Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were slowly recovering, their spiritual energies stabilizing day by day. The duel may have ended, but the storm it left behind continued to ripple through the palace like a stone dropped into still water.
Everyone had an opinion. And naturally, none of them were whispered quietly enough for me not to hear.
"Lan Wangji deserved that demotion," one official's wife muttered as I passed. "If he can't beat Prince Wei, how can he protect anyone?"
"Poor Hanguang-jun," another sighed. "So noble, so loyal. And now reduced to a Consort's personal guard—all because of her."
Apparently, I was either a cunning seductress or a walking disaster. Possibly both.
Xiaohua and Madam Hui advised me to ignore it. "Keep your head high," Madam Hui said firmly. "Walk beside Prince Wei with dignity. Let the rumors choke on their own smoke."
Easier said than done. Once again.
And yet, amidst all this chaos—whispers, wounds, politics—the wedding preparations marched on.
I sat in my chamber, staring at the open wardrobe like it might swallow me whole. Xiaohua entered, her arms full of silk.
"Your wedding dress, Miss Mei Lin," she said, smiling as she laid it carefully on the bed.
It was stunning.
A masterpiece of craftsmanship—soft crimson silk embroidered with phoenixes in flight, gold thread shimmering as it caught the light. Delicate blossoms trailed down the sleeves, and the veil was edged with tiny pearls that sparkled like morning dew.
I stared at it for a long moment. Admiring it. And feeling completely hollow.
This wasn't the dress I imagined wearing.
This wasn't the world I was supposed to be in.
This wasn't even my body.
None of my family would see me walk down the aisle. No proud mother's tears, no father beaming with quiet pride. No big sister begging to try on the jewelry. Just courtiers, watching with veiled judgment, and a groom who even wasn't mine.
I felt my throat tighten. My chest ached in that quiet, gnawing way that didn't need sobs to feel heavy.
Xiaohua paused, then asked gently, "Miss Mei Lin… do you not like the dress?"
I blinked quickly and forced a smile. "No, Xiaohua. The dress is beautiful. It's… perfect." I hesitated. "I just miss my family."
Her face softened. She sat beside me and placed a warm hand on my shoulder.
"I understand," she said. "I really do. But you're not alone. You have people here who care about you. Lady Zhao, Madam Hui, Prince Wei… even Hanguang-jun, in his quiet way."
Xiaohua still didn't know the whole story. Maybe one day I could tell her. I didn't trust my voice enough to respond, so I just nodded.
I looked down at the wedding dress again.
It was beautiful.
And it felt like a costume.
The next morning, the palace exploded into full ceremonial chaos.
Servants rushed back and forth like they were on fire, musicians tuned instruments with theatrical urgency, and someone somewhere was yelling about flower placement like it was a matter of national security. Apparently, royal weddings didn't do subtle.
The main hall had been transformed into something out of a historical drama on steroids. Red silk draped from the ceilings in long, elegant folds, symbolizing joy and prosperity—though I wasn't exactly feeling either. Golden lanterns swayed above, casting a warm, dreamy glow that made everything look prettier than it felt. Flower arrangements lined the aisles in perfectly symmetrical rows, their scent heavy in the air like someone had overused the perfume bottle of fate.
Front and center stood an altar that looked like it had taken fifteen artisans a lifetime to build. Gilded candle holders flanked the table, flames flickering in solemn approval. The ceremonial offerings—fruits, wine, incense—were all laid out in precise order, untouched and perfect.
Unlike me.
The music started—guzheng, pipa, and flutes blending into a hauntingly beautiful melody that sounded suspiciously like the opening theme of a tragic romance.
And there, dressed in a red robe embroidered with enough gold dragons to scare off half the underworld, stood Wei Wuxian.
Confident. Calm. Every inch the prince.
His robe alone probably cost more than anything I'd ever owned in my real life. It shimmered when he moved, and the embroidery looked like it had been stitched by celestial beings on a deadline.
I was guided into the hall by Xiaohua, my heart doing its best impression of a war drum.
My dress flowed around me like silk water, the embroidery catching the light with every step. My veil covered my face, which was a relief—no one needed to see how utterly detached I felt. It was like I was watching someone else walk down that aisle. Someone composed. Regal. Someone who wasn't desperately hoping to wake up back in her apartment with a cup of instant noodles and a C-drama rerun.
We reached the altar. Wei Wuxian extended his hand.
I took it.
His grip was warm, steady—offering reassurance without words. I was grateful for that. I had enough words spinning in my head as it was.
We turned toward the altar as the officiant began to chant in that slow, solemn tone that made me feel even more like a museum exhibit.
Offerings to the ancestors. Incense. Formal bows.
The "three bows" ritual followed: first to the heavens and earth—hi, universe, I see you and your twisted sense of humor—then to our parents and elders—none of whom were mine, of course—and finally to each other.
That last one hit differently.
Our eyes met beneath the veil. Wei Wuxian bowed with practiced grace. I bowed too, feeling a strange heaviness in my chest. It was beautiful. It was ceremonial. It was… completely surreal.
As the officiant recited the ancient vows, I tried to stay present, but my thoughts kept drifting.
This would be the first—and last—wedding I'd ever have, if I was truly stuck in this world. I wouldn't get to have a wedding of my own. The thought hollowed something inside me. My heart deflated, slow and quiet, like a balloon losing air.
But when I glanced at Wei Wuxian again, he was already watching me.
His smile was soft, steady. Not the flirtatious one he wore when annoying people, or the sly one he used to manipulate ministers. This one was real.
And somehow, it helped.
After the vows, we shared the ceremonial wine—two ornate cups tied together with red silk, a gesture meant to signify shared destiny, eternal bond, and other poetic things I didn't have the emotional capacity to process.
The hall erupted in applause, a roar of celebration echoing off the gilded walls. We turned to face the crowd, now full of smiling nobles and officials who, hours earlier, had been whispering that I was a dangerous seductress who ruined a general.
But now? Petals rained down like blessings from a very dramatic weather god, and everyone cheered as if they'd been rooting for us all along.
I smiled. I waved.
And inside, I didn't feel like a bride—I felt like an actress bowing after a convincing performance.
Hand in hand, we walked down the aisle together. My grip on Wei Wuxian's hand was steady, my posture perfect. I was everything I was expected to be: composed, radiant, compliant.
As the day finally gave way to evening, we were led—more like paraded—toward the wedding chamber.
Of course, it was perfect. Painstakingly perfect.
Red silk draped from the ceiling like cascading fire, rich and heavy, symbolizing luck, passion, eternal happiness—all the usual things they say to cover the quiet weight of expectations. The bed was a statement piece in itself—massive, layered in fine silk, embroidered with dragons and phoenixes tangled together in some ideal of matrimonial bliss.
Subtle, as always.
Golden lanterns cast a soft, honeyed glow over everything, bathing the room in gentle warmth. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and sandalwood, like the whole chamber was trying to seduce me into peace. Petals were scattered artfully across the bed, the floor, even the small table near the window. Someone had clearly gone overboard. Again.
I stood in the doorway for a breath, trying not to feel the pressure of everything—the ceremony, the eyes, the new title, the future.
Then the door clicked shut behind us.
Wei Wuxian let out a sigh and loosened his robes slightly. I did the same, grateful to finally breathe without someone watching.
"That was the longest ceremony in the history of ceremonies," I muttered, rubbing my temples.
He chuckled, soft and unbothered. "It wasn't that long."
I shot him a look. "You didn't have fifty hairpins jabbing into your skull the entire time."
He smiled and gently guided me to sit at the edge of the bed. "Sit down, Mei Lin."
Then, without warning, he blew out one of the candles.
The room dimmed, shadows flickering across the walls.
I immediately bolted up. "Wei Wuxian! What are you doing?" My voice rose an octave. "This is a fake marriage, remember? Don't even think—"
He raised a hand, the gesture calm and dismissive.
"Sit," he said again, this time more firmly.
I narrowed my eyes but reluctantly sat, arms crossed like a scalded cat.
"Fine. What now?"
Then he did something completely unexpected—he knelt in front of me.
And just like that, the mischief was gone from his face. What replaced it was something quiet. Something real.
"Mei Lin," he said, voice low and sincere, "thank you. For everything you've done. For me. For Lan Zhan. There aren't enough words for the sacrifice you've made."
I blinked. "I… okay?"
He smiled, faint and fond. "Tonight shouldn't be spent fulfilling someone else's expectations. I want you to be with someone who loves you—and who you love in return."
My stomach flipped.
"What do you mean?" I asked, already halfway to dread.
He turned his head toward the door and called out, "You can come in now."
The door creaked open.
And there he was.
Ming Yu.
He stepped inside with measured grace, his gaze soft and unwavering, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
My heart did something completely inappropriate.
"You…" I managed, but the rest of the sentence went missing.
Ming Yu walked toward us slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. "Only if you want me to be here."
And for a second, the petals on the floor, the glow of the lanterns, the ache in my chest—none of it mattered.
Because I was finally looking at someone who didn't see a political pawn, or a reincarnated goddess, or a royal Consort.
Just me.
Wei Wuxian stood and gave my hand one last, reassuring squeeze before stepping aside. "I'll leave you two alone," he said, his tone gentle but with a trace of authority. "Take care of her, Ming Yu."
Ming Yu inclined his head respectfully, but I could still feel the intensity in his presence beside me.
I blinked, still trying to catch up with what was happening. "Wait, Wei Ying, how did you even know? Ming Yu and I never—"
Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow, far too amused for his own good. "Lan Zhan took a spiritual punch to the chest from Ming Yu when he crawled on top of you. So... yeah. We noticed."
I groaned softly and couldn't help but laugh. "That was not what it looked like."
He smirked. "Sure it wasn't."
I rolled my eyes, but my heart felt lighter. Safer.
Then a question tugged at me. "What about you?" I asked. "Where are you going?"
Wei Wuxian's eyes sparkled like he was already halfway out the door and halfway into trouble. "It is my wedding night," he said, grinning. "Lan Zhan's waiting."
He actually winked.
I stared for a beat, then let out a soft laugh, shaking my head. "You're unbelievable."
"Mm," he agreed with zero shame.
And somehow, in that one ridiculous moment, the ache in my chest softened. The chaos, the pretending, the court politics, the magic, the pain—none of it erased the fact that Wei Wuxian was happy. Truly happy.
And that meant something.
"Thank you, Wei Ying," I said, my voice quieter now. Steady. "For everything."
He gave me a look that was both warm and knowing. "Take care, Mei Lin. You deserve joy, even when you're too stubborn to see it."
Then he left, the door closing behind him with a soft finality.
And just like that, the energy in the room shifted.
The performance was over. The crowd had dispersed. The world had quieted.
And I was no longer playing a role.
It was just me.
And Ming Yu.
His presence beside me felt like steady ground. I turned to look at him—really look—and found only patience, affection, and a touch of worry in his gaze.
"Are you alright?" he asked, voice low and careful.
I nodded, a breath catching in my throat. "Yeah. I think I am."
Ming Yu looked at me with a tenderness that made my throat tighten.
"You looked so beautiful today," he said quietly, his voice soft but edged with something heavier. "When I saw you at the ceremony… my chest actually hurt. Watching someone you love get married—even if it's fake—wasn't exactly easy."
Love.
The word echoed in my chest like a bell struck underwater—muffled, but impossible to ignore. I exhaled slowly, not trusting myself to say anything that wouldn't make it worse—or make it real.
"It felt even crazier being the one getting married to a friend," I said instead, managing a small, crooked smile. "I kept thinking I was in someone else's dream. Or nightmare. Still undecided."
That earned a quiet laugh from both of us, and for a moment, the air lightened just enough to breathe again.
"The whole ceremony felt like psychological warfare," I admitted, reaching up to touch the elaborate headpiece still valiantly clinging to my scalp. "And this thing? Beautiful, yes. But I'm ninety percent sure it's now part of my skull."
Ming Yu chuckled and stepped closer, his hands rising slowly. "I can help with that."
I nodded, and he reached up, careful and precise. His fingers brushed against my skin as he unhooked each piece—earrings, pins, the weighted crown. Every touch was light, reverent, but it still sent a shiver through me. When he finally pulled the last pin free, I sighed, my neck and shoulders instantly lighter.
"Thank you," I murmured.
"You're welcome," he said, his voice just above a whisper.
I hesitated, suddenly hyper aware of the silence between us. "I'm… going to change out of this dress," I said, my tone wobbling somewhere between casual and deeply nervous. "I'll be right back."
Ming Yu nodded gently. "Take your time."
I slipped into the adjoining room, my heart pounding like I'd just sprinted across the courtyard barefoot.
What exactly is happening tonight? Is this going to be… that kind of night?
I glanced down at myself—this borrowed body wrapped in imperial silk—and my thoughts spiraled faster than I could stop them.
Okay, I've done this before. In my actual life. This shouldn't be a big deal.
But what about her? The original owner of this body? Was she—?
I shut my eyes and exhaled slowly.
This is ridiculous. Ming Yu's not the type to push. You know that.
Still, the nerves flitted around inside me like moths in a lantern.
I changed into something soft and simple—no embroidery, no layers, no metaphor screaming "royal bride." Just silk and comfort. When I stepped back into the room, Ming Yu was waiting near the bed, still standing, hands loose at his sides.
His gaze met mine instantly—warm, steady, full of reassurance.
No expectations. No pressure.
"Feel better?" he asked gently.
"Much," I said, offering a small smile.
I sat back down on the bed, my fingers nervously twisting the hem of my sleeve. Ming Yu glanced at me, then tilted his head slightly.
"Do you mind if I sit?"
"Oh! No—of course. Please." I gestured beside me, trying not to look like my heart was currently attempting parkour.
He sat beside me slowly, giving me space. The silence between us felt soft, not heavy, but my nerves still fluttered. I glanced at him and caught his eyes on me—quiet, thoughtful.
Omg. What is wrong with me? Just don't be awkward. You're a grown woman. You've kissed this man. Multiple times. Get it together.
""Mei Lin," he said gently, "can I ask you something?"
"Sure," I replied—way too fast, too bright. The kind of answer you give when you already feel like you're about to fall off a ledge.
He hesitated, gaze dropping for the briefest second before returning to mine. "You've… always been there," he said softly. "You stood by me. Protected me. Risked so much—for me. And we even… kissed."
The word lingered in the air, heavier than it had any right to be.
Then his voice shifted, quieter, almost uncertain. "But… can I ask something selfish?"
He looked at me, not pleading, but open. Hesitant. Hopeful.
"I just… I've never heard you say it. Not in words."
I blinked. "Said what?"
"How you really feel about me."
The air left my lungs. Just a little. Just enough to make everything inside me tilt.
His tone wasn't hurt. Wasn't demanding. It was honest. Like someone offering up a fragile truth, palms open, hoping you'll meet him halfway.
And the worst part?
He was right.
I hadn't said it. Not once. Not when he was bleeding in my arms. Not when he stood beside me through every twist in this strange, upside-down world. Not even when we kissed like we meant it—because we did. I never said it. Because maybe… I hadn't fully known it myself.
Not until now.
I looked at him—and in that quiet moment, I saw it. Not the boy who made my heart skip the first time I saw his smile, or the charming cultivator with the devastating timing. I saw the man who had waited for me to catch up. Who walked beside me, not ahead. Who listened when I was falling apart and stood still when I needed space. Who never once asked for more than I could give.
It hadn't been sudden. It had crept in slowly, wound itself around the parts of me I didn't even know were still capable of love. And somewhere in all of it—between the shared secrets, the near-deaths, the quiet moments—I had fallen for him. Deeply. Silently.
"I…" I started, then faltered.
The impulse to joke rose up—deflect with sarcasm, build a moat with irony. But that reflex felt wrong now. Too small for what I was trying to say.
This moment didn't want cleverness.
It wanted truth.
So I took a breath. And let the words fall.
"I love you, Ming Yu."
It came out soft. But it didn't need to be loud. It was real.
His eyes softened the instant the words reached him, like he'd been waiting for them longer than I realized.
"I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner," I added, voice low. "I guess I thought… you already knew. You always seem to read me so well, I figured maybe it didn't need saying."
I offered a crooked, sheepish smile. "And it never felt like the right time. One minute I'm soaking you with divine water, the next you're leaving the palace, then there's a war council—just, you know… constant chaos."
He chuckled, low and warm. "So… the wedding night is the right time?"
I rolled my eyes, blushing. "I mean… apparently?"
A laugh escaped before I could stop it—dry, nervous, but genuine.
He reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered, grazing my cheek, and I leaned into the touch before I even knew I was doing it.
"I love you too, Mei Lin," he said, steady and sure. "I have for a long time."
A smile bloomed on my lips before I even realized it—soft, involuntary, like it had been waiting there all along. And then, as if on cue, my cheeks betrayed me. I could feel the heat rushing up, blooming across my face like I'd just sprinted through a field of compliments.
Great. Blushing like a schoolgirl. That's subtle.
I glanced down, suddenly aware of how close we were—his knees brushing mine, the low flicker of lantern light, the intimacy of this ridiculous royal bed wrapped in dragon embroidery. My heart decided now was a great time to practice sword drills.
I started to fidget—my fingers tugging at the edge of my sleeve, then smoothing the silk that absolutely did not need smoothing.
"Mei Lin," Ming Yu said gently, his voice just above a whisper.
I flinched—just a little.
He chuckled softly, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Are you… afraid of me?"
Ugh. Fantastic. Blushing, flinching—what was next? Fainting?
"No! Of course not," I said—way too fast.
My voice wobbled, which completely sold me out. So much for casual composure.
I cursed inwardly. Get it together, woman. You've done this before.
And I had. College. Dim dorm room. Weird music. Cheap wine. My ex-boyfriend whose name I barely even think about now. It had just... happened. No buildup. No pressure. No silk sheets or royal wedding chambers involved.
So why did this feel like standing barefoot at the edge of a cliff?
Ming Yu reached out, gently placing his hand over mine. His touch was warm, grounding. Not heavy. Not demanding.
Just there.
"Mei Lin," he said again, his voice steady and calm, "I want you to know something."
I looked up, his gaze steady as ever.
"I'm not the kind of man who'd ever want to pressure you," he said. "Not tonight. Not ever."
I didn't realize I'd been holding my breath until I let it go.
"I came here because… I wanted to see you. And because—well—let's be honest. Wei Wuxian is absolutely going to sneak out and back in at dawn and pretend he never left."
That earned a laugh from me—quiet, unexpected.
Ming Yu smiled, just a little. "Someone had to make sure you weren't alone."
My chest ached—not from anxiety, but from the sudden, unexpected warmth blooming behind my ribs. It was almost too much and not enough all at once.
"I just wanted to be with you tonight," he finished, quiet and sincere. "To keep you company. That's all. Whatever happens or doesn't happen… it's okay. I just hope… you're not afraid of me."
Something in me—something coiled tight for too long—unwound just a little.
I squeezed his hand back, curling my fingers into his like I'd found something steady in the dark. "Thank you, Ming Yu," I said softly. "Really. That means more than I can explain."
Then I looked out the window, noticing the rain pouring down. I commented on it, and Ming Yu smiled, saying, "So it's a blessing for the Goddess of Water's wedding night." I chuckled at his remark. The wind picked up, blowing out the candle and plunging the room into darkness.
"I'll light a candle," I said, fumbling around in the dark.
"I'll close the window," Ming Yu replied. As I searched for the candle and lit it back up, as I walked back to the bed. I tripped and landed on the floor with a yelp. Ming Yu rushed to me, helping me up. Our faces were close, and in that moment, our breaths mingled in the intimate proximity.
Ming Yu's hand gently cupped my cheek, his touch warm and reassuring. His eyes, even in the dim light, held a depth of emotion that made my heart race. He leaned in slowly, giving me a moment to pull away if I wanted to, but I didn't. Instead, I closed the distance between us, our lips meeting in a gentle kiss.
The kiss was soft at first, a tentative exploration, but as the moments passed, it deepened. The warmth of his lips against mine sent a thrill through my body. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me closer, and I responded by threading my fingers through his hair, losing myself in the sensation.
Our kiss grew more passionate, our bodies pressed together as if trying to erase any distance between us. The rain continued to pour outside, a steady rhythm that matched the beating of my heart. Ming Yu's hands roamed gently, tracing the curves of my back, igniting a fire within me that I had never felt before.
When we finally pulled apart, both of us were breathless, our foreheads resting together as if neither of us wanted to break the moment. Ming Yu's eyes searched mine—quietly, carefully—looking for any flicker of regret.
But there wasn't any. Just that deep, magnetic pull between us… and the ache for more.
"Mei Lin," he whispered, voice rough with restraint, "I'll be honest… at this rate, it's getting hard for me to behave. You're too pretty, and I'm only human."
My breath caught, nerves and heat curling in my stomach. But then his tone softened, pulling back.
"It's late. Get some rest. I'll sleep on the day bed over there, alright?"
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead—gentle, lingering, full of everything he wasn't saying—and turned toward the far end of the room.
Before I had time to think, I reached out and grabbed his sleeve.
He stopped instantly, glancing back at me. His expression was careful, controlled… but his eyes gave him away—concern, hesitation, longing. And something else. Hope.
My heart thundered. I didn't want him to leave. Not tonight. Not when everything felt like it could disappear come morning.
"Stay," I said—blurted, really. My voice shook, just a little. Enough to betray how much I meant it.
Ming Yu froze. Then he exhaled, long and slow, like he'd been holding that breath all night.
"Mei Lin…" he murmured. "If I stay, I don't know if I can stop myself."
I met his eyes, searching for judgment or pressure, but found only gentleness.
"Stay with me tonight," I repeated, this time steadier.
His gaze locked onto mine. "Are you certain?" he asked, low and intense, every word a brushstroke against the edge of control.
I nodded. Once. Certain.
That was all it took.
In a heartbeat, he was moving. He scooped me into his arms like I was something precious, something breakable, and carried me to the main bed without a word. His touch was reverent, his hold secure.
And just before the world tilted completely, I realized something with startling clarity.
This wasn't about desire.
It was about choosing each other—in the quiet, in the chaos, in the one place we could still be honest.
Chapter 31.5: Red Silk and Real Feelings(Continued)
He swooped me into his arms, effortless but careful, and laid me down on the bed like I was something sacred. The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he leaned over me, his eyes drinking me in like I was the only thing that existed.
Then he kissed me.
And this time, there was no restraint.
His lips were soft but insistent, moving against mine like he'd been holding back for far too long. One hand cradled the back of my neck, anchoring me, while the other rested at my waist, steady and warm. I could feel the tension in his body—the reverence in every touch, the ache he wasn't hiding anymore.
I responded without thinking, my arms sliding around his shoulders, pulling him closer. My body trembled beneath his touch—not from fear, but from the overwhelming intensity of wanting him. Of being wanted. It wasn't just attraction, and it wasn't only love. It was the quiet, powerful truth that I wanted to be known by him—body and soul.
He pulled back slightly, breath shaky against my cheek.
"Mei Lin," he whispered, voice raw, "if you ask me to stop now, I will. No matter what it costs me."
My heart pounded, wild and unrelenting. But I met his gaze, steady and unafraid.
"I don't want you to stop," I said softly. "I want this. I want you."
His mouth met mine again—but this time, it wasn't gentle.
It was hungry.
He kissed me with a kind of quiet desperation, as if trying to memorize every part of this moment. Then, slowly, his hands moved to the ties of my robe. He loosened them one by one, his fingertips brushing against my skin, lighting a trail of fire with every motion. The silk parted under his hands, layer by layer, until the fabric slipped away entirely.
I braced for embarrassment. For self-consciousness. For that voice in my head to whisper that I wasn't enough.
But it never came.
Because the way he looked at me—like I was something rare and breathtaking—chased every shadow away.
His hands trailed along my skin, slow and deliberate—fingertips mapping the curve of my waist, the line of my collarbone, the inside of my thighs. He kissed down my neck, then lower, across the swell of my chest, his breath warm and shaky. My back arched involuntarily under his mouth. Every nerve in my body lit up like a live wire.
I gasped when his lips brushed lower, my fingers digging into the sheets. And then his lips found me.
My entire body jolted at the sensation—so soft, so utterly overwhelming I almost sobbed. His mouth was careful at first, exploring, learning. When his tongue circled just right, I gasped, clutching the sheets beneath me. My hips bucked, and he murmured something low—words I didn't catch, but the sound of them vibrated against me.
The tension coiled fast, sharp, unbearable in the best possible way. His hands held me steady, grounding me, as if he knew exactly how far gone I was. One of his fingers slipped inside, gentle and slow, syncing with the rhythm of his mouth.
And then I shattered.
A cry escaped my lips, raw and helpless. The world vanished into white—my body tensing, shaking, then melting all at once. It wasn't just the release—it was the way he held me through it, the way his lips never left me.
His kisses grew more urgent as he moved up my body again, his hands bracing on either side of my head. I could feel the tension in him, barely contained. His breath was ragged, his body taut above mine.
Then, slowly, he sat back just enough to shrug off his robe, the fabric falling away from his shoulders in a fluid motion. In the dim light, the sight of him—bare, steady, and unguarded—made something inside me ache.
And then he was over me again, skin to skin, warmth to warmth, every part of him trembling with restraint and wanting.
"Ming Yu…" I whispered, brushing my fingertips along his jaw.
He paused, eyes squeezed shut as though fighting himself.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, voice strained. "I'm trying not to rush… but I've wanted this—you—for so long, I feel like I'm going to lose control."
My heart clenched at the vulnerability in his voice. I reached up and stroked his cheek, guiding his gaze back to mine.
"It's okay," I whispered. "I trust you."
He swallowed hard, then leaned down to kiss me again—slower this time, more deliberate, as if he was trying to memorize everything. One of his hands slid down between us, and I gasped softly as he aligned himself at my entrance.
But then—I felt it.
A sharp resistance. A pressure I hadn't expected.
I stiffened slightly in surprise, and his brows furrowed. He stopped instantly, concern flashing across his face. "Does it hurt?" he asked, his voice shaking as he hovered above me, barely breathing.
I forced a smile and shook my head. "Not at all," I whispered, somehow managing to sound calm despite the way my insides were currently on fire.
But inside?
OH MY GOD.
I wasn't a virgin in the modern world. That ship sailed during sophomore year with a boy who didn't know what a clitoris was. I'd done this. I'd survived this. And now—now I had to go through it again? In someone else's body? With full medieval sensory input?
Why am I being re-virginized by the universe?!
Of course, I didn't say any of that. I just blinked up at him and tried to look romantic and blissfully entranced, like some kind of historical beauty who didn't just mentally scream into the void.
"It's okay," I added softly, curling my fingers into his hair. "Just go slow."
He stared down at me, stunned, his body trembling as he held himself still. "I can stop. I should stop. If you're not ready—"
"I am," I said, more firmly this time, eyes locked on his. "I want this. I want you."
His throat bobbed as he tried to steady his breathing. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure."
Slowly, carefully, he pushed forward—and I gasped, one hand flying to his arm, gripping tight. My body ached, stretched around him, not in crucial pain exactly, but with a pressure so intense it brought tears to my eyes. He was thick, hard, and even as he held himself back, I could feel him trembling with restraint.
"Gods, you're so tight," he groaned against my neck, his voice strained, hoarse with effort. "If I'm not careful… I'll finish too fast."
I clung to him, legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. "It's okay," I whispered, my voice shaky. "Just… go slow."
He kissed my cheek, then my jaw, then my lips—soft and lingering—as he moved again, inch by inch, easing deeper inside me. I moaned into his mouth as he bottomed out, the fullness stealing my breath.
He stayed there, buried deep, trembling with the effort not to move.
"Mei Lin," he murmured against my skin, "you feel like heaven."
I laughed—barely. Breathless, stunned, overwhelmed. "I didn't know heaven could ache like this."
He smiled, but it faded quickly as his expression twisted into something rawer—desire barely kept in check. "I need to move," he rasped. "But I swear, I'll be gentle."
"Please," I whispered. "I want to feel you."
Ming Yu began to move again, slow and measured, his brow furrowed with concentration like he was fighting a war between reverence and desire. His body trembled with restraint—every stroke shallow, controlled, as if he were terrified of hurting me or finishing too fast.
And honestly?
I felt everything.
The stretch. The fullness. The tight pull of muscle meeting muscle. I gasped and arched into him, still adjusting, still a little dazed. But mostly?
Holy hell, this man was huge.
He pressed his forehead to mine, his voice a low growl. "You feel like you were made for me."
I wanted to respond with something elegant, something romantic. Instead, I choked out, "You might be overqualified for the position."
He stilled—just for a second—and then laughed. A soft, breathless chuckle against my cheek. "You're unbelievable."
"You started it," I whispered back, and kissed him again, messy and open-mouthed, just to shut us both up.
That kiss was the turning point.
Something shifted.
The tension that had held him back snapped like thread pulled too tight. His hips rocked into me harder now, deeper, and the sound I made was not at all royal. I clung to him, my legs wrapping around his waist as instinct took over and I met each thrust with one of my own. My body had fully surrendered—wet, willing, wanting.
He groaned into my neck. "Gods… I'm trying to take it slow, but you feel so good."
"I don't need slow," I panted.
His grip tightened, one hand sliding under my thigh as he angled himself deeper. The change made me cry out—louder this time, no filter, no shame. He swallowed the sound with a kiss, his tongue sweeping against mine in sync with the rhythm of his hips.
It was dizzying.
Every stroke drove me higher—heat blooming in my belly, tightening low, sharp and sweet. The friction, the pressure, the wet slap of skin against skin—it was everything.
My fingers dug into his back. "Ming Yu—"
His movements grew faster, harder, the bed creaking under us in protest. His breath was ragged, voice slipping into something raw. The pressure inside me was unbearable now, my body chasing release with reckless urgency.
He reached between us, his fingers circling the bundle of nerves he'd already teased once tonight—and that was it.
I shattered.
My body convulsed around him, back arching off the mattress as pleasure tore through me like lightning. I moaned—raw, broken, whole—and he followed a heartbeat later, with a cry so guttural it made me shiver.
His body tensed, hips stuttering as he spilled into me, arms trembling as he held himself over me, then finally collapsed beside me, breathless and stunned.
We lay tangled together, limbs twisted, chests heaving. The room was a blur of heat and candlelight, the scent of sweat and sandalwood heavy in the air.
My heart was still pounding.
So was his.
We stayed like that for a while—quiet, breath syncing, the storm outside still murmuring through the open window. The candle beside the bed flickered low, casting golden shadows across the tangled sheets and our bare skin.
I closed my eyes, letting the warmth of his body lull me.
And for the first time in this strange, impossible world—I didn't feel lost.
I felt found.