Wildfire had nothing on palace gossip.
And apparently, neither did basic geography.
By morning, the entire palace knew.
By afternoon, I was pretty sure half the capital had weighed in over lunch.
And by nightfall?
Well—rumors had grown wings, rented horses, and galloped off into other provinces with the elegance of drunk couriers carrying flaming scrolls.
Some said I was the long-lost Goddess of Water, returned to purify the realm and bless crops. Others claimed I was a cursed demoness here to dry up bloodlines, flood the rice fields, and make teapots explode on command.
One bold pamphlet claimed I'd emerged from a cave riding a giant koi fish, whispering secrets to turtles and speaking in ancient rhymes. Another said I was possessed by a drowned imperial concubine seeking revenge on every noble who'd ever thrown shade during a tea ceremony.
…Honestly? The drowned ghost one had flair. I respected it.
Meanwhile, the palace scholars had gone into a full-blown existential crisis.
They were sprinting through archives like librarians in a fire drill—pulling apart every brittle scroll, sacred book, and moldy genealogy record that so much as whispered the word "water."
Divine lineage? Celestial birthmarks? Unusual pulse rates? Suspicious humidity levels? If it could get wet, someone was investigating it.
And me?
I was under... let's call it "divinely sanctioned observation." Which is a very polite way of saying: I was quarantined.
Locked away in the Prince's quarters like I might accidentally boil the koi pond if left unattended.
A pair of guards stood outside my door at all hours. Silent. Motionless. The kind of posture only people with spears and severe digestion issues could manage. They did not speak. They did not blink. They did not make eye contact. It felt like if I so much as sneezed, they would slap a talisman on my forehead and declare an emergency exorcism.
I was not under arrest. But I also was not exactly free.
I was a walking rumor. A sacred complication. A political question mark with excellent cheekbones and deeply inconvenient timing. No one, not the Queen, not the ministers, not even the King himself, seemed to know what to do with me.
Which, to be fair, neither did I.
I had just managed to talk the guards into letting me open a window (a small one, thank you very much) when Xiaohua burst into the room like a scandal wrapped in silk.
"Miss Mei Lin!" she whisper-hissed, practically vibrating. "You are not going to believe what I just heard in the kitchen!"
I gave her a look. "Xiaohua, I'm a political mystery box on lockdown. At this point, I absolutely will believe it."
She leaned in, eyes wide. "There's a cook who swears she saw you walk past the reflecting pool and the water rippled toward you."
"…It was windy."
"No wind." She held up a dramatic finger. "And a seamstress says her goldfish bowed when you walked by. Bowed, Miss Mei Lin!"
"Okay, now that's impressive."
Xiaohua nodded like she had just delivered a divine truth. "And Yuling—" she pulled me toward the inner screen like we were about to commit a felony— "Yuling swears there's a group of nobles in the East Wing who've already started offering fruits to your portrait."
"…What portrait?"
"They drew one. With watercolors."
"You mean," I said slowly, "they invented a religion and painted me in watercolor?"
Before she could answer, Yuling herself appeared behind the screen, smirking like she had eaten a secret.
"I told you," she said, arms crossed. "Some lady in the Orchid Pavilion left a mooncake and three lotus seeds at the koi pond last night. And someone else lit incense at the fountain and called it the Shrine of the Gentle Tidal Empress."
Xiaohua gasped. "That's YOU!"
"I am not gentle, and I do not have a shrine," I muttered, burying my face in my hands.
"Actually, you have two now," Yuling said cheerfully. "The kitchen maids have their own. They offer dumplings."
I groaned. "Great. I've gone from accused criminal to fish goddess with dumpling worship."
But the truth? It wasn't all worship.
Because while half the palace was building altars out of porcelain teacups and petitioning for rain blessings, the other half?
They were warding me off.
People started visiting temples just to burn incense against me—protection charms, cleansing rituals, even one monk who allegedly splashed holy water on the palace walls "just in case."
The chaos was total. And in the middle of it?
The Wang family walked away with a slap on the wrist.
While I was locked in a gold-threaded fishbowl, they threw around enough bribes to fund three libraries and a new garden wing. The ministers who backed their story quietly stepped away with "limited suspensions," which meant they were probably vacationing in their country estates drinking osmanthus wine.
And Yufei? Not even a bruise.
The Queen stepped in gracefully, coldly, and swept her precious Lady Wang beneath a silken rug of "misunderstood testimony" and "diplomatic sensitivity."
She didn't just avoid punishment. She got repackaged.
According to the latest scrolls, Lady Wang Yufei was now the brave and noble witness who helped reveal my divine nature.
Apparently, by slapping my maid and lying about me in court, she had "played a key role in unlocking the dormant spirit of the Water Goddess."
I was going to be sick.
"She's calling herself your spiritual midwife now," Yuling added.
Xiaohua clutched her chest. "Like she delivered you from a puddle!"
I blinked. "So she's the hero of my story now?"
"She's literally hosting tea gatherings to tell the tale," Yuling said. "There's a flyer."
"Oh for the love of dumplings," I muttered, collapsing onto a cushion. "I should've let the water hit her harder."
***
That night, long after the palace had gone quiet, after the incense smoke thinned and the moon climbed high enough to judge us all, my door creaked open.
Softly. Carefully.
And Ming Yu slipped inside.
He wore no formal robes, just a dark tunic, his hair slightly mussed, sword at his hip. He moved like a shadow, controlled and efficient, and closed the door behind him with a soft click.
"I told the guards I was inspecting the perimeter," he said, not looking at me yet. "Technically true. I just didn't specify whose perimeter."
I sat up on the lounge, blinking at him. "You know they think I'm going to flood the palace if I sneeze too hard, right?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Then let's hope you're not allergic to idiocy. There's a lot of it going around."
A laugh escaped me in short, surprised, too welcome.
He stepped closer, the candlelight catching faint gold in his eyes. And now that I could really look at him… he looked tired. Like he hadn't slept since the trial. But his gaze, when it met mine, was steady.
"You okay?" he asked softly.
I hesitated.
Then nodded. "Define 'okay.' If you mean 'not drowned in a moonlit lotus pool,' then yes."
He gave the ghost of a smile. "And emotionally?"
"Trapped in my room, being worshipped and exorcised by turns. Watched like a weapon. Oh, and Yufei's the hero now. So, mildly homicidal."
His jaw clenched, but his eyes stayed warm. "I wanted to come sooner. They've locked down access to you tighter than the imperial vault."
"And yet, here you are," I said, quieter now.
I looked at him then, really looked.
Not the polished cultivator. Not a noble.
Just Ming Yu.
Fierce. Flawed. Steady.
Mine.
And for once, I stopped thinking.
I stepped into him slowly, hesitantly, until there was nothing but warmth and breath between us. His eyes searched mine for half a heartbeat. Then he leaned in, closing the distance.
The kiss was soft at first. Careful. A question asked in silence.
But then his arms wrapped around me, pulling me in, holding me like he'd wanted to since the moment I was dragged away. Like he didn't care that I might be a goddess or a monster or something in between.
His mouth brushed against mine again—this time firmer, more certain. I let myself sink into it. Just for a moment.
When we finally pulled apart, I rested my forehead against his chest. His hand slid up my back in a slow, grounding stroke.
"I wish we had more time," I murmured.
He exhaled against my hair. "So do I."
We stood like that, just breathing, in the quiet hush of flickering candlelight.
Then his tone changed, gentle, but heavier.
"There's going to be a gathering tomorrow," he said softly. "The King, the Queen, the ministers… They're going to decide what to do with you."
I stiffened in his arms.
"Decide?" I echoed.
He nodded, jaw tightening against my temple. "They're calling it a consultation. But you and I both know what that means."
"They think I'm a threat," I whispered.
"They think you're unpredictable," he corrected. "And unpredictable things scare people in power."
I pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. "Are you scared of me?"
His expression didn't waver.
"No," he said simply. "I'm scared for you."
He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, then added, "Whatever happens tomorrow… I'll be there. Right beside you."
I smiled and nodded
Ugh.
This man.
Annoyingly hot. Annoyingly romantic.
And I absolutely could not live without him.