Despite Yufei's best attempts to squash the rumors, they bloomed like wild mushrooms after a summer rain—relentless, messy, and increasingly ridiculous. Whispers swept through the palace faster than a servant chasing spilled wine. Each retelling grew bolder: the most popular version claimed that Lan Wangji was hopelessly in love with me and had spiraled into despair after Wei Wuxian publicly named me his Consort.
Other, more colorful versions suggested I was secretly in love with Lan Wangji, and we were carrying out some forbidden romance behind Wei Wuxian's back like characters from a tragic romance scroll. Some even said I cast a spell on both of them.
Yes. A spell. Because obviously, the girl who couldn't even tie her own robe strings properly was now a master seductress and manipulator of hearts.
But here's the real kicker—there was no proof.
Only Yufei's people had witnessed what happened that night, and they knew better than to speak publicly. If anyone dared to accuse Lan Wangji of acting improperly—especially with a woman already promised to Prince Wei—it could lead to punishment, disgrace… or worse. Execution. Even gossiping about it too loudly could be dangerous. So the story stayed in the shadows, a whisper campaign with no face behind it, and no one brave (or foolish) enough to step forward.
The scandal grew so intense that I stopped leaving my room. Every sideways glance from a maid, every sudden pause in a conversation as I walked by—it all felt like a slap. Judging. Whispering. Watching.
Xiaohua, ever loyal and endlessly patient, stayed close by, bringing warm tea and comfort like clockwork. "Miss Mei Lin, don't let their words get to you. People will talk, but you know the truth."
I let out a sigh that felt like it carried the weight of the entire palace roof. "It's not the truth that scares me. It's the damage. What if this ruins Lan Wangji's name? Or makes things harder for Wei Wuxian? I didn't come here to be a scandal."
"You are not responsible for other people's gossip," Xiaohua said, her voice firmer than usual. Easy for her to say. She didn't have to dodge rumors like poisoned arrows.
***
One morning, a soft knock rapped against my door—too polite to be trouble, too early to be good news. I opened it cautiously.
Lan Wangji stood there with an expression carved from guilt and granite. Always the picture of composure, but today? He looked like he'd swallowed a scroll sideways.
Without a word, he stepped inside and shut the door with the kind of gentleness that said I'm about to say something terrible.
"Mei Lin," he began, voice low and hoarse, like the apology had to be dragged out of his ribcage. "I came to apologize for what happened that night. The drug... it was a love potion, laced with something that blocked my meridians. I couldn't expel it. Couldn't think. I saw you and thought you were him. I… acted on instinct."
I blinked.
Before I could form a response, he dropped to his knees like a disgraced immortal in a painting, head bowed in absolute shame. "I beg your forgiveness. I never meant to harm you. Or disrespect you."
And that was the moment my brain short-circuited.
Lan Wangji. Kneeling. To me.
"Get up, Lan Zhan," I managed, voice wobbling somewhere between stunned and sarcastic. "If you weren't you, I'd have smacked you halfway to Daqi by now. But since you are, I know it wasn't your fault."
He looked up slowly, the guilt in his eyes practically glowing.
"I'm not hurt," I said more firmly. "Just surprised. Honestly, if Wei Ying hadn't pulled the old switcheroo, you'd probably be waking up next to Yufei in a bed of silk and regret."
His expression darkened instantly. Like someone just spit in his spiritual tea. "I can't believe she would go this far."
"It was her only shot," I muttered. "Trap you, force a scandal, fast-track a marriage. Too bad it blew up in her perfectly powdered face."
I sighed and flopped onto the edge of my bed. "But the plan to get the ledger—total disaster. We're back at square one."
"No," Lan Wangji said quietly, a flicker of triumph breaking through his solemn façade. "We got the ledger."
I stared at him. "Wait—we got the ledger? As in… the actual incriminating evidence?"
He gave the faintest nod, and I swear I saw the ghost of a smirk. "Ming Yu retrieved it. While everyone was distracted."
"Ming Yu?" My heart did a stupid little somersault. "He's back?"
Lan Wangji didn't answer, but I knew. The golden butterfly. That had been him. A message, a warning, and a rescue plan wrapped in wings and glittering light.
"Yes," Lan Wangji finally said. "But even with the ledger, we can't act just yet. It's dangerous. It must be handled delicately."
Relief surged in my chest, quickly followed by an even heavier dose of anxiety. "So… now what?"
"We analyze the contents. Quietly. Then we move."
He glanced toward the door, jaw tightening again. "I should go. Being seen here will only feed the rumors Yufei's no doubt already spreading."
He turned to leave, then paused. His eyes met mine—steady, unreadable, just a little too honest.
"Take care, Mei Lin."
I swallowed. "You too, Lan Zhan."
The door closed behind him with a muted click, and I sat in the silence he left behind, wondering how in the actual heavens this mess kept getting worse.
I stayed in my room the entire day, the palace walls pressing in like gossip-scented fog. Rumors twisted through the halls faster than smoke in a storm, and my head felt like a teacup spinning on a tray—too full, too fast, and one wrong move away from a very public spill.
As evening fell, a soft knock tapped against my window. Not the door. The window.
I frowned and moved to open it—only to see Ming Yu standing below, one hand raised in casual greeting, the other holding a small ornate box. His smile was the same as always: warm, steady, and just a little too cute.
"Can I jump in?" he called softly, the grin on his lips unmistakably mischievous.
My heart did a completely unreasonable flip. "Yes," I said, maybe a little too fast.
He vaulted up effortlessly—of course he did—landing in my room like a storybook hero who moonlighted as a thief. Graceful, quiet, and way too charming for his own good.
"This is for you," he said, handing me the box with a flourish.
I opened it—and gasped. Inside nestled a hairpin so beautiful it looked stolen from a goddess's vanity. Delicate silver waves wrapped around sapphire stones that shimmered like captured raindrops.
"You got me a hairpin?" I asked, eyes wide. "It's gorgeous!"
Ming Yu smiled, his eyes soft with affection. He gently placed the hairpin in my hair, adjusting it carefully. "You look beautiful," he said, his voice sincere.
I felt a blush rise to my cheeks. "Thank you, Ming Yu."
He then grew more serious. "I have news to tell you," he said, his tone thoughtful. "And I want to apologize for not being able to reveal myself that night at Yufei's house."
I looked at him and said, "It's okay, I'm not hurt or anything. Lan Wangji was drugged and couldn't help himself."
Ming Yu's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and concern. "If that had been intentional, he would be beaten by me and Wei Ying," he said, half-jokingly.
I chuckled at his statement." So, what's the news?"
He took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. "Let's sit down. It's a lot to take in."
Ming Yu and I sat down, the silence between us thicker than the palace walls. Whatever he was about to say, I could already tell—this wasn't going to be light conversation over tea and mooncakes.
He looked at me, eyes steady. "My master believes… you might be the reincarnation of the Goddess of Water."
Oh. Dear. Gods.
"He thinks you need to begin training immediately," he said, his voice low, careful. "The sooner you learn to control your abilities, the safer you'll be. You need to be able to protect yourself."
I nodded slowly, trying not to visibly short-circuit. Right. Sure. Casual divine reincarnation. No big deal.
"But," Ming Yu added, his tone tightening, "the marriage to Wei Ying complicates things."
Of course it did.
"If you were to travel to my sect in Daqi, it could raise suspicions. And if anyone finds out who you really are…"
He hesitated—just long enough for the panic to creep in.
"If Luyang believes Daqi is harboring the reincarnation of the Goddess of Water… they may interpret it as a threat. That kind of rumor could spark tensions. Maybe even war."
"War?!" My voice cracked like cheap porcelain.
Ming Yu's expression darkened. "Even if we hide your identity, the risk is real. The balance between kingdoms is delicate. One misstep, one whisper—and it could unravel everything."
I felt the blood drain from my face. The last thing I wanted was to be the spark that set off a political wildfire. "What should I do?" I asked, barely able to keep the tremor out of my voice.
"We can't risk bringing you to the sect yet," he said, softer now. "But I can train you here. Quietly. We'll just need to tell Wei Ying… and figure out how to navigate your role as his Consort while doing it."
That got me thinking. I need to tell him something.
I hesitated, my fingers curling into the fabric of my robe. "Ming Yu… there's something else." The words tasted strange coming out, brittle and real. "This body—it isn't mine."
I couldn't meet his eyes. My voice dropped to a whisper. "Maybe the original owner was the one tied to the Goddess of Water. That could be why these powers are showing up. Not because of me. Because of her."
He didn't speak right away. His gaze darkened, the weight of his thoughts gathering like a storm just behind his eyes.
"That makes sense," he said at last, slowly. "If the woman whose body you now inhabit had a bond with the Goddess, that connection might still be living through you. If we can figure out who she was… maybe we'll understand what's happening to you."
I shook my head, frustration curling in my chest. "I don't know anything about her. Not her name. Not her life. Just… the way her reflection doesn't feel like mine."
He nodded—just once, just enough. "That's alright. We'll figure it out. Together."
Then something in his expression softened, the lines of worry easing ever so slightly. "So this body doesn't belong to you, huh?"
I let out a dry, breathless laugh. "Nope. This is borrowed packaging."
He reached up and brushed his fingers against my cheek—gently, deliberately. I startled—not from the touch itself, but from what it made me feel. Like I was real again. Like maybe I hadn't come undone completely.
I went still.
"Actually," I said, voice quieter now, "my real face… doesn't look like this. At all."
His eyes didn't waver. "I didn't fall for your face."
My breath caught.
"I see you," he said simply. "The person who speaks her mind. The one who ran into danger for someone she didn't even know. The girl who's trying to hold herself together when the ground's been ripped out from under her."
I didn't realize I was holding my breath until my lungs ached.
"Ming Yu…" My voice cracked, and I hated how small, how breakable it made me sound. "I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to."
And then—silence. The kind that wasn't empty but impossibly full, stretched between us like a held breath. Nothing moved. Not the wind. Not time. Just that fragile thread tying me to the moment, to him, pulling taut enough to break something open inside me.
Ming Yu's gaze didn't leave mine. He leaned in slowly, giving me time to pull away.
I didn't.
His forehead brushed against mine, our breaths mingling in that thin space between thought and action. My heart stuttered in my chest.
"This is real," he whispered, almost like a promise. "Even if everything else is borrowed."
And then he kissed me—softly. No urgency, no hunger. Just warmth. Steady and quiet, like a light in the dark.
It wasn't the kind of kiss that demanded anything. It simply stayed.
And for the first time in a long time, so did I.