Ming Yu left in the dark, muttering something about me being "cruel" and "torn into pieces" after what he called an exercise in restraint that might haunt him for weeks. I just laughed, rolled into bed, and pulled the blanket up with a very self-satisfied smirk.
Cruel? Maybe. But efficient.
As I pulled the blanket over myself, a thought bubbled up in the back of my mind, uninvited but persistent.
Wait… were we actually that quiet?
I mean, we didn't exactly talk. No moaning. No creaking bed. We were basically breathing in Morse code.
Right?
Still... if the palace spontaneously bursts into gossip-flavored flames tomorrow, I'll know the answer.
I drifted off thinking: If Yufei smirks at me during breakfast, I'm digging my own grave
When the sun rose, I was already pacing in panic mode.
I sent Xiaohua out immediately on what I called "an errand" but what was absolutely a top-secret intelligence-gathering mission: determine if anyone, anyone, in the palace was whispering about noises from the Prince's quarter last night.
She returned with a shrug. "Nothing so far. Just gossip about Lady Yufei's failed hairpin fashion attempt yesterday."
I exhaled with theatrical relief. "Great. Perfect. Maybe the gods were on our side."
I made my way to the garden, where the usual suspects had already assembled.
Wei Wuxian lounged with a teacup and far too much smugness for this hour. Lan Wangji stood off to the side, as unreadable as a sealed scroll. And Ming Yu—arms crossed, brows drawn like war maps—looked like he'd spent the morning calculating the square root of betrayal.
I froze.
That wasn't a morning-after glow. That was a something-went-very-wrong face.
Panic flared hot and instant.
Was I loud? Did I breathe too enthusiastically? Did the floorboards rat me out?
Ming Yu caught my eye, his expression grim. "Someone broke into my room last night."
I blinked. "What?"
He nodded. "Nothing's missing, but… a few of my things were out of place."
Wei Wuxian leaned in, grinning like a gossiping fox. "You sure it wasn't just a lovesick maid trying to steal a lock of your hair? I hear you ranked number two on the palace dreamboat list."
I choked on my tea.
Ming Yu gave him a look so sharp it could've sliced through jade.
Unbothered, Wei Wuxian continued, mock serious. "If they took your comb, it's over. That's basically a proposal."
Lan Wangji turned and fixed him with a look so flat it could iron silk.
Wei Wuxian sipped serenely. "Just offering investigative insights, Lan Zhan. This is how mysteries are solved."
He was grinning—until he wasn't.
His smile dimmed as he turned to Ming Yu, eyes narrowing with that very specific brand of chaos that meant he was about to ruin someone's day. "Wait a second. If someone broke into your room… where were you?"
The air shifted.
"I remember now," he said, all false innocence. "You skipped the evening assembly. Said you were exhausted. Turning in early."
He leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "So if your room was broken into… and you weren't there…"
My brain detonated. Panic fireworks. Full emotional systems offline.
I am not here. I am a decorative vase. Please discuss politics and ignore the suspiciously sentient porcelain.
Last night? I was definitely tucked in by moral superiority itself. Face mask on. Book on etiquette clutched like a Bible. No further questions.
Beside me, Ming Yu's posture turned stone-still. "I… went for a walk," he said.
Wei Wuxian tilted his head. "All night?"
Ming Yu didn't flinch—but his ears turned scarlet.
Even Lan Wangji's gaze flicked toward him. Once.
Wei Wuxian grinned, teeth and trouble. "Hmm. Hope it wasn't too exhausting… your long, deeply meditative walk."
Ming Yu cleared his throat and looked away.
And me?
I just sipped my tea like it was an invisibility potion.
If I stayed still, maybe Wei Wuxian would get distracted by his own reflection.
He didn't.
In fact, he leaned back with the smug satisfaction of a man unraveling a mystery sweater one juicy thread at a time.
"A walk," he repeated. "You, skipping duty. Gone all night. And suddenly someone sneaks into your room?"
He turned to Lan Wangji and asked with theatrical concern, "Lan Zhan, what are the odds?"
Lan Wangji, unimpressed, responded with a single raised brow that said: Do not involve me in your nonsense.
I was sweating. My tea was sweating. The whole tray was probably going to burst into flames from sheer secondhand embarrassment.
Wei Wuxian turned back to Ming Yu, steepling his fingers. "Normally you're so punctual. So diligent. So… boring."
Ming Yu shot him a deadpan look, but his ears stayed pink.
Wei Wuxian wasn't finished. "And Mei Lin here," he said, chin resting on his palm, "looks very well-rested this morning. Positively glowing."
I nearly spit out my tea. Okay. Great. I'm going to fling myself into the koi pond and become a shame-fish. Ming Yu said nothing. He just sipped his tea. Very. Very. Slowly.
Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes. "So. How was your walk?" Ming Yu's voice was cool. "I never said it was relaxing." But the muscle twitching in his jaw betrayed him.
Wei Wuxian leaned back, clearly pleased with himself. "No," he said. "But your face did."
Then Lan Wangji spoke, his voice calm and final. "Enough." One word. Soft. Precise. Wei Wuxian raised his hands in mock surrender. "Fine. I'll stop. For now." He took another sip of tea, then glanced at me over the rim of his cup. And winked.
I felt my soul attempt to exit my body through my eyebrows.
If he said one more word, I was going to combust.
"W-well!" I jumped to my feet so fast the teacup rattled. "I just remembered—I'm late."
"For flower arrangement!" I blurted, already halfway down the path, skirt tripping me as I made my dramatic escape.
***
The flower pavilion smelled like jasmine and judgment.
Soft silks rustled. Shears clicked. Noble ladies hunched over trays of seasonal blooms, pretending to care about chrysanthemums while eyeing each other like trained hawks. Consort Yu, our floral warlord and the fourth royal consort, paced like she was about to lead a petal battalion into war.
I kept my head down. Focused on threading a camellia stem. Absolutely not plotting Yufei's destruction. Not at all.
Of course, she was front and center. Draped in smug lavender silk. Her floral arrangement? A chaos of peonies, orchids, and snow blossoms, designed to whisper I win without speaking.
I stabbed a stem just a little too hard.
Nearby, Xiaohua moved gracefully with a tray of teacups, doing her best to look invisible and perfect at the same time.
Then I saw it. A subtle nudge from Yufei's maid. Xiaohua stumbled, only slightly, but it was enough. The edge of her sleeve brushed against the table. A porcelain cup tipped precariously, and tea sloshed forward in a slow, inevitable arc.
The dark liquid splashed directly onto the hem of Lady Yufei's robe. It wasn't much, barely a stain, really. But it was enough. Enough to draw attention. Enough to cause a scene. And exactly what someone like Yufei needed.
Yufei stood like someone had just insulted her ancestors.
"I'm so sorry, Lady Wang," Xiaohua began. She didn't finish. Yufei slapped her.
The crack echoed like thunder across stone. Gasps rippled through the room. One of the noble ladies dropped her scissors. Xiaohua crumpled, a red bloom already forming at the corner of her mouth.
My chair clattered as I stood. "What are you doing?" I snapped.
Yufei turned, perfectly composed. "Your maid lacks discipline. I'm simply correcting it."
"She made a mistake," I said. "You drew blood."
Yufei raised her chin. "Then let me clean it."
She extended her hand. A maid handed her a porcelain water pitcher. She lifted it. "Let's wash the filth off her face."
"Stop it!" I shouted.
And something inside me snapped. Heat. Pressure. Cracking down my arms. The air shimmered.
The water froze midair.
Then it reversed.
And something inside me snapped. Heat. Pressure. Cracking down my arms. The air shimmered.
The water froze midair.
Then it reversed.
It snapped back like a whip of divine fury—slamming into Yufei's chest with all the elegance of righteous chaos.
Her silks soaked. Her makeup ran. Her carefully arranged snow blossoms hit the ground like fallen pride.
She gasped. Stumbled.
Silence. Dozens of women sat frozen mid-prune.
Consort Yu's hand hovered over a misplaced carnation.
Then, a whisper:
"She didn't move the pitcher…" "She moved the water." "Is she… a cultivator?" "No one controls water like that."
I lowered my hand. Slowly. My fingers were still trembling. Xiaohua looked up at me, lip bloodied, eyes wide with something between awe and fear.
Yufei stood like a drowned ghost—stripped of grace, soaked in her own humiliation.
And somewhere in that heavy, watchful silence…
The air shifted.