That night, a faint tap-tap against the window stirred me from my thoughts. I turned, brows furrowing. Another tap. I padded over, lifted the wooden latch, and pushed the window open.
And there he was.
Ming Yu, standing just outside, half-bathed in moonlight, his robe slightly rumpled and his expression… shy. Which was rare enough to make my heart stutter.
"Hi," he said softly, eyes lifting to meet mine. "Can I hop in for a few minutes?"
I blinked at him. "You're asking like you're not halfway through already."
He smiled, sheepish. "Didn't want to assume."
I stepped aside with a quiet laugh. "Come on, before someone sees you and assumes something very different."
With practiced ease, he climbed over the ledge and landed inside, his presence instantly warming the room. For a moment, we just stood there—him adjusting his sleeves, me still trying to look composed despite the very real flutter in my chest.
"What's going on?" I asked, keeping my voice light. "Did you forget your scrolls in my room or something?"
"No," he said. Then looked at me. "I missed you."
That stopped me.
Not dramatically. Not devastatingly.
Just… a pause. A heartbeat that lasted a little too long.
"We haven't really had time alone," he added, a small shrug betraying how much it actually meant to him. "Not since we got back. Not since everything."
I let out a soft breath and nodded. "Right. We've been too busy plotting revenge, planning emotionally questionable political tactics, and debating ancient reproduction science."
He gave a quiet laugh.
Then I stepped forward—just a little—and said what I really meant.
"I missed you too."
His expression softened instantly. Like he'd been holding his breath and finally let it go. I stepped closer. He opened his arms and without hesitation, I walked into them. The hug wasn't desperate. It wasn't rushed. Just… warm.
His chin rested lightly on top of my head. My arms wrapped around his waist. We stood like that for a while, letting the chaos of the day slip off our shoulders one heartbeat at a time.
Here, in this quiet room, with the moon spilling silver across the floor, there were no scrolls. No palace. No heirs. No gods.
Just Ming Yu and me.
I didn't pull away. Just stayed in his arms a little longer and murmured into his shoulder, "This is nice."
He hummed in agreement, the sound low and steady against my ear.
"It's been crazy lately," I added. "Like… emotionally whiplash-level crazy."
Ming Yu chuckled softly, his chest moving with it.
"I still can't believe Yuling volunteered," I said, my tone turning quiet. "She'd really do it. Just for me."
At that, his body stiffened. He stepped back slightly, the warmth of his hands still lingering on my arms, but the energy between us shifted—just a bit.
"Can I ask you something?" he said, voice low but more serious now.
I blinked. "Of course."
I gestured to the cushions by the low table near the window. "Let's sit."
We both sank down in the soft glow of lantern light and moonshadow. I poured him a cup of tea from the little pot Xiaohua had left earlier, more out of habit than necessity.
Ming Yu didn't take the tea. He just looked at me, serious but careful.
"When Yuling said… 'you know who I already love'..." he began slowly, "did she mean you?"
I blinked.
My brain did the thing where it slammed all the emergency buttons at once. Red lights, internal sirens, "WE'RE NOT READY FOR THIS" flashing behind my eyeballs.
Panic mode: activated.
"I—uh…" I cleared my throat and avoided eye contact. "Yes."
Ming Yu's jaw tensed slightly, but he didn't react beyond that. Just took a slow, deliberate breath—like someone mentally rearranging his expectations.
"She confessed her feelings," I added quietly. "A few days ago."
He nodded once, but it was that kind of nod that wasn't so much agreement as it was filing the information away under complications.
"How did that… start?"
I froze again.
Okay. Time to lie.
No. No. Time to be honest.
Or panic-honest. That counts, right?
"I… I don't really know," I said, waving my hands vaguely like that would explain everything. "She said something about thinking I kissed her. Which I didn't! Not really. It was a misunderstanding. A… very wet misunderstanding."
Ming Yu raised an eyebrow. "You kissed her?"
"No! No-no-no," I rushed. "We fell into the water together! She wasn't breathing, and I—I was doing CPR!"
His brow furrowed. "CPR?"
Oh no.
I swallowed. "It's… it's a first aid thing. From where I'm from. You breathe air into their mouth, and you press on their chest to restart their heart and lungs and—"
"You… touched her chest?"
Ming Yu now looked more confused than annoyed, but I could see the irritation inching in. Slowly. Patiently. Like a man trying very hard not to overreact.
"Not like that!" I practically yelped. "It was medical. Medical! Emergency chest compressions! It's literally meant to save lives! I'd do it to anyone! Anyone dying! Man, woman, royal, peasant—doesn't matter!"
He gave me a look.
I stared back, arms crossed now in self-defense. "Do you think I just go around mouth-to-mouthing every girl who falls in a river? Because if so, we need to seriously reevaluate how much you trust me."
Ming Yu exhaled slowly. "So it wasn't romantic."
"Not even a little," I said firmly. "I mean, she thought it was. But I explained, and she understood."
His eyes narrowed again but he didn't press any further.
I stared at him and then something in me whispered: Now or never.
Rip the bandage.
No dancing around it.
I took a breath. "There's something else."
Ming Yu's brows drew together slightly. "What is it?"
"She… kissed me."
The words hit the floor like a dropped teacup.
His whole body stilled.
"What?" he said, quiet but sharp.
I forced myself to meet his eyes. "The night we were attacked. When she thought she might not make it. She kissed me. Just once."
He blinked. Like the words didn't register at first.
"And you were planning to tell me… when?"
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
"I wasn't sure," I admitted. "I didn't want it to turn into a thing. I wasn't hiding it—well, okay, I kind of was—but I didn't know how to bring it up."
Ming Yu stood, pacing a short, tight circle before stopping in front of me again.
"So if I hadn't asked… were you planning to tell me at all?"
The guilt hit low in my chest.
"I don't know," I said, honest and squirming. "I wasn't trying to lie. I just—I knew it would bother you. And it didn't mean anything, not for me. I was just trying to survive that night, and so was she."
His jaw clenched.
I saw the flicker of something raw pass behind his eyes. Not rage. Not betrayal. Just… hurt.
The kind of hurt that comes from loving someone and realizing they'd flinched away from your trust.
"I didn't kiss her back," I said quietly.
He nodded once, slow. Still too quiet.
"I love you, Ming Yu," I added, stepping closer. "I chose you. You know that, right?"
Ming Yu took a long breath, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle twitch. His face remained carefully composed—but I could feel the restraint in every inch of him. Like he was holding back something loud.
Then… he shut down.
That cold, polite wall he only used when he was hurt but didn't want anyone to see it slammed into place.
He looked at me, voice quiet but cutting. "Mei Lin… do you know how I feel right now?"
I opened my mouth. "Ming Yu, it didn't mean anything to me—"
"I know," he said, sharper now. "I know you love me."
He looked away for a second, then back, and his tone turned calm—too calm.
"Just imagine this," he said. "A girl shows up by my side—cute, smart, clingy. Says we're best friends. Acts like it's normal. Annoys the hell out of you. Keeps calling me hers. Tells you to stop following me. Tells the whole palace I'm taken."
I blinked, lips parting in protest, but he wasn't done.
"And then one day, out of desperation… she kisses me."
The words landed like cold water down my spine.
"You find out I knew how she felt all along. And that I told you about it after the fact. And I say I still want to be her friend. Still want to hang around her. Still want to keep her close."
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady and hard.
"How would you feel?"
I didn't answer.
I couldn't.
Because suddenly, there it was—vivid and horrifying—the image playing out in my head like a twisted drama rerun.
Ming Yu standing beside some gorgeous mystery girl. Long hair, perfect skin, smug little smirk that made me want to rip her silk sleeves off. She's laughing too loud at his jokes, touching his arm like she owns it. Ming Yu doesn't pull away. Doesn't correct her.
Then, one night, she kisses him.
And he lets her.
And later, he tells me it meant nothing.
I felt a slow, icy rage bubble in my chest, crawling up my throat. My hands curled into fists without permission. I imagined dragging that girl by her overly elaborate headpiece through the palace courtyard.
I would've lost my mind.
"Oh," I whispered. "Oh no."
Ming Yu gave me a look—cool, knowing.
"Exactly," he said.
I swallowed.
"Okay," I admitted, my voice small. "I would've gone feral. Possibly even murderous. Definitely unhinged."
He arched his brow. "Possibly?"
I winced. "Definitely."
He sighed. The wall cracked a little.
"So now," he said gently, "you understand why it hurt."
I nodded, guilt crashing over me in waves.
"I'm sorry," I whispered again. "Ming Yu, I'm so sorry."
My voice cracked.
"I never wanted to hurt you. Of all people—you're the one I never want to hurt."
The guilt had been simmering under my skin for days, but now it cracked open all at once.
Hot tears welled in my eyes, and before I could stop them, they slid down my cheeks in quiet, burning trails.
"I should've told you everything," I choked. "I should've been better. You deserve better."
I covered my face, trying to hold the rest in, but it was useless. All the pressure, the guilt, the weight of everything we'd been carrying—it broke through.
For a second, he said nothing.
Then, I felt his hands—warm, gentle—reach up and carefully pull mine away from my face.
His thumb wiped away a tear, soft and unhurried.
And then he pulled me into his arms.
Not urgently. Not possessively.
Just… fully.
Like he needed to feel all of me to believe I was real again.
He kissed the top of my head, then leaned back just enough to kiss me—gently, reverently, like he was piecing me back together with his lips.
He gently pulled away and rested his forehead on my shoulder.
"I was jealous," he murmured. "So jealous I couldn't see straight."
His voice was hoarse now, low and stripped of all his usual calm.
"I've never felt like this before," he confessed. "Never cared about someone enough to lose sleep over it. Never wanted to punch the air just because someone else looked at you."
He exhaled a shaky breath.
"And it scared me. Because I didn't know how to handle it. I didn't know if I had a place in your heart that couldn't be shaken."
"You do," I said immediately, eyes shining. "You do."
He finally looked at me, smiled—small, but real. That weight behind his eyes lightened.
He kissed me again—deeper this time, like an apology and a promise all wrapped into one.
But something had changed.
Something deeper.
The kiss grew bolder, hungrier, like all the restraint he'd held onto cracked under the weight of us. Of everything unsaid, everything felt. His hand cupped my cheek with aching tenderness, but his other arm pulled me closer with a kind of need I felt down to my spine.
We hadn't touched like this since that night at the inn.
And now?
Now, it came crashing down like a wave—months of longing, weeks of tension, days of pretending to be calm.
Ming Yu pulled back, breathless, his forehead still pressed to mine.
His voice came low and strained, the kind of quiet that's fighting very hard to stay in control.
"We can't… not here. Not in the palace."
He looked around like someone might jump out from behind the wardrobe with a scroll of court laws and a witness statement.
And right.
Palace.
I blinked, my heart still racing from the way his hands had just been on me. My brain, meanwhile, was only now catching up.
Okay, so obviously we can't do this here. Not unless I want half the palace thinking I'm holding an after-hours performance of "Consort Gone Wild."
If someone hears anything, anything at all—one creak, one suspicious moan—it'll be over.
Now, sure… if Wei Wuxian were actually here tonight, that might help. Everyone already thinks I'm with him. If someone heard something, they'd just assume His Royal Chaos was enjoying his wedding privileges.
Horrifying. Deeply horrifying. But also weirdly… convenient.
Except—
There is no universe where I can march into Wei Wuxian's room, look him in the eye, and say, "Hey, can you pretend to spend the night with me so I can sneak off and crawl all over Ming Yu without the palace lighting itself on fire?"
Absolutely not.
He'd never let me live it down. Not ever. I'd be haunted by his smug grin for the rest of my unnatural time in this body. He'd call me bold. He'd offer advice. He'd smirk like a matchmaking goblin.
No. Nope. I'd rather die. Twice. With dramatic slow motion.
I need a different plan
I looked around the room, scanning the space like a general about to launch an unsanctioned campaign.
Alright. If the palace wants a show, let's give them the non-audio version.
I moved quickly—closing the window, snuffing out most of the candles with one sharp puff. Only one dim flame remained, flickering in the far corner like it had been warned to mind its own business.
Ming Yu sat up straighter, brows drawing together in alarm. "Mei Lin… what are you doing?"
"Improvising," I said, already reaching for the edge of my blanket.
He looked at me like I'd just said I was going to rob the royal treasury for snacks.
I threw the blanket onto the floor with dramatic flair. "Bed creak? Solved."
I patted the thick folds. "Nice and quiet down here. Cozy. Strategic."
He blinked. "You're serious."
"Oh, I'm beyond serious." I cracked my knuckles. "Now, the sound. That's the real challenge. We need…to be really really quiet.
Chapter 47.5: Silent Storm (continued)
I pulled him down onto the floor, climbed onto him slowly, the blanket beneath us barely softening the tension coiling between our bodies. My knees pressed into the fabric on either side of his waist, and I let my weight settle—not down, not yet—just enough to feel the heat of his body beneath mine.
His eyes were locked on me, wide and dark, his chest rising and falling too fast for someone who hadn't moved an inch.
I let my robe slip from my shoulders first, the silk falling in a slow whisper to my lap. I didn't look away. Neither did he. The flicker of the lone candle cast just enough light to catch the sharp lines of his cheekbones, the furrow in his brow, the tension bleeding through every part of him.
Slowly, I reached for his robes, undoing them with deliberate care. Each movement exposed more of him—his chest, his stomach—his skin warm beneath my fingertips, his breath catching with every touch.
He watched me like he couldn't breathe, eyes wide, lips parted slightly, a flush creeping up his neck.
When I reached lower, I met his eyes again—searching, waiting—then untied the final knot. I slid the last layer of fabric down his hips, slow and steady, revealing all of him.
He was already hard.
His body strained with need, the tension so sharp it vibrated in the air between us. His fingers gripped the blanket beneath him like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
I let my hands trail up his thighs, not rushed, just enough to make him shiver. I hovered over him, letting the heat of my body press just close enough to feel the anticipation spike between us.
Ming Yu's head dropped back against the floor, his jaw clenched as he fought for control.
I leaned in, brushing my lips against his cheek, his neck, his shoulder. Then, slowly, I positioned myself over him, the warmth of him brushing against me, and paused.
He was shaking.
But still—he didn't make a sound.
I looked down at him, smiled faintly, and whispered against his ear, "Still being good?"
"You're doing this on purpose," he said, voice low and strangled, like he was trying to hold back both a groan and a prayer.
"I know."
But I didn't move to take him in yet.
Not right away.
Instead, I shifted forward slightly, just enough that his length brushed against me—slow, deliberate friction that made his whole body jolt beneath me.
His breath hitched, sharp and quiet, like he was holding it back with everything he had.
I moved again—just a subtle roll of my hips, letting him feel the heat of me against him, dragging the pressure deliberately where he wanted it most. My own breath stuttered at the sensation, but I bit my lip and held it in.
He was so hard, so desperate beneath me, and still—still—he didn't make a sound.
I leaned down, brushing my lips against his jaw, whispering, "Still quiet?"
His voice was tight and barely audible. "You're… cruel."
I smiled softly.
And rolled my hips again.
His eyes fluttered shut, jaw clenched, another silent shudder rippling through him. I could feel the tension growing—coiling like something about to snap. The friction, the heat, the deliberate pace—it was driving us both to the edge.
I reached down, aligning us carefully.
Paused.
Looked at him.
And then slowly, I lowered myself onto him.
I guided him in slowly, every inch deliberate, every motion steeped in quiet heat. My breath trembled, but I kept it in check, biting down on the sound rising in my throat. His eyes were shut tight, jaw clenched, hands fisted in the blanket beneath us.
He was trying—gods, he was trying—not to move. Not to make a sound. Not to lose himself.
And I didn't make it easier.
I set the rhythm myself, moving with care, not rising and falling too harshly, but shifting in smooth circles—just enough to keep the motion deep, steady, quiet. It was more intimate this way. More controlled.
More maddening.
I felt him tense beneath me, the heat radiating off his skin like a warning. His hands slid up to my hips, strong and shaking, fingers curling against my waist. He was trying not to move, but every time I rolled my hips, slow and deliberate, I could feel his body wanting to rise and meet me.
He nearly did.
Just a subtle lift of his hips, an unconscious motion, like instinct was overriding restraint.
But I leaned down quickly, lips brushing against his ear, my breath feather-light.
"Don't move," I whispered. "We can't make a sound."
His breath hitched.
He nodded.
But his grip tightened.
The tension in him was near breaking point—every muscle held back like a dam fighting not to burst. I kept my pace steady, circling my hips, letting the movement drag out the pleasure slowly, sweetly, deliberately.
The pleasure inside me swelled, aching and sharp. Every shift sent sparks racing up my spine, and I clung to him harder, burying my face in the crook of his neck to muffle the sound I couldn't hold in much longer.
His grip on my hips was no longer steady—it trembled. His breath came fast and shallow, every motion pushing him closer to the edge. I could feel the restraint unraveling in him, the way his whole body tightened beneath mine, caught between control and desperation.
"Mei Lin…" he whispered, voice hoarse and low, barely audible in the stillness. "You're moving too fast—I… I can't hold it."
I pressed closer, lips brushing the curve of his ear, the words escaping in a breathless murmur, "Then don't."
Because I was chasing it too.
The tension was building fast, fierce, too much to contain. I could feel it breaking inside me, crashing forward with every slow, torturous shift of my hips. My breath hitched, hands splaying across his chest for balance as I rode the edge.
"Let go," I whispered, more plea than command.
And he did.
He surged beneath me with a stifled breath, face contorted in silence, arms tightening around me as his release hit, deep and shaking.
The moment pushed me over too, the pleasure bursting through me all at once—hot, overwhelming, impossible to contain. I clung to him, burying my face against his shoulder as the wave swept through, biting back the sound that tried to escape my lips.
We held each other through it—shaking, breathless, utterly silent.
When it passed, we stayed there in the dark, our skin slick with warmth, hearts pounding in sync.
No sound.
No words.
Only the quiet certainty that we were still wrapped in each other—still safe—still here.