I woke up feeling disoriented, my body aching all over. As my vision cleared, I found myself lying on a soft bed, covered with a warm blanket. It seemed to be late afternoon. I glanced around, realizing I was back at the inn. The memories of the kidnapping and the rescue flooded back, and I shuddered.
The door creaked open, and Wei Wuxian entered the room, his usual mischievous grin replaced by a look of genuine concern. "Mei Lin, you're awake," he said softly, pulling up a chair next to my bed.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. "How long was I out?" I asked.
"A day or so," Wei Wuxian replied, his eyes scanning my face for any signs of distress. "You fainted from the shock. We were worried about you."
I managed a weak smile. "Thank you for finding us," I said, tears welling up in my eyes. "I was so scared."
His gaze softened, and he reached out to gently squeeze my hand. "It's all right, Mei Lin. You're safe now, and that's what matters."
I pushed myself to get up, my concern for Ming Yu gnawing at me. "How is Ming Yu? Is he alright?"
Wei Wuxian's expression softened, and he sighed. "He's quite injured and resting right now. He took a lot of hits, but he's tough. He'll pull through."
"Can I see him?" I said, my voice tinged with worry and guilt.
Wei Wuxian nodded but held up a hand. "You can, but after you eat something first. You need to regain your strength too."
I hesitated for a moment before asking, "Did you catch anyone from the incident?"
"We did," Wei Wuxian replied, his expression darkening with a mix of frustration. "But none of them have talked yet. Don't worry, though. I'll make sure they do."
Just then, Xiaohua walked in, carrying a tray of food. "Miss Mei Lin, you need to eat," she said gently, setting the tray down on the bedside table.
Wei Wuxian gave me an encouraging smile. "Take your time and eat. I'll be back tonight. And remember, don't go anywhere right now."
"I won't go anywhere, I promise." I replied, feeling relief and a bit of exhaustion.
As the door clicked shut behind him, I turned to the tray. The scent of warm broth and freshly steamed buns hung in the air, but my appetite remained fragile, dulled by the ghosts of everything that had happened. Still, I forced myself to take a few bites. The food was good, comforting even, but the flavors felt distant—like I was eating through a fog.
Once I had eaten enough to appease Xiaohua's worried hovering, I cleaned myself up, changed into fresh clothes, and stepped out into the quiet hallway. The moment I faced Ming Yu's door, a knot of worry twisted tighter in my chest.
I raised my hand and knocked gently.
Entering the room, I was struck by the heart-wrenching sight of Ming Yu lying on the bed. His face was pale, marked with dark bruises, and beads of sweat dotted his forehead. Bandages were wrapped tightly around his arms, torso, and legs, stained slightly with blood. Each movement he made was visibly stiff and pained, causing him to wince occasionally. Despite his condition, he managed a weak but genuine smile upon seeing me, his eyes lighting up with warmth. He tried to sit up, his effort evident in the way his muscles tensed and his breath hitched..
"No, don't get up," I rushed to his side, gently easing him back down. "You need to rest. Seriously. Like... doctor's orders, even if I'm not technically one."
Seeing the extent of his injuries up close, of course, my stupid emotions decided to show up. My throat tightened, and my eyes stung. Great. Tears. Just what we need. I tried to blink them away like a functional adult, but no—my inner drama queen wanted the full breakdown.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice soft but urgent.
"I'm so sorry," I whispered, my voice trembling. "This is all my fault. I was a liability. If it weren't for me, you would have beaten those thugs easily. You were distracted because of me."
Ming Yu's expression softened, and he shook his head, just barely—probably because even that small movement hurt. "That's not true at all. You're not a liability, Mei Lin. If anything, it's me who should've protected you better."
I looked down, feeling tears well up again like an overdramatic faucet with no off switch. "But I—"
Before I could spiral into full-on guilt, he reached out and took my hand in his, his grip warm and steady. "Listen to me. You did nothing wrong. I'm just glad you're safe. I didn't expect them to use something so cowardly like poison. And you? Definitely not a liability."
The sincerity in his voice cracked something open in me. There was no pity in his tone—just quiet strength, like someone used to carrying burdens without complaint. I squeezed his hand, trying not to bawl all over his bandages. "Thank you, Ming Yu. I just... I hate seeing you hurt. Especially because of me."
He gave me a faint but reassuring smile. "Don't worry. With my level of cultivation, I'll be back to normal in a week."
A week. Of course. Cultivators: the original overachievers of ancient fantasy. I managed a smile through my emotional mess. "That's honestly a relief to hear."
Trying to be useful—and distract myself from the heartbreak-and-guilt cocktail sloshing around in my chest—I glanced around. "Do you need anything?"
He nodded slightly toward a bowl on the table. "Actually, yes. That medicine's been sitting there for a while. When the servant girl brought it in, I… might have been too proud to admit I couldn't lift it."
I raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Too proud?"
He gave a sheepish chuckle that turned into a wince. "Yes, I told her to leave it, thinking I could manage on my own. But now... it's just too painful to move."
I rolled my eyes with a smile. "Alright, you stubborn disaster. Let me help you with that."
I stood and grabbed the bowl of medicine from the table, giving it a gentle stir like I actually knew what I was doing. "Here you go," I said, holding it up to his lips like some underqualified nursemaid. "Open wide."
Ming Yu's eyes sparkled with amusement. "You know, this feels oddly like being five again."
I smirked. "Well, consider this karmic payback for rescuing a clumsy girl. Now, be a good boy and drink your bitter mystery soup."
He took a sip—and of course, a little of it had to betray us, slipping down the corner of his mouth and trailing along his neck, then lower to his chest. My eyes, the traitors that they were, followed the path like they were tracing calligraphy. Lips, neck, chest, bandages. Muscles. So many muscles.
…Damn.
Ming Yu caught my gaze, and I knew instantly—I was busted. His eyes narrowed slightly with amusement, one brow raising just enough to say, Really? Enjoying the view?
Panic exploded in my chest. Oh my god, abort mission! Mei Lin, what the hell are you doing? Stop ogling the injured man!
"I—I'm sorry!" I blurted, practically tripping over myself as I lunged for the towel like it might erase the last five seconds of my existence.
He chuckled softly, and even that somehow sounded hot. "No need to apologize," he said, voice tinged with playful mischief. Then, glancing down at his decidedly shirtless self: "Could you also grab my robe?"
"Y-yeah, of course!" I squeaked, shoving the towel into his hand like it might make me disappear. I spun around, mortified, and grabbed the robe with the speed of someone fleeing a crime scene.
As I handed the robe to him, he gave me a smile that was far too soft for someone who just survived a beating. "Thank you, Mei Lin. I appreciate it."
"You're welcome," I said, still feeling my cheeks betray me with secondhand embarrassment.
He made a small, pitiful attempt to lift his arm, then looked at me with those pleading, helpless eyes. The man had just fought off a gang of thugs with one hand tied behind his back, but now he couldn't manage a robe?
I sighed—internally, of course—and stepped forward. "Here, let me." I held it open, and he slid his arms through the sleeves with a dramatic little wince. "I can't seem to manage this alone," he said, tone soft and tragically heroic.
"No problem," I muttered, pretending I wasn't internally combusting. I moved to the front to tie the robe, only to be greeted by the medieval knot puzzle from hell. "Oh my god, why is this thing so complicated?" I hissed under my breath.
Ming Yu chuckled, clearly enjoying my suffering. "The right string goes through the second loop first."
I tried to follow his instructions, squinting at the tangled mess like I was defusing a bomb. "Like this?" I asked, glancing up for confirmation—
Our faces were suddenly inches apart, so close I could feel his breath on my skin. It was like the world stopped for three seconds. The noise of the room, the pain, the fear—all of it dissolved as we stood there, suspended in time.
His eyes, so intense yet gentle, locked onto mine, and I felt a warmth spreading. The intensity that made my heart pound even harder. I could see the kindness and something deeper, something that made my breath hitch and my mind swirl.
In that moment, nothing else mattered. The chaos of the past days, the uncertainty, and the fear melted away, leaving only the connection between us. I felt Ming Yu lean in closer, his eyes never leaving mine. The anticipation was electric, every nerve in my body tingling with an intensity that was almost unbearable.
His lips were almost touching mine, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down my spine. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it. My thoughts were a chaotic mix of disbelief and longing. Is this really happening?
Just as our lips were about to meet, the door creaked open.
"Mister Liu, your food is here," a servant girl called out innocently, shattering the moment like a vase thrown off a shelf.
I jerked back like I'd been electrocuted. My brain short-circuited. "H-he needs help with his robe!" I yelped—because obviously that was the thing to clarify—and bolted out of the room like I was being chased by ghosts and bad decisions.
The poor servant girl stood frozen, wide-eyed and clutching a tray of food like it was a shield. I nearly collided with her in my great escape, muttering some half-syllable apology as I power-walked down the hallway with the dignity of a stampeding chicken.
Behind me, I heard Ming Yu's soft laughter. Of course he was laughing. I had just performed the world's most tragic exit from a romantic moment, complete with verbal flailing and a wardrobe excuse. Truly, a scene for the ages.
Back in my room, I collapsed onto the bed and groaned into a pillow like a heroine in a period drama who just realized she confessed to the wrong duke.
Oh my god. That almost happened. That actually almost happened.
My cheeks were on fire. My brain was malfunctioning. I kept seeing the look in his eyes. Did he really lean in? Did I lean in? What if I'd misread everything? What if he was just helping with the robe and I had full-on rom-com delusions?
Then my rational brain showed up late to the party.
What if it was just a moment for him? A spur-of-the-moment thing that guys don't really think about? Like that scene in the novel with Wei Wuxian when he got kissed while blindfolded – he didn't think anything of it. He just went along with it, no feelings involved. What if Ming Yu is the same?
Cue full emotional spiral.
What if he doesn't feel that way about me at all? What if I just made a complete fool of myself?
I buried my face deeper into the pillow, convinced that I'd be known forever as "that weird girl who tried to kiss the guy over a robe string."
That night, sleep and I weren't even on speaking terms. I tossed and turned, haunted by every frame of the almost-kiss on a never-ending mental slideshow.
By morning, I was still in bed, paralyzed by the certainty that I could never show my face again without bursting into flames. Seeing him again? Impossible. Facing him? Suicidal.
I needed a plan.
Or a time machine.
The sun had climbed just high enough to spill golden light over the courtyard walls. I stood by the window, gaze drifting aimlessly until it landed on a small garden just beyond the stone archway. It was modest—no extravagant koi ponds or ornamental trees—but there was something peaceful about the way the shadows of leaves danced along the path.
Maybe I should go for a walk.
Clear my head.
I slipped out quietly.
The air was cool and fresh, brushing against my skin like a balm. I followed the path into the garden, past a patch of wildflowers someone had clearly forgotten to tend. I sat down on a stone bench, letting the silence wrap around me.
And then I heard footsteps—uneven, deliberate. The soft tap of something wooden against stone.
When I opened my eyes, I saw Ming Yu walking slowly down the path, leaning heavily on a crutch.
"You can walk?" I asked before I could stop myself.
He gave me a tired half-smile. "Barely."
I watched as he limped closer, the wind catching the ends of his robe.
"I guess I'm too stubborn," he added after a beat, eyes flicking to the bench. "Sure—maybe it's good to sit down."
I scooted to the side without saying anything.
He lowered himself beside me with a quiet exhale, his crutch resting against the bench. For a while, neither of us spoke. The breeze moved the branches above us, casting shifting patterns of light across the garden floor.
I glanced sideways at him, noting the way he shifted on the bench—stiff, but not nearly as fragile as he looked yesterday.
"You heal fast," I said, nudging his arm lightly with my elbow. "Is this how high-level cultivators show off? Break a few bones one day, go for a garden stroll the next?"
He gave a soft huff of a laugh. "Not exactly."
Then he added, "Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian helped. Channeled their spiritual power into stabilizing my meridians. Otherwise, I wouldn't even be sitting up today."
I nodded slowly. It made sense. But something in his voice shifted—gentler now, almost tentative.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
The question settled in the space between us, heavy and careful.
I looked down at my hands. "Yeah," I said, too quickly. Then added, quieter, "I mean… I'm okay now. But at the time... it was terrifying."
He didn't say anything at first.
Then he exhaled. "I'm sorry."
I looked up.
His gaze stayed on the ground, jaw clenched tight. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. That I let someone lay a hand on you."
Something in my chest twisted.
I shook my head, voice steady despite the lingering tremor under my skin. "It's not your fault."
"It feels like it is," he murmured.
The breeze stirred between us. The garden was quiet, but not in an empty way. More like it was listening.
"You were held down by two men, Ming Yu. You fought until they beat the air out of you. That's not failing."
Ming Yu was quiet for a moment, his eyes distant, like he was weighing the edge of a thought before speaking it aloud.
"If something had happened to you..." he began, then trailed off.
My heart skipped.
Just a beat—but it was enough to send every alarm in my body blaring. Wait. Hold on. Was that—did he care? Like actually care? Was this it? Is this the moment?
Internal screaming commenced.
And then—
He sighed. "Those two would kill me."
Oh.
OH.
"You're their favorite healer," he added.
I stared at him, my smile frozen halfway to hopeful.
Urg.
Friend. Zone. Again. A vast, endless plain of friend zone with no end in sight. Someone should draw a map for it. Label me the "medically respected but romantically invisible territory."
Am I not your favorite healer too? I thought bitterly. No? Just a political liability? A court-appointed band-aid dispenser with no kiss access?
God, winning a guy in the ancient world was hard. There were no apps, no drunk karaoke confessions, no "accidental" Instagram thirst traps. Just long gazes, tea ceremonies, and apparently, extreme emotional restraint disguised as loyalty to your bros.
How did people do this back then?
How am I supposed to do this?
I was still internally drafting my resignation letter from the Ministry of Romantic Hope when Ming Yu shifted beside me, his voice low—almost too casual.
"But…" he added, glancing at me from the corner of his eye, "I suppose you're my favorite healer too."
My heart tripped again, stumbling over itself like a drunk goat on a slippery hill.
Wait. Wait.
Was that a tease?
Was he joking?
Or—was he serious?
I looked at him, trying to gauge his expression, but it was infuriatingly neutral. A tiny smirk curled at the edge of his mouth, but his eyes gave nothing away. That same calm, unreadable gaze that made it impossible to tell if he was flirting or just politely existing near me.
This man is going to be the death of me.
I opened my mouth to say something witty. Something sharp and cool and very not like a girl who was currently blushing at someone calling her their favorite glorified physician.
But all that came out was a sound that may have been a laugh. Or a squeak. Jury's still out.
He looked forward again, hands resting on his crutch. Still smiling. Still saying nothing else.
Like he hadn't just lit my brain on fire and walked away.
So I stared at the garden instead. Because that was safer. The flowers didn't tease. The flowers didn't smirk. The flowers didn't make your insides do somersaults at 8 a.m. without warning.
Damn him.
And damn those cheekbones.