We returned to the fort with more answers than we knew what to do with—and even more questions than before.
The ride back was quiet. No one said much. Not because there wasn't anything to say, but because none of us knew where to start.
That night, I couldn't sleep. I lay on my thin mattress, staring at the canvas ceiling of my tent, waiting for my thoughts to calm down. They didn't. They just kept circling, louder in the silence, heavier in the dark.
The ritual had failed. That part was clear. It had backfired and killed them all. But if they were trying to summon a goddess—the goddess—then why did I end up here?
Why me?
My soul, pulled from another world, dropped into this one like a glitch in someone else's design. And somehow, I didn't just arrive—I arrived inside her. Lianshui. I remembered what Shen Kexian said—how water responded to her.
Was she the one they meant to summon?
Was she the true goddess of water?
The next morning, I felt a little sick.
Not the kind that came with fever or food—just the slow, dragging weight of too much. A dull ache behind my eyes. A heaviness in my limbs like my body had finally realized how tired it was.
Sleep hadn't helped. Not really.
I'd drifted in and out of restless dreams, each one more chaotic than the last—flashes of the cave, the smell of ash, the sharp echo of Lan Wangji's guqin. Faces I didn't recognize. Ritual circles that bled into battlefields. The kind of dream where you wake up feeling like you never left the war.
It wasn't just exhaustion. It was the emotional toll.
The kind of wear that sleep couldn't fix—because my subconscious was finally catching up to everything I'd been trying to outrun.
Xiaohua saw me the moment I stepped out of bed—or more accurately, when I nearly collapsed trying to.
"Miss Mei Lin!" she gasped, wide-eyed, already rushing forward with her hands flailing like she could catch exhaustion in the air. "You look pale—no, worse than pale. You look like steamed tofu left out overnight!"
"I'm fine," I lied.
She didn't believe me for a second.
She helped me back down with more gentleness than I deserved, muttering to herself the entire time. Then, in full panic mode, she turned on her heel and bolted. "Don't move! I'll get medicine! Or tea! Or both! Or someone more qualified than me—just stay put!"
I sighed and leaned back against the pillow, hoping she wouldn't return with half the infirmary.
But a few minutes later, the one who stepped into my tent wasn't Xiaohua.
It was Shen Kexian.
He stood just inside the entrance, holding a small porcelain jar in one hand, quiet and unreadable.
My stomach dropped.
Because of course it was him. Because apparently the universe had no interest in giving me a day off. I tried to sit up the moment I saw him, out of instinct or pride—I wasn't sure which.
"Don't," Shen Kexian said, stepping closer before I could protest. "You look like a ghost that forgot how to haunt properly."
There it was—the banter. Light, practiced. But his voice was softer than usual, missing its usual edge.
He knelt beside me, setting the porcelain jar on the low table. I eyed it with suspicion.
"That better not be one of those tonics that taste like boiled despair," I muttered.
He opened the lid, dipped the small spoon in, and gave me a look that was almost smug. "I'm hurt. You think I'd bring you bitter medicine without also preparing to mock you through it?"
"Absolutely."
He huffed a quiet laugh. Then, more gently than I expected, he brought the spoon to my lips.
I hesitated. He didn't push. Just waited, calm and patient, like this was some normal routine between us and not the aftermath of dead people and crushed rituals.
I opened my mouth, and the moment the medicine touched my tongue, I regretted everything.
"Ugh. What is that?"
"Health," he said innocently. "In liquid form. And a reminder not to skip sleep and spiritual stability."
"Cruel."
He smiled. Not smug this time. Just… soft.
And I didn't have the strength to argue. Not with him sitting this close. Not with the warmth in his voice despite everything.
Once I'd swallowed the last vile spoonful of whatever bitter concoction he'd brought—and made a dramatic face about it, because I had to hold on to some dignity—Shen Kexian stood.
He moved like he was about to leave, already turning toward the tent flap.
I sat up straighter. "You're not going to ask me anything?"
He paused. His back was to me for a breath too long, and then he turned.
"Not yet," he said.
His tone wasn't cold, or distant. Just… patient. Steady. The kind of quiet that offered space instead of pushing into it.
"When you're better," he added, "we'll talk."
I blinked, unsure if I was grateful or frustrated by his restraint.
"I'm not here to push if you're not ready."
That should've been the end of it. He'd said what he needed to say. He'd been gentle. Respectful.
But then the question leapt out of my mouth before I could stop it.
"Are you mad at me?" I asked, too quickly. "That I didn't tell you about Lianshui from the beginning?"
There. Said it. It hung in the air like the taste of that bitter medicine—lingering, hard to swallow.
Shen Kexian didn't look surprised.
His expression softened—not with pity, but something warmer. Something that made my throat feel tight.
"No," he said.
Just that. No hesitation. No guarded phrasing. Then he stepped forward, just enough to be near but not hovering. His voice dropped lower, more personal.
"Because I think I know why."
I narrowed my eyes slightly. "Why?"
His smile was faint, almost sad.
"Because if you had told me," he said, "I wouldn't have seen you. I would've only seen her."
His answer hit me harder than I expected. And the worst part? It wasn't true.
I wasn't protecting myself from being forgotten. I was protecting myself from being replaced.
He thought I kept the truth from him because I didn't want him to see Lianshui instead of me. That I was trying to be seen as just Mei Lin. That I wanted his attention—his affection—for myself.
That maybe, I was some love-struck girl, pretending Lianshui didn't exist so he'd look at me the way he used to look at her.
But that wasn't it. Not really. The truth—the awful, selfish truth I hadn't even said out loud to myself—was that I was afraid.
Afraid that if he knew—if he truly understood who I was carrying inside me—he'd find a way to bring her back. And in doing so, I'd lose everything… including the life I could have with Ming Yu.
But I couldn't let him keep thinking that. Not anymore. He'd been kind. Gentle, even. And in his own way, he'd given me space instead of blame.
But he was wrong. And he deserved to know who I really was—who I really am. So before he could disappear beyond the edge of the tent, I found my voice.
"Kexian—wait."
He stopped, his back to me.
"I didn't hide it because I thought you'd only see her," I said quietly. "It wasn't that."
He turned halfway, just enough for me to see the edge of his face.
"I was afraid," I said. The words were soft but heavy, scraping out of my chest like they'd been waiting. "Afraid that if you knew—if you truly understood who I was carrying inside me—you'd find a way to bring her back."
I swallowed hard.
"And in doing so… I'd lose everything. Me. My life. My voice. Even the future I might have with Ming Yu."
He said nothing. But his stillness was louder than anything else.
"I wasn't trying to pretend Lianshui didn't exist," I added. "I just didn't want to stop existing myself."
Shen Kexian didn't speak for a long moment. Then he turned to face me fully, his expression unreadable—but softer than before. Not distant. Just… quieter.
"I would never choose her at the cost of you," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "Not now. Not ever."
He looked at me like he meant it—like the truth tasted heavy in his mouth, and he hated how much it was his to carry.
"I may have loved her once," he continued, "but she's gone. Whatever part of her still lingers… it's not a life. It's a memory. Echoes."
He took a slow breath, gaze steady. "You're not a vessel, Mei Lin. You're you. You laugh differently. You speak without the weight of centuries. You flinch when medicine tastes awful and pretend you're not afraid of ghosts. You exist."
His voice faltered for just a second.
"I see you."
That was worse than any accusation. Because it was kind. And because a part of me had wanted to hear it far more than I should have.
Shen Kexian didn't wait for an answer. He gave me one last look, quiet and unreadable, unbearably gentle, then turned and slipped out of the tent without a word. No anger. No bitterness. Just silence. And somehow, that was worse. He didn't leave me with blame or disappointment—only the echo of a kindness I wasn't ready for and I didn't know what to do with.
I am the worst person of all time.
Why should I even exist? What am I doing here, taking up space in someone else's story—pretending I belong, pretending I matter—when all I ever do is hurt the people who care about me? It doesn't matter how much I try. It doesn't matter what I choose. Somehow, I always end up breaking something. Someone.
And him… he didn't even ask me not to. He just listened. Gave me his gentleness like it cost him nothing, like I deserved it. I don't. I don't deserve his patience, or the way he looked at me like I was worth waiting for. It didn't comfort me—it made the guilt worse. Because even in being good to me, I only felt more broken.
I want to be better. I do. But right now, all I can feel is the weight of what I'm not. And I don't know how much longer I can carry that.
At some point, the medicine kicked in.
It dulled the edge of my thoughts, smoothed the ache behind my eyes, and dragged me down into sleep so heavy it felt like sinking through stone. No dreams. No voices. Just dark.
When I woke again, the light in the tent had shifted. Soft and golden, slanting in through the fabric like it had been waiting.
Not long after I stirred, Xiaohua slipped into the tent with a tray in her hands. The smell of warm rice and soup hit me first—simple, comforting, exactly what I didn't know I needed.
"You're awake," she said, relief flooding her voice as she set the tray beside me. "You slept straight through most of the day."
"I noticed," I mumbled, sitting up slowly. My limbs were heavy, but the fog in my head had started to lift. "Anything going on today?"
Xiaohua hesitated, then leaned in slightly, like it was something she wasn't supposed to say. "The commander's tent… it's been busy. A lot of foot traffic. Officers going in and out. Something's happening."
I picked up a piece of steamed bun, my appetite still hesitant but no longer absent. "That doesn't sound good."
She didn't answer, which told me enough.
I ate a few bites in silence, each one settling in my stomach like a stone—not because of the food, but because of the growing itch of uncertainty.
"I want to find out what's going on," I said, already pushing the blanket aside.
Xiaohua groaned. "Can you at least finish your meal before you run off into political drama?"
No promises.
I made my way across the camp, still a little unsteady, but too curious—and too restless—to stay in bed.
When I pushed back the flap of the commander's tent, the low hum of conversation paused just long enough for several heads to turn. Wei Wuxian looked up first, surprise flickering across his face before it softened.
"You're awake," he said, standing up halfway. "Are you alright?"
"Mostly," I said, managing something between a smile and a shrug. "Alive, upright, and here—so that's something."
From across the room, Shen Kexian didn't even look up from the map he was studying.
"She's stubborn," he said flatly. "Even when she's sick. I could've told you she'd show up the moment she could stand without falling over."
"I did fall over," I corrected, stepping fully inside. "You just weren't there for it."
His mouth twitched, but he didn't argue.
Wei Wuxian chuckled. "Well, now that you're here, I suppose there's no chance of keeping you out of the loop."
Wei Wuxian motioned for me to come closer, his usual grin absent. "We found something," he said, voice low. "Evidence that points to the Xiyan court."
I blinked. "Evidence?"
He nodded. "Records. Messages smuggled across the border. Someone in Xiyan's court may have been working to incite the conflict from behind the scenes—pushing Qiuli leadership to act."
The weight of it settled in my chest, slow and cold. "So this whole war…"
"Wasn't entirely Qiuli's idea," he finished. "And definitely not just about borders."
He leaned over the map, tapping near the northern edge. "We sent an envoy this morning to deliver our findings and open negotiations. If we can bring pressure from their side, we might be able to prevent the next attack before it starts."
I scanned the tent, noticing for the first time who wasn't there.
"Where's Advisor Liu?" I asked. "And Hanguang-jun?"
Shen Kexian, still reviewing a sealed scroll, didn't look up. "They went with the envoy."
I stared at him.
"What?" The word shot out of me before I could temper it.
I turned to Wei Wuxian, my voice sharper than I meant it to be. "Isn't that dangerous?"
It wasn't just a question—it was an accusation. My look said everything I didn't say out loud: You sent my lover behind enemy lines?Are you out of your mind?
Wei Wuxian caught the look and winced, then glanced around the tent. "Everyone—give us a moment."
The generals exchanged glances but didn't question it. One by one, they filtered out, boots heavy on the canvas floor, until only Wei Wuxian, Shen Kexian, and I remained.
Silence settled like a stone.
Wei Wuxian sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "It wasn't entirely my decision."
I crossed my arms, trying to keep my breathing steady.
He looked up at me, and for once, his expression wasn't teasing or relaxed—it was frustrated. Sharp around the edges. "They decided to act on their own."
That landed. Hard.
"What?"
"They said this was the best way to protect the envoy," he muttered. "If anything went wrong—if the Xiyan tried something—they would already be inside. Positioned. Close enough to act."
He exhaled again, running a hand through his hair. "The Qiuli border camp isn't far. Worst case, they fall back. But you know how they are."
I did. Lan Wangji would walk into hell if it meant keeping peace.
And Ming Yu… he wouldn't leave him to do it alone.
But that didn't mean I had to be okay with it.
In fact, I felt like I was going to be sick again.