The celebration returned with firelight and quiet joy, not the raucous, forced kind we had before—but something real. This time, we weren't trying to prove we were alive.
We were alive.
And we were letting that truth soak into our bones.
The soldiers laughed louder. The cultivators eased their shoulders. Even the night air felt different, gentler, like the world was exhaling along with us.
And for once, I wasn't sitting off to the side like a strange, shadowy guest of fate.
I was eating. I was drinking. And—maybe foolishly—I was finally letting the warmth in.
The food was simple—braised meat, sticky rice, dumplings with crisped edges—and yet somehow tasted like the best thing I'd ever put in my mouth. My body, still sore and light with exhaustion, accepted every bite like an offering to the gods of recovery.
Then there was the wine. Golden. Smooth. Too smooth. At first, it soothed me. Took the tension out of my shoulders. Made the fire feel closer, the stars feel softer.
Then it made me bold. That's when the staring started.
Gods, Ming Yu.
He was sitting just beyond the fire, talking with Wei Wuxian, his posture loose, the stiff grace of battle stripped away. He laughed at something Wei said—something ridiculous, probably—and for a moment, he wasn't a noble, or a cultivator, or a warrior who sliced through the enemy commander like it was choreographed.
He was just a man. Smiling. And his smile wrecked me.
Not the polite version. Not the faint curve I usually got when I said something exasperating. This was real. Wide, teeth slightly showing, eyes squinting at the corners. A boyish, sun-drenched kind of smile that made my chest feel too small for my lungs.
It melted me.
And then I made the mistake of thinking.
About the way he fought.
The way his arms had wrapped around me on horseback, shielding me from any danger like I was something precious and breakable.
The way he carried me in his arms after the battle like there was no other way this story could go.
And then, of course, the way he'd been in bed—gentle, careful, and furious in the quietest, most consuming ways. As if every part of me he touched had to be memorized. Revered.
I flushed. Hard. The heat climbed all the way up my neck to my ears. I practically steamed.
Oh gods, no. Don't think about that. Not here. Not in front of everyone. Not while I'm one sip of wine away from confessing my sins to the nearest tree.
But it was too late. Because now I couldn't stop thinking. And worse—
I couldn't stop staring. I caught myself doing it—eyes locked on him too long, too soft, too openly.
I was definitely drunk.
"Water. I need water," I muttered to myself like it was a life-saving mantra. "Cold. Reality-flavored. Non-flammable water."
I set my cup down with perhaps more force than necessary, wiped my clammy hands on my robe, and stood up a little too fast.
Stars danced in my vision. My legs swayed like they were trying to remember how legs worked.
With the dignity of a wet sock, I stumbled away from the firelight, toward the shadows near the water barrels stacked at the edge of camp. The cool air nipped at my flushed skin, and I tried to breathe, tried to reboot whatever was left of my social survival instincts.
Clear my head. Get water. Pretend I hadn't been mentally drooling over Ming Yu like some half-possessed wine maiden. I bent over the barrel, dipped the ladle in, and had just lifted it halfway to my lips when a voice slid behind me like silk wrapped around steel.
"Too much wine?"
I jumped. Water sloshed out of the ladle and onto my robe.
I didn't even need to turn around.
Shen Kexian.
Of course.
Because getting caught drunk and spiraling by the man I very recently helped rain divine destruction upon the enemy with, was exactly how this night needed to go.
Slowly, carefully—like he was a panther and I was a very tired deer—I turned around.
He was leaning against a tree just off the path, arms crossed, moonlight kissing the edge of his jaw like it was personally invested in making him more attractive.
"Oh. It's you," I said, absolutely nailing the casual tone of someone who wasn't one sip away from catastrophic honesty.
He tilted his head. "I was told wine makes you bolder."
"I was told wine helps you sleep."
He smiled, lazy and far too knowing. "And are you sleepy, little monkey?"
Oh gods, I thought. Abort. Abort. Red alert.
Because I knew what he wanted to talk about.
We hadn't spoken since the battlefield. Not about what happened between us. Not about the power. Or the feelings. Or the part where I poured my soul into him and Lianshui practically carved his name into my aura.
Getting caught drunk—now—was the worst possible timing.
He didn't move at first. Just leaned there, watching me, waiting. His usual smirk hung at the corner of his mouth, but it was thinner than usual. Almost... strained.
"I didn't come to tease you," he said finally, and just like that, the entire atmosphere shifted. The smile faded. The moonlight seemed sharper. The world pulled a breath between us.
I blinked. "No?"
He shook his head, gaze dipping briefly, as if looking anywhere but me would make this easier. It didn't. For either of us.
"Mei Lin," Shen Kexian said softly, his voice stripped of all playfulness. "What I felt today, during the battle… it was different."
Oh no. Here we go.
My stomach dropped, and I instinctively took a step back, as if space could undo what was already done. But there was no space far enough.
He stepped closer, expression unreadable but no longer teasing. "The connection—it was like before. I felt your love but the last pull, the second feeling, what was that?"
I opened my mouth to deflect—to say something sarcastic or clever or anything—
But nothing came out.
He took another step forward, voice barely above a whisper now. "Mei Lin… whose feelings was that?"
My eyes shifted. I looked away, toward the trees, the dark, anywhere but him.
Because I couldn't lie. Not to him. And for some reason I couldn't explain, he didn't deserve a lie.
So I answered him honestly.
"The second feeling was mine but the love you always felt before was not mine. It was hers, Lianshui."
He stared at me, eyes narrowing slightly, trying to gauge if I was drunk or joking or both. "I don't understand," he said finally. "What do you mean, 'hers'? What do you mean Lianshui?"
"I mean she's inside me."
A beat of stunned silence.
"What?"
I sighed and leaned back against the water barrel, trying to gather myself—and every ounce of courage I didn't currently possess.
"She's… bound to me. Her spirit. Her power. I don't know how or why, but it happened. I didn't choose it. And she's not always active, but sometimes—especially during battle,when you get hurt, or moments of intense connection—she takes over. Sometimes partially, sometimes completely."
I looked at him finally.
"I didn't mean to deceive you. I just didn't know how to explain it. Not to someone who…" I trailed off. "Not to you."
He didn't say anything more.
He just stepped forward and pulled me into a hug.
No hesitation. No pause. His arms wrapped around me like he'd done it a thousand times in dreams and finally, finally, he was allowing himself the real thing.
And I—
I froze.
Everything in me locked up. My fingers stiffened at my sides. My thoughts scattered like startled birds. My breath caught in my chest, uncertain if it belonged to me anymore.
"Lianshui," he murmured into my hair.
My stomach dropped like a stone in water.
No. No, no no—ALERT. RED ALERT. REVERSE.
He said her name like a revelation, like something sacred and beautiful, like it explained everything.
It didn't.
"Shen Kexian," I said quickly, fingers pressing against his chest. "Wait—"
But he didn't.
He pulled back just enough to look at me—and then he kissed me.
His mouth found mine in a single, sweeping movement, confident and too familiar, like we were already something, like we had always been something.
His lips were soft. Warm. And full of a longing I didn't know what to do with. He kissed me like he had been waiting for permission. Like that battlefield bond had carved open a door and now he was stepping through it, finally, irrevocably.
And for a second—
I was too stunned to move.
"Shen Kexian, wait—no!" I gasped into his mouth, hands now pressing hard against his shoulders.
But he didn't stop. He couldn't see it—couldn't feel it—but I was panicking. So I did the only thing I could do.
I bit him.
Hard.
His lip broke under my teeth, blood rising instantly, warm and metallic and immediate.
He jerked away with a sharp breath, a hand flying to his mouth, eyes wide—stunned, confused, bleeding.
"I… I'm sorry," he stammered, his voice cracked and uneven. "Mei Lin… I didn't—I'm sorry."
He looked wrecked. Not just from the kiss. Not just from the blood. But from something deeper. He stepped back. Turned around. And walked away.
His figure vanished slowly into the dark between the trees, every step like a door quietly closing.
I stood there, lips still trembling, my heart lodged somewhere between my ribs and my throat.
And I whispered to no one—
"Yes. This is going to be a problem."
***
The moment Shen Kexian disappeared into the trees, I didn't give myself time to feel anything.
No breath. No processing. No collapsing in emotional confusion under a pine tree.
I had one job now.
Find Ming Yu.
Because I made him a promise. And if I waited—if he heard about it some other way—there might not be a Shen Kexian left to explain anything.
So I turned, shoved down every nerve in my body that was still on fire, and marched back toward the glow of camp like a woman possessed.
The celebration was quieter now—embers burning low, conversations thinning into scattered laughter. Most of the soldiers had wandered off to their tents, full and victorious.
But Ming Yu was still there.
Seated at the edge of the fire, a cup in his hand, eyes following the flames like he was keeping vigil for something he couldn't name.
He looked up the moment I approached. Saw my face. And stood immediately.
Of course he would notice something was off.
He didn't ask anything right away. Just stepped closer, hands at his sides, gaze searching mine.
"Ming Yu," I said quietly, "I need to talk to you."
His brow furrowed. "What happened?"
"I—" My voice caught. I swallowed and tried again. "I need to tell you something. Before anyone else does. Before it turns into something… worse."
His eyes sharpened instantly. "Did someone hurt you?"
"Yes," I said. "No not— not like that. I mean, yes, but—not in that way. I—ugh, just—let me explain before you decide to stab anyone."
His jaw flexed. I took a breath.
"Shen Kexian kissed me."
Ming Yu went still. No flinch. No step back. Just… silence. The kind that made my blood run cold.
"And I didn't kiss him back," I added quickly. "I stopped him. I bit him. There was blood. He left."
Still, no reaction. I pressed on, voice lower now. "He found me after I walked away from the fire. We talked. He said he felt something during the battle—something emotional. And he was right. But it wasn't me."
Ming Yu's eyes locked on mine. "What do you mean?"
I stepped closer, hands shaking slightly. "He knows now. That Lianshui… she's inside me. That it's not just borrowed power. It's her. Her love for him. That's why he felt it. That's why he thought I—"
I stopped. Bit my lip.
"I told him the truth. That it wasn't my feeling he felt. It was hers."
Ming Yu was quiet for a long time.
I reached for his arm gently, like approaching a wild animal. "Please say something. Or breathe. Or blink. Just don't murder anyone. I'm very tired."
The silence between us stretched taut, and for a terrifying moment, I thought he might just walk away. That I'd ruined it—us—by simply existing in a complicated mess neither of us asked for.
Then Ming Yu exhaled. A slow, controlled breath, like he was releasing something he'd been holding too tightly.
And finally, he spoke. "If he wants to reawaken her," he said, voice low, steady, and carved from steel, "it will be over my dead body."
My breath caught.
Not because it was dramatic—but because he meant it.
His eyes met mine, unwavering.
"I'm not going to fight a goddess," he continued, "and I'm not going to punish you for something you never chose. But I won't let him use what's inside you as an excuse to rewrite the past. He can chase her memory all he wants—but you're not her."
I nodded slowly, heart tightening in my chest.
"I know."
He stepped closer, lifting one hand to gently brush a strand of hair behind my ear. His touch was so soft it made my throat ache.
"You're Mei Lin," he said. "And you're mine."
"Yes," I whispered. "I'm yours."
And for the first time that night, I finally felt like I belonged to myself again.