We were sitting around the main tent like we were waiting for news that might never come. No word yet. No sign of Ming Yu or Lan Wangji. Just maps, lukewarm tea, and too much silence.
I shifted in my seat, then groaned out loud. "I swear, the worst part about living in an ancient world is the waiting. No messengers. No texts. No GPS. Just vibes and the distant sound of panic."
Wei Wuxian looked at me, head tilted. "What's GPS?"
Global..position..something? My mind just wandered absurdly.
"It's a magical thing," I said with a sigh. "In my world, you can track people. You can see exactly where someone is—whether they're moving, how fast they're going, if they've stopped... all of it."
Shen Kexian raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like something developed by a very anxious queen with control issues."
I ignored that. "It would be very useful right now, is all I'm saying."
Wei Wuxian hummed thoughtfully. "We have something similar in concept. Soulthread Array, you can create a tracking array between two people. You can sense each other's condition, distance… location, in a vague way."
That caught my attention. "Wait—really? Why haven't we used that?"
Shen Kexian answered, unusually serious. "Because it requires an enormous amount of spiritual power. And pain. It's carved directly into your soul. The link only activates if one of you is hurt—severely hurt. On the verge of dying."
Oh. That escalated fast.
"Most cultivators can't finish the array," Wei Wuxian added, resting his chin on his hand. "The pain alone breaks the connection. It's… not done lightly."
Wei Wuxian swirled the tea in his cup, eyes distant. Then, as if it was nothing, he said, "Lan Zhan has the array."
I looked up. "He does?"
He nodded. "Carved it into his skin. Endured the whole process."
My stomach twisted. "Wait—you don't have it too?"
He shook his head, not quite meeting my eyes. "I tried. I couldn't finish it."
I stared at him, appalled. "So let me get this straight: he can feel if you're dying… but you can't feel if he is?"
Wei Wuxian gave a sheepish shrug.
I stared at him, aghast. "Are you kidding me? He took a beating—thirty-three whips for you—and you couldn't finish the array in return?"
Wei Wuxian blinked. "Thirty-three… whips?"
I froze. Right. That didn't happen here.
"Never mind," I muttered. "Different timeline. But the point stands. He would throw himself into a burning pit if it meant saving you, and you couldn't finish the array?"
Wei Wuxian sighed—the kind of sigh that seemed to pull his whole frame downward, like the weight of too many memories had settled on his shoulders all at once.
"You don't understand," he said quietly. "It's not about willpower. The pain—it's not just physical. It reaches into your soul and tries to tear you apart. It's not about how much you love someone. It's about how much you can survive."
He looked at me, gaze steady but not unkind. "You wouldn't survive one either."
I opened my mouth to argue but then closed it again. Because—ugh. He was probably right. I sat in silence for a beat, stewing, until Shen Kexian spoke from across the tent without even looking up from the parchment in his hand.
"Maybe you would survive one," he said mildly.
My head snapped up. "What?"
Now he looked at me—expression unreadable, but just amused enough to make me nervous. "If we carved the array into each other."
There was a beat of stunned silence in my brain before I could process the words.
"To each other??" I repeated, full-body horrified. "Why would I—with you—??"
He didn't flinch. Didn't smirk. Just said, calm as ever, "If the goal is survival and tracking, it's practical and efficient."
Then, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, he added, "You wouldn't survive crafting it to someone else. But through our connection, I could lessen the pain. And you could do the same for me."
He said it like he was offering a simple solution. Like this wasn't blood-bound soul magic we were talking about.
I stared at him.
"That's… possible?"
He nodded, completely unbothered. "Pain shared is pain halved. That's how our connection works—if they're strong enough."
His voice was steady. Rational. Like he was explaining the weather, not suggesting we carve matching arrays into our bodies and tie our souls together with an invisible thread and maybe that was the problem. Because the more he explained, the more it made sense. Strategically, it was brilliant. Efficient. A way to bypass the pain that made the array nearly impossible to complete.
But all I could think was—a permanent mark. Etched into me. Connected to him. It wasn't about trust. It was about closeness. And I didn't know if I was ready for that.
Before I could untangle my thoughts, Wei Wuxian spoke up from his seat, casually sipping his tea like we weren't discussing magically binding our souls to each other.
"Well… it might actually be a good idea," he said. "In theory."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
He pointed at us with the handle of his teacup. "Don't get me wrong—Ming Yu would one hundred percent kill Shen Kexian on the spot if he even knew you were talking about carving an array together, but if you two somehow managed to finish it? It could be useful."
I stared at him, utterly betrayed. "Wei Wuxian!!"
He shrugged. "I'm not saying I support it. I'm saying it's clever. If anything happened to either of you, the other could call for help immediately. It's rare to have a bond strong enough to pull it off. Most cultivators don't get that far."
Shen Kexian didn't deny any of it. Just watched me quietly. I didn't know what unsettled me more. The idea that he wanted to be linked to me, or the fact that, on some level, part of me didn't immediately say no.
"How long does it take to complete it?" I asked, finally. My voice came out steadier than I felt. "And… what do I have to do?"
Shen Kexian looked at me, quiet for a breath, as if weighing whether I was serious.
"I'm just asking," I added quickly, holding up a hand. "Hypothetically. I wouldn't go through with it unless I could convince Ming Yu it's a good idea."
That part wasn't negotiable. There was no version of this where I hid something like this from him.
Shen Kexian nodded, his expression unreadable. "It varies. For most, hours. For us… maybe less. The ritual itself is simple. What makes it unbearable is the carving—into the spirit, not just the skin. It requires complete focus, no interruptions. One slip, and the array fails. Sometimes permanently."
I swallowed. "And what happens if it fails?"
His gaze didn't waver. "Best case? Nothing. Worst case… damage. Physical. Spiritual. The kind that doesn't always heal."
Great. Magical bonding: brought to you by risk, agony, and romantic disaster.
And yet—there I was, still listening. Still not saying no.
***
The report came in later that evening. The negotiation had worked. Qiuli agreed to pause their military movements and launch an internal investigation into the possibility that Xiyan had manipulated their court into war. No promises. No surrender. But it was something.
A step. More importantly, our envoy was on their way back.
They returned to the fort just before midnight, slipping in under moonlight and torch glow. The air was cool, hushed like the whole camp had been holding its breath all day and could finally let it out.
I'd been waiting. I hadn't gone to sleep. Couldn't. I sat in the tent with a cup of tea that had long gone cold, listening to every voice, every footstep outside.
And then—I saw him.
Ming Yu, walking beside Lan Wangji, his expression calm but unreadable, his hair slightly windblown from travel. Unharmed. Whole.
The relief hit so hard it almost knocked the breath out of me.
A part of me—okay, a big part—wanted to run across the courtyard and throw my arms around him like some lovesick heroine in a palace drama, complete with background music and slow-motion spinning.
But this wasn't a drama.
This was real and I couldn't do that. It took some time. There were debriefings. Reports. Commanders murmuring by torchlight, soldiers unloading supplies, Lan Wangji slipping off into the shadows like he was never there at all.
But finally—finally—it was just us.
Ming Yu stepped into my tent with that quiet, familiar calm that had always made me feel steadier just by existing near it. He didn't say anything at first. Just looked at me.
And that was enough.
I didn't wait another second. I crossed the space between us in three steps and threw my arms around him. His body tensed slightly in surprise—then melted into the hug, arms wrapping around me like he'd been holding that motion in since the moment he left.
"Why didn't you say goodbye?" I whispered into his shoulder. My voice cracked. "When you joined the envoy? I woke up and you were gone. I was worried sick."
He exhaled slowly, like he'd expected this. Maybe even rehearsed for it.
"You were sleeping," he said softly. "And sick. I didn't want to wake you."
I pulled back just enough to glare up at him, even with tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. "You didn't want to bother me?"
"I knew you'd be angry," he admitted. "But at least… angry and healthy."
"Next time," I said, still holding on to him, "even if I'm on my deathbed, you say goodbye. Promise?"
He looked down at me, that small, rare smile curling at the corners of his mouth—the one he saved for me and no one else.
"Promise," he said.
And then he pulled me into a kiss. No hesitation. No drama. Just his lips on mine—soft, grounding, real. The kind of kiss that didn't ask for anything, just reminded me that he was here, and so was I.
When we finally pulled apart, he pressed his forehead to mine, and neither of us said anything more.
We didn't need to.
That night, I finally slept like a normal person.