchanted to suppress sound, trap spiritual energy, and prevent anyone from hearing anything that happened inside?
Nothing about that screamed "reasonable." In fact, it screamed the exact opposite. It screamed a trap. Or emotional ambush. Or worse—some absurdly intense heart-to-heart I was absolutely not in the mood to have in a soundproof magical basement.
My internal alarms were blaring. Loud. Flashing. Full red alert.
Do. Not. Go.
And yet—some part of me was already reaching for my outer robe. Because apparently, I'm the kind of person who walks directly into the plot twist with full awareness that it's probably going to ruin my evening.
I stepped into the underground chamber, prepared for one thing and one thing only: Shen Kexian standing alone in a shadowed corner, arms folded, voice smug, eyes half-lidded, waiting to drop some emotionally confusing bomb like "You came."
Instead—
All four of them.
Wei Wuxian was hunched over a stack of maps, his usual loose robes looking slightly more rumpled than usual—clearly he'd been here awhile. Lan Wangji stood beside him, silent and straight-backed, his presence steady as a stone pillar. Ming Yu was reviewing something at the far end of the table, sleeves pushed up, brow furrowed with quiet intensity.
My entire body froze at the threshold. I mentally slapped myself hard. Full palm. Across the brain.
Why, exactly, had I been worried this was going to be some soundproof confession dungeon moment?
This wasn't a setup for anything romantic or suspicious. This was a war room.
The space had been completely transformed. Low lamps lit the walls. Every flat surface was covered in paper—battle maps, troop movements, territory outlines. Ink pots sat between opened scrolls. Quills had been used so recently, I could still smell the sharp tang of iron in the ink. Pinned to one section of the wall was what looked like a supply chain route sketched across the mountains—and nearby, the snapped remains of a practice bow.
It was like the strategy department of the palace had crawled into the dungeon and nested.
Ming Yu was the first to notice me. He turned, a flicker of relief passing through his expression. "You're here."
"I… am," I said, blinking at the mess. "What is all this?"
He crossed to me, gesturing toward the central table. "The frontline is unpredictable. Dangerous. We need to prepare for every outcome."
"Apparently in secret caves now," I muttered.
He smiled.
Shen Kexian looked up from whatever he was drawing—likely a new way to trap someone using three lines and a passive-aggressive prayer—and smirked. "What did you think this was?"
I gave him a look.
"Anyway," Shen Kexian said, rolling up one of the outer maps, "I called you here because there will come a time when we'll have to fight."
I blinked at him. "Fight? on the battlefield?"
My brain helpfully supplied an image from the last historical drama I binged before falling into this world—The Double—specifically that one horrifyingly over-budget scene where a heroic side character got pierced by a spear and then dramatically died standing upright like a tragic kebab.
My stomach turned. I pressed a hand against it. Ming Yu turned to me, concerned. "Are you alright?"
"No," I said again. "Aren't I supposed to... I don't know, be the spiritual advisor or scenic water display blessing or whatever I was supposed to be doing."
Wei Wuxian looked amused. "Technically, you are the goddess of water."
"Goddess of water, yes," I snapped. "Not a goddess of violent stabbing."
Shen Kexian raised a brow. "You won't be directly in the middle of the battlefield but a side support. We'll protect you."
I narrowed my eyes at him. "That's what they said to that guy in The Double. He still got impaled like a rice dumpling."
Lan Wangji blinked, visibly deciding not to ask.
I looked around the room—at the maps, the weapons, the circles of ink and charcoal drawn like lines between life and death—and then at the four men standing in front of me.
Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji. Liu Ming Yu. Shen Kexian.
Arguably the most powerful cultivators in the kingdom. Each of them was a walking legend. The kind of people who could take down a siege with three spiritual artifacts and a disapproving glance.
And I knew, technically, I was safer with them than with anyone else. They had their soldiers. Their formations. Their training. But even with all that—battlefields were still terrifying.
Because soldiers bleed. Formations break. People die.
A girl with water magic that sometimes answers, a body that might not be entirely mine, and a soul that—let's be honest—does not belong on a military campaign.
Shen Kexian, still as calm as ever, looked over the table. "There are places I want to investigate." he continued, pulling a separate rolled map from the side. He spread it out carefully over the existing terrain layout, smoothing the corners.
It was another border map—this one more detailed, focused on the western edge between Qiuli and Luyang.
He marked a red circle near one of the smaller cities. I didn't recognize the name, but the way he tapped it twice with his fingertip made my stomach clench.
"I received a report," he said, tone dropping to that clipped cadence he only used when things were going to be bad. "Unexplained disappearances. Spiritual residue. I sent men ahead. What they found…"
He reached beneath the table and lifted a small wooden box—polished, clean, deceptively ordinary.
Then he opened it and it was not ordinary. Inside were bones. Not the neat kind you see in healer's diagrams or temple displays. These were blackened. Charred. Burned to the point where only fragments remained. A few teeth. A sliver of jaw. And a skull with its crown cracked inward like it had been caved in.
And next to all that—a small pouch of ash, wrapped in a silk square.
I made a noise. I don't know what kind. It was somewhere between a gasp and a very dignified squeak. Then I immediately moved behind Ming Yu like he was a blessed human shield and covered my eyes.
"I did not need to see that," I mumbled from behind his shoulder. "I thought this was a strategy meeting, not horror hour."
I could feel Ming Yu's body tense slightly in front of me—ever the protector—but he didn't move.
Shen Kexian, unbothered, simply said, "I need you all to understand the kind of threat we're walking into."
"I understand fine," I muttered. "Next time, maybe just describe it with words. Not props."
Wei Wuxian stared down at the box, his fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the table.
"What is this?" he asked, voice low. "A ritual?"
Shen Kexian nodded once. "Old spells. Blood-activated marks. Symbols burned into bone. They weren't just killing people—they were using them."
I shuddered from my position behind Ming Yu, still very much not looking at the skull. "Great. Perfect. Nothing like good old-fashioned bone magic to inspire confidence."
Lan Wangji stepped forward slightly, his gaze fixed on the ashes. "Did you test the residue?"
Shen Kexian nodded. "Twice. Once at the temple's archive. And once through a private contact not tied to the palace. The results were the same."
Ming Yu, still watching the box, spoke next. "I've read about this before. In one of the restricted archives from my sect. It's an ancient ritual, Xiyan in origin. Dark cultivation, the kind that requires… sacrifice."
"Human sacrifice," Shen Kexian confirmed. "Not just to summon power, but to store it. To anchor it to a place. Or a person."
I did not like where this was going and asked. "What was the purpose?"
"We don't know yet," Shen Kexian admitted, gesturing to the red-circled location on the map. "But that's where we start. This village—small, quiet, recently emptied. If they're setting up another site, it'll be here."
Wei Wuxian's brows furrowed. "You think they'll use the border war as cover?"
"I know they will," Shen Kexian said. "What better time to collect bodies than during a battle?"