Apparently, in order to maximize conception, the ritual needed to happen four nights in a row.
Why?
Because Yuling's ovulation window—according to my very scientific, modern-world tracking system—fell into the most statistically optimal alignment for fertilization.
So, lucky us.
Four nights.
Four vials.
Four soul-shattering rounds of coordination, stress, and deeply intimate logistics.
We looked like survivors of a spiritual sex marathon no one signed up for.
Even Lan Wangji looked emotionally compromised.
Yuling was radiant and sleep-deprived.
Wei Wuxian had developed a permanent eye twitch and kept muttering about how "this better work or we're never doing this again."
And Ming Yu?
He dragged me off after every "ritual," like clockwork.
Silent. Heated. Desperate.
Too tired to talk, too worked up to stop.
He never said a word about the moaning or the timing or the fact that I was still the one administering everything. He just grabbed me after the job was done, marched me back to the secret chamber, and…
Well. You know.
By the end of the week, even the palace walls felt awkward. We'd stopped holding our usual gatherings. Too tired. Too flustered. Too busy pretending not to be emotionally compromised.
And then came the gossip. It hit the palace like a dropped gong. Prince Wei Wuxian had been with his new consort, Yuling, four nights in a row.
Four.
By the time it reached Yufei, it had grown teeth and talons. She heard that they were "madly in love," that she was already glowing, that Wei Wuxian had gifted Yuling a jade comb passed down from the first queen herself.
None of that was true.
But Yufei didn't care.
She was seething. Humiliation oozed from her like cheap perfume. Her voice could peel paint for two corridors. She marched straight to the Inner Court Bureau and demanded her consummation schedule.
Three dates.
The first night, Wei Wuxian "fell ill." Fever. Sweating. Too weak to walk. He even threw in a fake cough for flair.
The second night? He "tripped" over a ceremonial incense pot and claimed a back injury. Lan Wangji nearly dislocated something trying not to roll his eyes.
Which left us with one last date:
We don't know the date. And we were running out of excuses. I sat slumped on the chair with a steaming cloth over my eyes. "We need a plan," I muttered. "Or Wei Ying is going to have to fake his own death."
Wei Wuxian groaned from the corner, where he was lying face-down on a cushion like a decorative corpse.
"I can't do it," he mumbled. "I can't touch her. I'll die. She smells like powdered rage and disappointment."
"You should've thought of that before agreeing to marry two women," I snapped.
"I agreed to marry one. The other was a setup!"
"She's always a setup."
Ming Yu sighed. "We need a new excuse."
Lan Wangji, who had just entered with fresh tea, said dryly, "Perhaps try something that doesn't involve tripping or dying this time."
"I could fake a spiritual injury," Wei Wuxian offered. "Say I strained my qi lines."
"Do you want them to check?" I asked. "You'll end up in the Healing Pavilion on bed rest with six disciples chanting over your groin."
He flopped back down with a dramatic ugh.
"I'll do anything. Just don't make me touch her."
"Doging… Doging," I muttered, I got up and started pacing in circles. "What to do…"
Yuling piped up from the corner, sipping goji tea. "We just need to buy time. A few more days. Enough to either fake a dream sign or start another palace scandal to distract everyone."
I stopped pacing. The idea came to me.
"No," I said slowly. "We don't need a distraction."
Everyone looked at me.
"We need to switch the date."
Lan Wangji raised a brow. "You would falsify an inner court document?"
"Yes," I said. "Exactly that."
Wei Wuxian perked up. "Now that's the Mei Lin I married for chaos."
I ignored him. "If I can sneak into the Inner Court Bureau and swap the scrolls then change Yufei's scheduled night to something harmless and far away—we buy ourselves some time."
Ming Yu folded his arms. "You're not going alone."
"Yes, I am," I replied. "Too many people increases the chance of getting caught. I'm small. I'm fast. I've watched enough ancient palace dramas to know where the records are kept."
I pulled my hair up into a quick twist, yanked on a servant's cloak, and was gone before anyone could argue.
***
The Inner Court Bureau was quiet at night.
Scroll racks loomed like stone soldiers, color-coded by department, tied with perfect ribbon, each seal pressed with the smug precision of imperial order.
I crept between them like a shadow wrapped in silk slippers. My heart thudded like it was trying to escape my chest.
Find the marital schedules. Switch the date. Get out.
Simple. Except… it wasn't.
Just as I put down my fake scroll marked "Yufei" on a pile and grabbed the real one, a throat cleared behind me. I spun, panic bursting through me, already halfway to some ridiculous excuse I hadn't finished writing—
And froze.
He stood there, tall, regal, and infuriatingly composed.
Robes of deep indigo. Hair tied back with a silver pin. A face so devastatingly well-formed it felt like a personal attack.
Not Ming Yu level handsome, of course—no one was.
But this man?
He looked like a Chinese celebrity reincarnated as a dynasty general—like someone who walked straight off a Gucci runway and into a war council. The kind of face you'd expect to see trending on Weibo, paired with captions like 'nation's crush' or 'general of our hearts.' He had the energy of a man born under a constellation that promised sin, power, and flawless posture. If a K-drama villain and a historical drama lead had a love child raised on discipline and danger, it would be him.
And the moment our eyes met—something cracked.
My head pulsed. A sharp ache bloomed behind my temple. A flash of heat rippled through my chest, then tightened in my ribs.
Ache. Longing. Familiarity.
Like my body remembered something my mind couldn't. His gaze lingered. Not long enough to be inappropriate—just long enough to hurt.
Then it was gone. The wall went up behind his eyes, and his expression reset into polite amusement.
"Oh no," I blurted, blinking hard, trying to shake off the sudden pressure in my chest.
He raised an eyebrow. "Not the greeting I expected."
"Who are you? You're not supposed to be here," I hissed.
"I could say the same," he replied, calm as ever. His voice was low, smooth—silk with a hidden blade. "You're standing in front of sealed records. Dressed as a servant. At midnight."
My stomach dropped. "Please tell me you're just a lost nobleman with a pretty face and extremely poor timing."
He smiled faintly. "I've been called worse."
And then I heard it. Footsteps. A second voice. Guards? A clerk? Panic shot through me. My grip on the scroll tightened.
The man glanced toward the door. Then—without a word—he reached out, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me behind a hanging scroll.
His body pressed against mine, his robe enveloping us both. The scent of sandalwood, ink, and something colder curled around me.
We were suddenly very, very close.
I could feel the shape of his breath. The heat of him through silk. The composure hiding something barely restrained beneath his skin.
"You really should work on your stealth," he murmured. "Or at least your excuses."
I looked up at him, still dazed, still trying to process the ache in my chest. "Why are you helping me?"
He tilted his head, gaze flicking again toward the approaching voices.
"I'm bored," he said. "And you're interesting."
Great. I was midnight entertainment for a bored aristocrat with unfair cheekbones.
"Also," he added, almost lazily, "I like women who break rules. Especially in the right shoes."
I glanced down. Black cloth slippers. No embroidery. Definitely not worth seducing anyone in.
Fan-tas-tic.
Before I could snark back, the voices got too close. He moved again—quick, fluid, impossibly silent.
His arm slid around my waist.
We slipped through the archives like a breeze between reeds—turning, weaving, past rows of bridal registries and elevation decrees. Then a narrow door. Unmarked. Shadowed.
He opened it and guided me through just as the guards entered the main chamber. The door closed behind us with a soft click. I sagged against the stone corridor wall, lungs burning.
His hand was still on my waist.
"You okay?" he asked, voice lower now. Intimate.
"I…" I nodded. "That was…"
"Reckless. Clumsy. And weirdly charming."
I blinked up at him. "You're enjoying this."
"Wouldn't you?"
I narrowed my eyes. "You're way too calm for someone who just helped a stranger commit schedule-based treason."
"Oh," he said, adjusting a cuff with maddening elegance, "Who said you're a stranger?"
"…You know who I am?"
"Of course."
"Then what's your name?"
He smiled again—wider this time. But there was something behind it.
Something that looked like pain.
Then he stepped back, gave a slow, mocking bow, and said, "Until next time… Consort Li." And before I could demand a name, a title, or a reason why looking at him made my heart ache like it was grieving, he vanished down the corridor like he'd never been there at all.
***
I slipped back into the prince's quarters just before midnight, breath still uneven, heart still hammering like it owed me money.
Yuling was asleep at the table with a scroll stuck to her face. Lan Wangji was meditating like he wasn't surrounded by chaos. Ming Yu was pacing, arms crossed, scowling deep. And Wei Wuxian looked like he'd aged ten years.
"You're late," Ming Yu snapped the moment I stepped through the door.
"I'm alive," I countered, tossing off the servant cloak and flopping onto the rug.
"You got it?" Yuling asked, lifting her head.
I pulled a scroll from inside my sleeve and dropped it on the table.
"Yufei's scheduled night has been officially moved… to next month's ceremonial fast."
Wei Wuxian sat up so fast he nearly dislocated something. "That's the week no one's allowed to consummate, right? A few months away?"
"Correct," I said proudly. "I picked it for irony."
He let out a choked laugh. "Goddess bless you."
I waved a hand. "No need to thank me. Just remember this when I inevitably ask you to bust me out of prison again someday."
Lan Wangji raised a brow but said nothing.
Ming Yu still looked suspicious. "You're sure no one saw you?"
I nodded. "Of course. I was a shadow. A whisper. A professional."
Which was technically true.
I just didn't mention the random noble with the unfair cheekbones who'd dragged me behind a tapestry and helped me escape the guards like it was a casual Tuesday night.
That part could wait.