We finally arrived in Xingyuan City, a bustling trade hub known for its vibrant markets and strategic location between Luyang and Daqi. The journey had been long but scenic, with rolling hills, dense forests, and the occasional river that glistened under the sun. As our carriage rolled through the city gates, I marveled at the lively atmosphere. Street vendors shouted their wares, children ran through the streets laughing, and the air was filled with the mouthwatering scent of street food.
Our convoy of five carriages drew curious stares from the townspeople, and Wei Wuxian's entourage of soldiers quickly dispersed to secure the area. It was clear that our presence had not gone unnoticed.
After settling in at the local inn, Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, Ming Yu, and I gathered in the common room to discuss our next steps. The inn was quaint, with wooden beams and paper lanterns that cast a warm, inviting glow.
"We need to find out why the palace rations aren't reaching the southern regions," Wei Wuxian began, his expression serious. "This isn't just about missing food—it's about the people who are suffering because of it. Our first step should be to visit the local officials and see what information they have. We need to track the supply chain and identify where the rations are disappearing."
Ming Yu added thoughtfully, "It might also be worth speaking to the local merchants and traders. They tend to know more than they let on—especially about goods moving through the city or... mysteriously not moving at all."
I nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and determination tighten in my chest. This was my first real mission alongside them, and I was eager—maybe too eager—to prove I belonged. "I'll go with Ming Yu," I offered quickly. "We can speak with the merchants, maybe get a better sense of what the townspeople are noticing."
Wei Wuxian shot me an approving smile. "Good thinking. We'll split up. Lan Zhan and I will speak with the governor and his staff."
The next morning, we divided into our teams. While Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji headed toward the governor's residence, Ming Yu and I made our way to the city's market square.
The market was alive with color and sound. Stalls overflowed with vibrant fabrics and gleaming trinkets, the scent of grilled meats mingled with sweet-smelling incense, and voices rose in a melodic hum of barter and banter. It was chaotic, but beautiful.
I tried not to get distracted by a particularly sparkly hairpin that looked way too similar to something from a historical drama I once binge-watched. Ming Yu, however, was all business—his eyes scanning the crowds with the quiet focus of someone trained to see what others overlooked.
Without hesitation, he stepped toward a group of merchants clustered around a stack of crates, speaking in low tones. "Let's start here," he murmured to me, his voice low and steady.
As the day wore on, frustration crept in like a slow fog. The merchants we questioned had nothing useful to offer—no suspicious deliveries, no missing carts, just the same polite shrugs and empty reassurances. Despite speaking with dozens of townspeople, we came up with nothing. Hope thinned with every passing hour.
Deciding we needed a break, Ming Yu and I stopped at a nearby food stall nestled under the shade of a large parasol. We sat in silence as we ordered a simple meal, both of us trying to make sense of the dead ends. Just as our food arrived, a hunched figure approached—a beggar with hollow cheeks and pleading eyes.
Before I could react, the stall owner rushed over and waved him off. "Sorry about that," he muttered, shaking his head. "There've been more of them lately. They linger around the square, asking for scraps."
I stared after the man as he shuffled away, something clicking in my mind.
"Ming Yu," I said, turning to him with sudden energy. "We should follow him. The beggars—they might know something."
He gave me a curious look. "You think they've noticed something the merchants haven't?"
"If anyone's been affected by missing food, it's them. They'd feel it first, wouldn't they? If rations stopped reaching this area, they'd be the ones going hungrier than usual."
Ming Yu paused, then smiled—genuinely impressed. "That's a sharp idea, Mei Lin."
I tried not to beam like a kid who just got a gold star. "Let's eat fast. We don't want to lose him."
After we finished eating, Ming Yu and I discreetly followed the beggar, keeping a respectful distance to avoid suspicion. He weaved through narrow alleys and dusty backstreets, eventually leading us to a rundown quarter of the city. The contrast from the lively market was stark—here, the air was heavier, tinged with smoke, mildew, and quiet desperation. Makeshift shelters lined the walls, pieced together with old cloth and rotting wood.
The beggar finally stopped at a small cluster of shelters where others like him huddled together. They looked up warily as he approached, a few casting sharp, guarded glances in our direction.
Ming Yu and I shared a quick glance before I stepped forward slowly, hands visible, voice gentle. "Excuse me. We're not here to cause trouble. We just have a few questions."
There was hesitation in the group, a flicker of suspicion behind their tired eyes. Finally, an older man stepped out. His face was lined with time and hardship, but his posture held a quiet dignity.
"What do you want?" he asked gruffly.
Ming Yu stepped beside me, his tone calm and even. "We're investigating the missing palace rations. Have you noticed any changes lately—fewer supplies, unusual activity?"
The man furrowed his brow, thinking. "Now that you mention it... the food we used to get from the palace has trickled off these past few weeks. Most of us just figured it was politics or bad luck."
"Has anyone strange been around?" I asked. "Anything you've seen near the warehouses, maybe?"
He scratched his chin. "There's been movement. Late at night, shadows slipped in and out of the ration storehouses. We thought it was guards or workers... but something didn't feel right."
Ming Yu and I exchanged a look. It wasn't much—but it was something.
"Thank you," Ming Yu said sincerely, reaching into his sleeve and pulling out a few silver coins. He handed them to the man without flourish, just a quiet nod of respect.
As we turned to leave, shadows shifted in the alley ahead. A group of thugs emerged, blocking our path. Their leader—a broad-shouldered man with a jagged scar slashing across his cheek—grinned with menace.
"Well, well," he drawled, cracking his knuckles. "Look what wandered into the wrong alley. A couple of curious little mice."
Ming Yu instantly stepped in front of me, his stance calm but ready. "We're not looking for a fight," he said evenly. "Step aside."
The leader snorted. "Not looking, but you found one." His voice curled with cruel delight. "Too bad you're not walking away."
Before I could blink, the thugs lunged.
Ming Yu moved like lightning—parrying, twisting, striking. His robe fluttered as he delivered precise, controlled blows, knocking two assailants to the ground.
I backed away, heart pounding, but one of the thugs caught my wrist in a bruising grip, yanking me toward him.
"Let me go!" I shouted, panic lacing my voice.
In a blur, Ming Yu turned, slammed his elbow into one attacker, and seized the man clutching me. He twisted the thug's arm with practiced force until the man howled and dropped me.
But then the leader grinned and hurled a handful of fine powder into Ming Yu's face.
Ming Yu coughed, staggering back as the dust clung to his skin and sank into his breath. His movements slowed—his sharp strikes dulled.
His eyes widened as he gasped, "It's... poison. Suppresses... spiritual power..."
The leader seized his moment. With Ming Yu dazed and struggling, he slashed across his arm, drawing blood. Ming Yu gasped but barely had time to react before a brutal kick slammed into his stomach, knocking the air from his lungs.
He staggered, trying to stay upright—but then came the crack of wood against skull. A heavy club struck the back of his head.
Ming Yu crumpled to the ground.
"No!" I screamed, dropping beside him, my hands shaking as I reached for him. His eyes were closed, his body motionless. Panic surged in my chest.
Rough hands grabbed my arm and yanked me to my feet. The leader's grip was bruising, his breath hot with menace. "You're coming with us," he growled. "Try anything, and I'll make sure you don't get back up."
I opened my mouth to scream again—but something struck the side of my head.
The world tilted. Everything spun. And then—darkness.
When I came to, the world was dark and damp. A faint dripping echoed through the cold stone walls, and the air smelled of mold and metal. My head throbbed. My hands—bound. Panic started to rise until I felt a familiar presence beside me. Ming Yu.
"Ming Yu," I whispered, my voice brittle with fear and disorientation. "Are you okay?"
He let out a low groan. "I'm fine," he said, though his voice was strained and hoarse. "Are you hurt?"
"I don't think so." I glanced around, but it was too dark to see anything clearly. "Where are we?"
"Some kind of holding cell," he murmured. "We need to get out of here. Now."
I nodded, even though he couldn't see me. "The ropes—can you move your hands?"
"Just barely," he replied. "Guide your fingers to the knot."
We shifted awkwardly, our shoulders brushing in the confined space, and I fumbled through the layers of rough rope until I found the knot. His fingers joined mine, working steadily despite the tremble in his limbs. Our hands touched—warm, familiar—and despite the fear, I felt a flicker of something else beneath the adrenaline.
Finally, the ropes gave way, and I turned toward him—only to feel something wet against my fingers.
"You're bleeding," I gasped. "Ming Yu, your arm!"
"It's nothing," he tried to downplay it, but I was already reaching for the hem of my dress like some kind of overachieving drama heroine. "Hold on—I'll rip this and wrap it up—"
I yanked.
Nothing.
I yanked again.
Still nothing.
The stupid dress wouldn't tear. Not even a little fray. Who made this thing, a blacksmith?
"I swear," I muttered, now pulling harder with both hands. "Why is it that in dramas, the fabric rips so easily? Why is my dress woven like a military-grade tapestry?!"
Ming Yu let out a weak chuckle.
Then it hit me. "Oh! Wait—I always carry a makeshift bandage in my belt pouch!" I dug into the tiny emergency kit I kept with me—because unlike fictional heroines, I actually learned from Girl Scouts and trauma.
I pulled it out triumphantly and began binding the wound as best I could. Ming Yu winced but stayed still, watching me with a flicker of pain and warmth in his eyes.
"Thank you," he murmured.
"Don't thank me yet," I said, still flustered. "Next time I try to be dramatic, stop me."
He smiled faintly. "No promises. You were… kind of impressive."
"You're delirious from blood loss," I muttered, but my cheeks burned anyway.
And in the dark, damp cell, with danger looming, I couldn't help but feel a little lighter. Because even in the worst moments… Ming Yu was still here. And somehow, so was I.
I glanced around the room, taking in the damp, stone walls and the faint sliver of light filtering through a crack in the ceiling. My head still throbbed faintly, but my mind was clear enough to start piecing things together.
"Do you think they followed us because of our investigation?" I asked, my voice low, barely above a whisper.
Ming Yu's jaw tightened slightly. "Most likely," he said, his tone grim. "We must've gotten too close to something they were trying to keep hidden."
A chill ran down my spine. The idea that we were targeted on purpose made everything feel suddenly more real—and more dangerous.
"Don't worry," Ming Yu said, sensing the fear rising in me. "Wei Ying and Lan Zhan will notice we're gone soon. They'll come for us."
I nodded, though it did little to ease the knot forming in my stomach. We had no idea what time it was, how long we'd been unconscious, or how far we were from help. The uncertainty gnawed at me, but Ming Yu stayed composed, his steady presence grounding me.
I couldn't stop thinking about the earlier fight. The way his movements had slowed. His breathing, just slightly off. The wince he tried to hide when he blocked that blow for me.
I turned to him and whispered, "Earlier… in the fight, the poison, Are you okay?"
His eyes met mine, soft and unreadable in the dim torchlight. He didn't answer right away, and my stomach tightened.
"You can't die here," I said, my voice lower than a breath. "I don't have an antidote. I—I don't know what to do if something happens to you."
He chuckled quietly, and the sound shouldn't have felt like a balm, but somehow it did.
"It only suppresses spiritual power," he said, as if explaining the weather. "It'll pass once I take the antidote. Hard to fight so many people at once otherwise."
I let out a slow breath, eyes fixed on the flickering torch across the corridor. "Last time… when Lan Zhan got poisoned," I said softly, "I couldn't even..."
The words stuck. I didn't finish the sentence. Didn't need to. The memory was still raw—watching Wei Wuxian shatter beside Lan Wangji's crumpled body, the way time had slowed like the universe itself was waiting to see if he'd take another breath.
Before I could spiral deeper into that black hole of panic and guilt, Ming Yu's hand reached over and gently patted my head.
Not in a romantic caress, not in a tender cradle of affection.
A pat.
Like I was a very well-behaved puppy.
"I'm okay," he said softly.
Then, another pat.
Again.
Okay.
So that was it. That was the moment.
Friend. Zone. Capital letters. Possibly carved into stone by the ancestors.
I froze, blinking at the top of his hand like maybe if I concentrated hard enough, it would transform into a forehead kiss or at least a lingering brush behind my ear.
Nope.
Just one more slow, reassuring pat.
If this were a modern rom-com, that pat would be followed by a title card reading: "She didn't make it."
I swallowed, trying to decide whether to laugh or cry, and settled for a half-hysterical internal monologue: This is fine. I'm fine. I'm emotionally balanced and totally okay with being the group's emotional support hedgehog.
But the warmth lingered. His hand, even in that annoyingly platonic gesture, was steady. Real.
And somehow, despite the friend-zone embarrassment flooding my chest, I still leaned into that warmth just a little.
"You should rest," he murmured after a beat, his voice soft but firm. "Lean on me if you want. You've had a rough day."
I hesitated, then cautiously rested my head against his shoulder. My heart immediately launched into a full-on drumline solo in my chest. I was ninety-nine percent sure he could feel it.
Ming Yu let out a quiet laugh. "I can feel your pulse through my sleeve. You're going to give me the wrong idea here."
I jerked back slightly, mortified. "Sorry! I—it's just—I had a bit of a starstruck moment, okay?"
His brow lifted, intrigued. "Starstruck?"
I bit my lip, feeling even more embarrassed. "You resemble someone I adored for years."
He chuckled softly. "Really? And who might that be?" I swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. "Just someone from my world. A... a celebrity..famous person, I guess. Someone who seemed so out of reach."
Ming Yu's gaze softened, and he leaned closer, his voice a low whisper. "Well, I'm not quite famous here, but definitely not out of reach."
His words made my heart skip a beat, and a rush of emotions surged through me—warmth, confusion, and something dangerously close to hope. What did he mean by that?
Despite the fear and uncertainty of our situation, there was a strange sense of comfort in being here with him—in this moment, this quiet bubble carved out of chaos.
I leaned on him again, closing my eyes and trying to steady my breath. I didn't trust this world, didn't trust what tomorrow might bring, but somehow, I trusted him.
Ming Yu gently patted my head. "Don't worry," he murmured, his voice a soothing promise. "We'll get out of this. I won't let anything happen to you."
I nodded against his shoulder, letting the tension ease from my body. With him beside me, I felt just a little braver, a little less alone… and for the first time in a while, a little more hopeful.
At some point, I must have drifted off.
The cold stone, the dim light, the faint scent of damp moss and dust—they all faded into a blur somewhere between exhaustion and unconsciousness.
I don't know how long I slept.
But when I woke up… I was in his arms.
Not just vaguely near him. Not oh-we're-just-leaning-in-the-same-direction proximity.
In. His. Arms.
His cloak was wrapped around me like a blanket, his arm tucked behind my back, his chest rising steadily against my shoulder. Warm, steady, and entirely too close.
I froze.
Absolutely petrified. Not from fear. No, this was the kind of paralysis that came from pure, unfiltered mortification.
My brain started spiraling faster than a cultivation array gone rogue.
How did I get here? Did I roll in my sleep? Did I CLING? Did I—oh no—did I do that stupid thing where the girl flops onto the guy in her sleep and he wakes up noble and tragically accepting of his fate, like this is just his burden to bear now?
My body refused to move. Every limb was a traitor, nestled into this deeply compromising position like it had signed a contract with fate while I was unconscious.
I didn't want to move.
And I also very much wanted to move. Immediately. Possibly teleport. Maybe fake my death. Something.
Because this wasn't a K-drama. I was not that girl.
…Was I?
My heart thudded against his chest like a betrayal. Loud. Obvious. Desperate.
I didn't dare look up.
What if he was awake?
What if he'd been awake the whole time?
Oh my god.
I was going to die here.
Death by emotional cardiac arrest.
But before I could drown in my embarrassment, the door creaked open, breaking the silence like a whip.
Several men stormed in.
No words. No warning.
They yanked us upright and dragged us into another chamber—this one darker, colder, and far more ominous. The air was thick with dampness and dread, and the flickering torchlight cast jagged shadows across the stone walls, revealing dark stains I didn't want to identify.
A man stepped forward from the gloom, his face expressionless save for the glint of cruelty in his eyes.
"Who sent you to investigate?" he asked, his voice a cold, deliberate growl.
"We're just travelers," Ming Yu said calmly, his tone firm despite the tension thrumming in the room. "We got curious. That's all."
The man sneered. "Lies."
He gestured, and one of his men stepped forward and struck Ming Yu hard across the face. The sound cracked through the room like a whip. I cried out, horror bubbling in my throat, but a guard seized me roughly, locking my arms in place.
"What do you know about the missing rations?" the leader demanded again, his tone sharper now, more dangerous.
Blood was trickling from the corner of Ming Yu's mouth, but his eyes remained steady, unbroken. "We don't know anything," he said through clenched teeth.
The man's expression twisted with frustration. He paced slowly in front of us, the firelight flickering against the sweat on his brow and the fury tightening his jaw.
"You're hiding something," he said, voice low and venomous. "And I will find out what it is."
He gave the signal.
The next moments blurred into a nightmare. The thugs descended on Ming Yu, fists and boots slamming into him again and again. I screamed, struggling against the guard's grip, tears pouring down my cheeks. "Stop! Please, stop!"
But they didn't.
And Ming Yu—gods, he didn't make a sound. Even poisoned, even pinned down and brutalized, he didn't beg, didn't break.
Finally, the leader's patience wore thin. With a flick of his hand, the thugs stepped back, leaving Ming Yu bloodied and slumped on the floor, barely conscious, his chest heaving with each breath. The leader turned his gaze to me, eyes narrowing with cruel intent.
"Beating him won't work," he said, voice laced with malice. "Let's see how long he holds out once we try something else."
"You can take a beating," the leader sneered at Ming Yu, "but can you watch her be ruined?"
Ming Yu's eyes snapped open. Despite his injuries, he forced himself upright, face twisted in horror. "Stop!" he roared, desperation crackling in his voice.
The leader just laughed. "She's beautiful. I wonder how soft her skin feels."
They shoved Ming Yu to the side, forcing him to his knees, arms wrenched back and held tight by two guards.
He thrashed against their grip, voice raw with panic. "Don't touch her!"
But they didn't care.
One of the thugs turned to me, his smile a grotesque thing—cracked lips, teeth yellowed and crooked in the flickering torchlight. His eyes scanned me like a butcher inspecting meat, and bile rose in my throat.
He grabbed my collar and yanked hard.
The fabric tore with a violent rip, the sound jagged and final, louder than the scream that tried—and failed—to claw its way out of my throat. My shoulder was exposed. The cold air hit my skin like ice water, and shame curled around my spine like smoke.
Then he shoved me down, the weight of his intent pressing heavier than his hands.
No.
I kicked, legs thrashing, heel landing squarely into his stomach. He grunted and doubled forward for a second—just long enough for hope to spark—then recovered with a snarl. I clawed at his face, catching his cheek with my nails, bit down hard on his wrist when it came too close.
He slapped me.
Hard.
The crack echoed off the stone walls, vicious and sharp. My head snapped sideways. Heat bloomed across my cheek like fire, and copper filled my mouth.
I gasped, blinking through the stars bursting in my vision.
"M-Mei Lin!"
Ming Yu's voice. Shredded with fury. Desperate.
He was fighting like a madman, his body twisting and jerking against the grip of the guards. But they held him fast, one of them driving an elbow into his ribs so hard I heard the breath leave his lungs.
The thug loomed over me again, more emboldened now—drunk on power, on fear. He was panting. Disgustingly close. He grabbed my arms, pinning them, his body forcing mine to the stone floor. His face hovered inches from mine, reeking of sweat and something sour.
He lowered his mouth toward me.
I turned my head away.
And screamed.
Then—
The door exploded open.
Lan Wangji stormed in like a wrathful god, his sword slicing through the air with terrifying precision. In seconds, two thugs were down, unconscious before they hit the floor. The leader spun to flee—but slammed into Wei Wuxian's waiting hand. His expression was cold fury as he yanked the man back and slammed him into the wall.
Shaking, disoriented, I barely registered Lan Wangji moving to my side. He knelt without a word, wrapped his outer robe around me, and gently pulled me close.
"It's alright now," he said softly, his voice a balm to my trembling nerves. "You're safe."
But the terror, the humiliation, the relief—all of it hit me at once. My vision swam, my body gave out.
I fainted in his arms.