Operation: Heaven on Earth?
Complete success.
Ming Yu lay beside me, still catching his breath, one arm draped across my waist like he wasn't quite ready to let go. His chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm, skin warm against mine, lips brushing my forehead with a tenderness that made my heart ache in the best way.
He exhaled a quiet laugh and murmured, "I might regret asking this… but how on earth did you come up with that?"
I smiled smugly and pressed a kiss to his jaw. "That's a secret between me and Yuling."
He groaned, covering his face with one hand. "You two are unbelievable."
"I just wanted you to feel your best," I said softly, tracing slow circles on his chest with my fingertip. "You deserve it."
There was a beat of silence. A breath held between us.
Then Ming Yu's voice came, low and certain: "I love you."
My heart caught in my throat. I looked up at him, his expression open and unguarded in a way that made my chest tighten.
"I love you too," I whispered.
And I meant it every word.
But even as I lay there in his arms, warm and wrapped in everything we had just shared, a quiet weight settled behind my ribs.
Because tomorrow, I'd have to ask him about something I wasn't sure he'd take lightly.
The Soulthread array.
The permanent link.
Tonight, I had given him heaven.
Tomorrow, I might ask for trust that felt dangerously close to betrayal.
But for now… I let myself stay in this moment. Just a little longer.
***
The next day, I gathered everyone in Yuling's quarters.
It was the only place that felt neutral enough to keep anyone from raising their voice—and warm enough to soften what I was about to say.
Yuling sat gracefully with her son in her lap, gently humming to him as if we weren't all on the edge of an emotional landmine. She knew what I was planning, of course. She even dressed a little extra soft today, with white silk, pink sash, the innocent domesticity defense.
Shen Kexian sat in a low chair, legs crossed, arms resting lazily in his lap like this was just another pleasant mid-afternoon tea with friends—not a setup for potential emotional combustion. He even looked vaguely bored.
Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were already seated near the window, sipping tea like two elegant bodyguards who were definitely not here to prevent bloodshed.
But they were.
They were absolutely here to prevent bloodshed.
Especially when Ming Yu walked in, spotted the lineup, and gave me a look that said, What did you do?
I gave him my best "don't panic" smile.
Once everyone settled, I cleared my throat and sat a little straighter. "So… I've been thinking about the Soulthread array."
Ming Yu was quiet until he heard the name.
Soulthread Array.
He turned to me, concerns flickering across his expression, voice low but firm. "Mei Lin… you won't be able to endure the pain. I probably couldn't either."
I opened my mouth. And right on cue. Like the universe had been waiting for the most dramatic moment possible—
Shen Kexian spoke from the other side of the room, his voice calm, cutting through the tension like a blade dressed in silk.
"She didn't mean linking it with you."
A beat.
"She means linking it with me."
Ming Yu's head snapped toward me, his eyes wide, stunned silent for just one second too long.
And there it is. My stomach dropped. I raised both hands instinctively, like I was surrendering at the altar of terrible timing.
"Okay, let me explain," I said quickly, heart pounding. "Before anyone draws a sword or throws a teacup, just—let me explain."
I took a breath and looked straight at Ming Yu.
"Yes," I said. "If I could link with you—I would. In a heartbeat. No question."
His expression shifted, but I pressed on before emotion could knock the words out of me.
"It's important you know that."
He held my gaze, silent.
"But," I continued gently, "you said it yourself—I wouldn't be able to endure the pain. And… you probably couldn't either."
I saw the flicker in his eyes. The guilt. The frustration. It wasn't about not wanting it—it was about not being able to.
"With Shen Kexian," I said, "we might be able to. Might."
I emphasized the word, because even I wasn't fully convinced.
"But the reason it's even possible," I added, "is because we can heal each other emotionally through the connection."
"Technically… not me." My voice softened. "Lianshui can."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Shen Kexian shift slightly in his seat—his face unreadable, but his posture just tense enough to betray it.
He didn't like that answer.
"This isn't about you, Liu Ming Yu," Shen Kexian said, voice cool but edged with tightly-held irritation. "It's about her. Her safety. Her survival."
He stood, arms still crossed, tone sharpening as he continued. "With what we know about the Xiyan ritual—they were trying to summon the goddess. They failed once. But what makes you think they won't try again?"
His eyes locked on Ming Yu, unimpressed. "You've heard about the missing corpses. From both our troops and Qiuli's. You do realize it's not just coincidence, don't you? Eighteen bodies. All cultivators. All unaccounted for."
He let the words hang in the air, like a challenge.
"I'm not asking for your blessing. I'm stating the obvious. Something is coming. And she's at the center of it whether you like it or not."
His voice dropped lower, colder. "If we wait until it happens to act, then whatever they're planning—whatever she is tied to—we'll be too late."
"Missing soldiers?" I said, eyes snapping toward Shen Kexian. "I didn't even know that."
Wei Wuxian set his teacup down with a soft clink. "Yeah," he said, voice low. "We haven't told many people. The numbers didn't add up at first. But… those corpses we found in the cave?"
He looked at me, gaze steady.
"They all seemed to be cultivators."
Yuling, who had been quiet through most of it, finally spoke up—soft, but unmistakably firm.
"Ming Yu," she said, adjusting her son gently in her lap, "she could've done this without telling you. Quietly. Without a room full of people, without all this... explanation."
Her gaze flicked to me, then back to him. "But she didn't. She told you because she values you and your opinion. Too much, in my opinion. That should count for something, right?"
She sipped her tea calmly, like she hadn't just lit a spark in the middle of a room soaked in tension.
I turned to look at her, eyes wide, one brow arched high.
Are you helping? Or throwing gasoline on the fire?
She gave me a sweet, innocent smile in return—pink silk, perfect posture, absolute menace.
Ming Yu turned to Lan Wangji, still visibly tense, but now his voice was quieter. Focused.
"You've done it," he said. "How bad was it?"
Lan Wangji didn't flinch. "Bad."
Just one word. Steady. Honest. No elaboration. But coming from Lan Wangji, that carried more weight than an entire scroll of warnings.
Ming Yu swallowed hard, then turned his attention to Wei Wuxian. "You didn't finish it. What happened after?"
Wei Wuxian shifted, clearly reluctant to answer. He rubbed the back of his neck like he was still feeling it. "The array bounced back. Hit me hard. Stung like hell."
Then, a pause.
"But it didn't kill me," he added. "Hurt… but not that much. Just left me dizzy for a few days."
He glanced at Ming Yu and shrugged. "Still better than being spiritually torn apart mid-battle with no warning."
Then, of course, the stupid idea popped into my head.
The kind of idea that felt just logical enough to say out loud—and just unhinged enough to make the entire room stare at me.
"So… this array hurts your soul, right?"
Everyone turned to look at me.
I blinked. "Okay, hear me out. If it hurts your soul, then can't we do something to soothe your soul while it's happening?"
My eyes drifted to Lan Wangji. "Like… music?"
A beat passed. The drama scene in my mind played vividly—Nie Mingjue going berserk, Jin Guang Yao pretending to play Guqin to calm him down. My brain, forever tainted by television, made the leap for me.
"Lan Zhan, can't you play something to help with that?" I asked, completely serious. "I mean, spiritually. Doesn't music help ground the soul?"
The room was very quiet.
Then Shen Kexian—who had been sitting with that familiar expression of "what chaos are you about to invent next"—looked at me thoughtfully.
"That… might work," he said slowly.
And just like that, the idea stopped sounding so stupid.
I finally turned to him—Ming Yu.
His expression was unreadable, his gaze fixed on some invisible point between us. I could see the storm still behind his eyes—conflict, concern, protectiveness… all of it.
But I had to ask.
"What do you say?" I said gently.
He sighed—long, deep, the sound of someone already bracing for pain. Then he looked at me.
"I don't like it," he said honestly. "Not the risk. Not the idea of you in pain."
His voice softened, just enough to make my chest ache.
"But for your safety… fine."
My lips curved into a smile, small but real.
I didn't say anything at first.
I just held his gaze—grateful, a little overwhelmed, and so deeply in love with the way he always showed up for me, even when it terrified him.