The diversion worked.
Just like Lan Xichen said it would.
A surge of flame and shouting rose from the northern ridge, and like moths to fire, the Qiuli soldiers began to pull away from the commander's unit. It wasn't all of them—but enough. Enough to leave a gap. A pulse. An opening.
Our entrance.
Shen Kexian moved fast. Before I could process what was happening, he was in front of me, eyes sharp, hands already working.
"Wait, what are you—"
He wrapped an arm around my waist and, with practiced ease, looped the long dark robe-cloth he'd tucked earlier around the both of us. One firm knot, one sharp tug, and suddenly I was tied to his side like some mildly irritated satchel.
"Again?" I hissed.
"This time it's not optional," he said calmly. "I'm not risking you flying off into a tree. Stay close."
Ming Yu looked over, eyes narrowing. He didn't say anything.
He didn't have to. The expression alone said ten thousand words. None of them were polite.
But Shen Kexian just gave him a little shrug, like, what can you do, she's mine now. (He did not say this out loud, thank god.)
Wei Wuxian, however, could not let it go. "Oh?" he grinned. "New battle tactic? Tethering your crush to your hip for maximum efficiency? Romantic and strategic—Lord Shen, I applaud the innovation."
"I swear to the heavens—" I began.
"Enough," Lan Wangji said coolly, with one pointed look. Wei Wuxian coughed dramatically and mimed zipping his mouth shut. With a flute string, probably.
We moved.
Shen Kexian gave a sharp whistle, and the group surged forward. Together, we burst from the tree line, blades drawn, qi humming in the air around us like stormlight.
The enemy didn't see us until it was too late.
We were already charging.
Straight for the commander's camp.
***
We shot out from the forest like a blade from its sheath—fast, precise, unstoppable.
Shouts erupted from the Qiuli ranks. Some turned to face us. Others hesitated, confused by the sudden attack from behind. But we didn't slow.
Lan Wangji was at the front, slicing through enemy lines with terrifying grace. Wei Wuxian followed close behind, laughing like this was a sparring match instead of life-or-death. He sent talismans flying with a flick of his fingers, every seal glowing as it slammed into enemy shields and detonated.
Ming Yu had already split off to the left, fast and clean—his blades flashing, his movements a quiet storm. He didn't look back at me once.
Shen Kexian didn't speak, didn't look at me, but I felt him reach out through the bond—through the very air itself—and that was all it took.
The moment the connection pulsed through me, Lianshui snapped awake.
There was no warning this time. No injury. No trigger. Just him.
She took my body like it was hers to command—arms, legs, spine, every muscle responding with precision and grace. Everything except my mind. That, she left untouched. I was still there, still conscious, clinging to Shen Kexian with both arms as her power poured from me like a tide unleashed.
And gods—
The love.
It hit like lightning in reverse. Fierce and aching, endless and heavy. She loved him—so much—it made my chest hurt. It made my throat tighten. She didn't hide it this time. She let it flood through me, warm and bright and terrifying. She wrapped around him like he was the last thing in this world that mattered.
And me? All I could do was hold on tighter and concentrate.
Concentrate on the flow. On not getting torn apart by the storm I had become.
Because with her in control, I didn't feel the jolts or the jerks or the aching bounce of full-speed riding. The cloth around us didn't cut or burn. The ground was a blur beneath our feet—but I was still, balanced, anchored by his body and her will.
My eyes stung from the wind, but the rest of me—
The rest of me was unstoppable.
A barrier of water erupted in front of us, curving in a perfect arc, scattering arrows midair. Needles of water shot outward from it in rapid bursts, spearing through enemy armor like glass blades forged in a storm.
Soldiers screamed. Steel rang. The commander's camp was within reach now, and still the power surged.
Wei Wuxian tore through the enemy line like a storm given form, Lan Wangji at his side—silent, graceful, terrifying. They moved as one, blades flashing silver, spiritual energy crackling around them like lightning chained to purpose.
Cries rose from the Qiuli camp.
Their cultivators moved fast—leaping into action, intercepting with blinding speed. Swords clashed midair, spiritual attacks collided, and suddenly the space around Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji was a vortex of light and fury.
We were running out of time.
The line was crumbling, but the moment was slipping—just seconds before the main forces would realize the breach and circle back. We either struck now or lost everything.
Shen Kexian saw it instantly. His voice rang out, clear and commanding:
"Ming Yu! Straight ahead—we'll cover you!"
It wasn't a suggestion. It was a signal.
Ming Yu moved like an arrow loosed from a war god's bow. No hesitation, no second guessing. Just motion—clean, precise, deadly. He charged toward the commander's tent.
Lan Wangji shifted his stance, blade whirling in clean, brutal arcs to clear the path ahead. Soldiers fell in flashes of white and silver. Wei Wuxian, half-laughing, half-furious, spun behind him, his talisman-laced flute emitting bursts of spiritual sound that shattered the air around the Qiuli cultivators.
And us? We followed. Still tethered, still fused.
"Mei Lin," Shen Kexian said under his breath, barely audible above the roar of chaos, "this is going to be rough."
I didn't have time to ask what he meant. Because then—He dumped pure rage into the connection.
Not anger. Not emotion. Rage.
His power surged like fire down a flooded river—wild, raw, devastating—and I didn't stand a chance of holding it back. It wasn't just spiritual energy. It was fury honed into a weapon, years of restraint breaking all at once, channeled straight into me.
I could feel her—Lianshui—struggling.
The power was rising fast, violent and absolute, but I knew her now. Knew the rhythm of her will. And I could feel it, deep in my bones—this was too much for her.
Even for someone that loved him deeply. The connection trembled. Strained.
She was pouring everything into him, into us, but she wasn't a well without end.
So I reached for her. Instinctively, without thinking, I grabbed onto that swell of emotion and gave her mine.
Everything I had been holding back.
All of it.
I let go of every conflicted thought, every tight-lipped denial, every heartbeat I'd ignored when Shen Kexian looked at me like I was something he'd seen before in another life.
I gave her my confusion, my loyalty, my frustration. And beneath it, I gave her my desire to protect him. To keep him alive. To not lose him to this madness.
Our feelings met and fused—her pure love, my very mortal ache—and the bond between us pulsed with new strength.
Shen Kexian staggered for a breath—not in pain, but in recognition.
He felt it.
Then another wave erupted. A sweeping blade of water tore through the battlefield, slicing across the Qiuli line with horrifying precision. It didn't knock them over—it cut them down. A perfect, divine strike that opened the path.
Ming Yu dashed forward, his sword splitting into twin blades mid-sprint, each one a silent promise in his hands. His eyes never wavered. He moved with terrifying grace, honed discipline—like the entire world had narrowed to a single breath.
The enemy commander saw him at the last second. He reached for his weapon, but it was already too late.
Ming Yu's blades flashed in a mirrored arc—two clean strokes that sliced through air, armor, and bone in perfect unison.
The commander's head separated cleanly from his shoulders. His body didn't crumple right away—it stood for one impossibly long second, like the soul hadn't caught up to death and then his body hit the ground with a final, heavy thud.
For one long, breathless moment, no one moved.
And then—The remaining Qiuli soldiers broke.
Some dropped their weapons entirely and ran. Others shouted confused orders, retreating in every direction like ants from a burning nest. The chaos spread like wildfire—panic rippling outward in waves, their lines disintegrating before our eyes.
The center could not hold. Their commander was dead. And they knew it.
A scream of horns echoed in the distance—the signal for full retreat. Chaos swallowed the edges of the battlefield, Qiuli forces dissolving into the trees, into the mountains, into anything that wasn't here.
We had won. But I could barely process it.
Shen Kexian moved first, his body still tense with battle-readiness, but his grip on me had changed—less anchor, more cradle. He eased me down, slowly, gently, like I might shatter if he moved too quickly.
He stood beside me, one hand at the back of my neck, the other steadying my waist.
And then, with a breath so quiet I almost didn't feel it—
He withdrew.
The connection between us loosened. The water pulled back. Not abruptly. Not like a snapped cord. But like a tide easing from shore.
I felt Lianshui moving within me, her power retreating with deliberate grace, giving each piece of me back as she went. My fingers twitched. My breath hitched. My spine ached as sensation returned—tingling, heavy, real.
When she finally let go entirely, I was myself again.
Everything that had held me together—her strength, his power, the heat of our fused connection—was gone. And without it, I folded like paper.
My legs buckled.
Shen Kexian caught me instantly, like he knew.
He pulled me into his arms, steadying me against his chest, his voice a low murmur against my hair.
"I told you," he said softly, "this would be rough."
I laughed—just once.
The signal rose into the sky in a streak of silver light, painting a gentle arc above the canopy. For a brief moment, it glittered like a star out of place—then burst open, raining soft sparks that faded before they touched the earth.
Success. It was over. Our part of the mission was done.
Around us, the battlefield began to settle—not into peace, but into the kind of ragged silence that only follows violence. The kind where everyone is still alive but too stunned to speak. Swords lowered. Breaths heaved. The wind carried smoke and the fading echoes of screams.
We had done it.
The regroup was quiet, wordless, but full of meaning. Wei Wuxian looked absolutely delighted with himself, twirling his flute and nudging Lan Wangji, who didn't respond except with a subtle brow lift that somehow conveyed both pride and exasperation.
Shen Kexian moved like nothing had happened, his hair pristine, his robes only marginally battle-worn, issuing a few clipped instructions to the scouts as if he hadn't just ripped the earth in half with divine rage a few minutes ago.
I was still kneeling where he'd lowered me, too tired to move, too overwhelmed to think. My limbs felt like they belonged to someone else—soft, heavy, trembling. My body had given everything. My heart… nearly so.
Then suddenly, without a word, I was lifted.
One moment on the ground.
The next—in the air.
Strong arms wrapped around me, firm and careful, cradling me like I was something precious and already claimed. Ming Yu scooped me into his arms in one graceful swoop, like it was the most natural thing in the world. His face betrayed nothing—calm, composed, devastatingly confident.
My mouth opened, but no sound came out. So I leaned in, close to his ear, and whispered, "Are you… claiming territory?"
His eyes flicked down to mine. A smirk pulled at his lips—just enough to make my pulse stutter.
"I know you're tired," he said softly, "and yes. You're mine."
My brain stopped working.
Heat climbed up my neck so fast I thought I might start glowing again. My arms tightened around his neck automatically—less romance, more survival instinct—but it still looked romantic, and gods help me, he knew it.
"I—" I tried to rally. "You're so arrogant."
He tilted his head slightly. "And yet here you are. Not complaining."
"I can't complain," I muttered. "I have the physical integrity of steamed tofu right now."
"Still counts."
A short laugh escaped me—tired and breathless, but real.
And yet…I didn't dare look back. Not at Shen Kexian. Not at the space he'd just left behind.
Because I could still feel it—the warmth of his arm around me, the divine pressure of our connection, the way Lianshui's love had fused with my feeling in that final surge.
And now I was in another man's arms.
A man I trusted.
A man I loved.
But behind us, I knew there were eyes watching. Silent. Still.
His eyes.
So I looked forward.
Let Ming Yu carry me like a queen in exile.
And tried not to wonder what we'd left behind on that battlefield.