The next morning, we called a meeting.
Not a war council. Not a divine intervention session. Just a deeply awkward sit-down to establish what could only be described as spiritual possession ground rules.
Rule number one: No hugging, no touching, and absolutely no kissing any of the men we love.
Not until we figure out how to reverse whatever lingering side effect from the Soulthread Array left me soul-bound and body-benched.
To say the news went over poorly would be… generous.
Ming Yu's face went white, then red, then somewhere between brokenhearted and quietly planning to stab the air. Shen Kexian went very still—too still. Which, for him, meant either deep contemplation or emotional shutdown. Hard to tell.
We did not tell them that Lianshui had been awake the entire time, watching, listening, feeling everything for over a year.
Because let's be honest—that would've given both of them an instant soul collapse.
We simply said she had been "semi-dormant" and alerted when fighting and could feel my emotion sometimes.
Even Wei Wuxian—who normally had a joke for everything—looked a little off.
Lan Wangji said nothing, as expected, but the way he quietly inched away from Lianshui like she might suddenly levitate and announce a forgotten prophecy was… telling.
Lianshui, of course, didn't blame them.
She just sat there, serene and composed, folding her hands in her lap and smiling politely like she was the hostess of a very delicate tea party and not the reason half the room was internally combusting.
Whenever someone asked a question, she waited for me to think of the answer.
Then she spoke it aloud.
We had the group story polished, rehearsed, and delivered in soft, non-threatening tones and now that the collective panic had settled into stunned silence, it was time to face the real fallout.
One-on-one.
We sent Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji away—not because we didn't need them, but because we needed them more than we needed their discomfort.
We asked them—begged them—to find anything that might reverse the side effect of the Soulthread Array. A ritual. A seal. A sliver of forbidden knowledge hidden in a dusty scroll in some forgotten temple.
If there was a way to give me my body back—to let Lianshui return to her rest without erasing either of us—we'd try it.
Once we sent them away, which unfortunately, meant starting with the person I was most terrified of hurting.
Ming Yu.
We asked Xiaohua to fetch him. She didn't ask questions—just gave me a strange, concerned look before slipping out. She'd known something was off since the moment Lianshui had spoken instead of me.
A few minutes later, he stepped into the room and the moment I saw him, I broke a little inside.
He looked… wrecked.
Not in the obvious way. Not messy or frantic. But in that Ming Yu kind of way—controlled on the outside, composed, but every line in his face carved deeper. His eyes were tired, dark with something heavier than confusion. Like he hadn't slept. Like he couldn't sleep. Like his thoughts were a maze and he couldn't find the exit.
Still, his robes were neat, his steps perfectly measured. Because even falling apart, Ming Yu knew how to look like he wasn't.
Lianshui rose as he entered, moving with the kind of grace that only made the gap between us feel wider. She folded her hands in front of her and bowed politely, her voice soft and pleasant.
"Advisor Liu," she said, nodding slightly, "please… have a seat."
Advisor Liu?
Oh gods.
It was like watching a stranger use my face to address him like a diplomatic visitor from another kingdom. And his reaction—
His expression cracked, just a little. Like someone had just quietly slapped him.
He froze for half a second too long before moving, his eyes scanning her—me—as if trying to find even a flicker of the girl he loved inside the form in front of him.
And he didn't find it. Because I wasn't there. Not really. Not where he could reach. But he sat anyway.
Lianshui turned toward Ming Yu with that same gentle grace that somehow made the air feel softer, even when everything was still cracked wide open.
"Advisor Liu," she said delicately, "Miss Mei Lin would like to say something to you."
Her hands rested in her lap, perfectly still.
"I may not deliver it perfectly," she added, "but these will be her own words."
Then—just like that—she let me speak.
Not out loud, not in control, but thought by thought, sentence by sentence.
And she repeated each one, her voice gentle, careful, trying to carry my meaning with every breath.
"Ming Yu," she began, "I'm so sorry to put you in this situation. The Soulthread Array… was my idea. Well, technically it was Wei Wuxian's, but I'm not going to blame him for it. Even if I kind of want to."
Ming Yu let out a faint breath—not quite a laugh. Not yet.
"I didn't mean for this to happen. I thought I was protecting us. And now I've caused a mess… and I have no way to fix it."
Lianshui paused for a beat. Then added softly, "Yet."
I felt her smile behind the word.
"But I'm still here," she continued, steady. "I hope you can wait for me."
Ming Yu's eyes flicked up. Just a little.
"If you don't want to wait… I understand. I really do."
Another pause.
"Just… please don't find a second Wang Yufei-like girl to fill the void. I don't think your poor head—or your blood pressure—can take it."
At that, Lianshui giggled—quiet, breathy, perfectly timed.
And Ming Yu—He smiled. A crack of light through the fog.
Lianshui tilted her head, just slightly. "Do you have any questions?" she asked, on my behalf.
He looked at her—at us—for a long time.
And finally, in a voice soft and strained, he said,
"Only one."
His gaze didn't waver as he looked straight at her.
"Not for Mei Lin," he clarified gently. "For you, Lianshui."
Lianshui froze. And honestly? So did I.
"Don't you want to be with Shen Kexian?"
His voice wasn't accusing. There was no sharpness in it. Just quiet, honest pain.
Lianshui's lips parted slightly, but it took her a moment before she could answer.
"I do," she said, her voice like water slipping over stone. "I love him… so much."
She looked down at her hands, folded neatly in her lap like she needed something to hold on to.
"But I think… my time with him may already be over."
She lifted her eyes again—steady, full of calm resolve. "And she loves you, Advisor Liu. Deeply. Fiercely. I've felt it all. Every joy, every fear, every time your name filled her heart so fully it nearly knocked the breath from her."
I didn't know how to react. It was kind. Too kind. And it hurt in the way kindness always does when you know you don't deserve it.
"If there's a path forward for you two," she said, "I won't be the one to block it."
Ming Yu took a long breath, nodding once.
"Thank you," he said softly.
He stood then, slowly, like the weight in his chest had shifted but not disappeared. He turned to leave—Then stopped.
And in that pause, he turned back, crossed the space between us in two quiet steps, and wrapped his arms around me. Firm. Full of memories. Full of us. He held me like he remembered everything—even if I wasn't the one holding him back.
He leaned close, his lips brushing near my ear. "I'll wait."
And then, just like that, he pulled away and left. The door shut behind him.
I was still reeling.
Okay, I whispered inside, so much for the no-touching rule.
Lianshui simply chuckled, the sound warm and soft and said, "It felt like something he needed to do."
And I… couldn't argue with that.
***
To rip the bandage off quickly—before I could second-guess myself or spiral into full internal panic—it was time.
Time to talk to Shen Kexian. Xiaohua brought him in.
And the moment he stepped into the room, all of his usual sharpness, confidence, and silent-sword-master energy evaporated.
He went straight to Lianshui, kneeling slightly to meet her eye level, voice low and uncharacteristically soft.
"Lianshui," he asked gently, "are you alright?"
The tone he used?
Like she was glass. Or a child. Or a fragile treasure that might crumble if spoken to too harshly.
And I—
I broke.
Oh my god. Who is this man? What did you do with Shen Kexian? Why are you speaking like the wind might bruise her?
I laughed. Loud. Internally. It echoed in my brain like bells in a canyon.
Lianshui blushed immediately, hands folding delicately in her lap. "I'm alright," she said softly.
Shen Kexian blinked, clearly sensing something was off, though I don't think he could tell it was me inside my own head, wheezing. Still chuckling mentally, I nudged her: Okay okay, say it now before I completely lose it.
Lianshui turned to him again and said gently, "Kexian… Miss Mei Lin would like to have a word with you first."
That landed. He paused. His whole expression shifted—just slightly—but enough to see it. The faintest tension in his jaw. A flicker of nervousness in his eyes. And something else layered beneath it. Guilt, maybe. Hope?
I wasn't sure. But he nodded slowly.
"All right," he said.
All right, I thought, squaring my metaphorical shoulders. Let's do this.
As soon as Lianshui gave me the mental green light, I launched in.
And she—faithful translator that she was—repeated every word aloud.
"Well, congratulations," she said in my voice, but with her calm cadence. "Your brilliant Soulthread idea? It backfired. Now I'm stuck in the spiritual passenger seat of my own body."
Shen Kexian blinked. Then, like clockwork, that corner of his mouth twitched.
Not a smile. But close.
"I don't recall personally recommending you use it with me," he said dryly.
"Right, you just stood there looking smug while I convinced everyone it was totally safe," Lianshui repeated, as I kept going. "Now I'm living in a goddess timeshare."
Shen Kexian's eyes softened, barely—but the flicker of concern returned behind the amusement.
"She's… really in there, isn't she?" he said quietly, this time not to Lianshui, but to me.
And I wanted to scream yes. Instead, Lianshui simply nodded and murmured, "Every word."
His shoulders dropped a fraction—relief, maybe, or something heavier.
"Good," he said. Then, almost to himself, "It's good to know you're still here."
And for once… I didn't have a comeback.
"Now," Lianshui said gently, her hands folded in her lap, "it's time for us to fix this."
Then, tilting her head, she added, "Do you have any idea how we might do that?"
She was asking for me. Obviously. Shen Kexian didn't answer right away.
His expression grew thoughtful—too quiet, too unreadable. Then, without warning, he reached forward and gently took her hand.
NOPE. NO NO NO. ABORT. RED ALERT. ABSOLUTELY NOT.
LIANSHUI—WE TALKED ABOUT THIS.
I was mentally flailing.
Lianshui, to her credit, blinked once and calmly turned to him.
"Miss Mei Lin," she said sweetly, "would like to ask if you could kindly remove your hand."
Her voice stayed polite, composed. Not even a hint of the internal screaming happening on my end.
"We are currently under a strict no-touch policy," she added, "for both you and Advisor Liu."
Shen Kexian's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Then, of course, he smiled. That infuriating, quiet little curve of smugness that always made me want to slap him with a rolled-up scroll.
"I'm checking the connection," he said, tone casual—too casual.
Of course you are, I complained internally. Of course that's your excuse. Next you'll be "checking the pulse of my spiritual alignment" by cradling my face?
Then Shen Kexian closed his eyes.
At first, warmth. His spiritual energy flooded into us, slow and steady, like sunlight seeping through the cracks of an old door. It was golden, familiar, gentle in its intensity. It wrapped around us like silk—fluid, weightless, deliberate.
But then— He opened his eyes. And everything shifted.
I felt it immediately—the edge, the tension coiled just beneath the surface. That soft, golden current twisted mid-flow. It tilted. Sharpened.
Rage.
And I knew that feeling. I had seen it before.
In battle—when we fought side by side, just weeks ago. When his water blade cut through the enemy like a whisper through water. When his expression remained still, unreadable, and yet every movement radiated fury that could drown entire armies.
He was furious then. Controlled. Lethal.
And now—he was channeling that into us.
Lianshui gasped, her composure cracking as the force of it struck her. Her hand instinctively tried to pull away.
No! I screamed inside, panic flaring. Lianshui, don't pull—just hold on—!
And then, in a blink, it stopped. Shen Kexian pulled back. The surge of power vanished like it had never been there.
Only the echo of it remained, thrumming in our limbs like a warning, like something ancient had brushed too close to the edge.
Lianshui was shaking. She folded her hands tightly in her lap, the motion small and deliberate, like she needed something to anchor herself, to remind her she was still in control.
Lianshui, I asked, breathless in thought, are you alright? What happened? Why didn't you counter him?
She didn't answer right away. Her gaze had dropped to her hand—still trembling faintly. Her brows knit gently, confusion flickering across her otherwise calm face. Like she didn't understand her own body. Like something deeply familiar had slipped away without warning.
"I couldn't," she said softly.
Her voice was steady, quiet, composed—but the weight behind those two words sank into me like stone.
Shen Kexian exhaled—a slow, heavy breath full of something I couldn't quite name. Frustration. Guilt. Fear.
"This is a new problem," he said, his tone low. The smugness was gone. Replaced by something sharper, colder. He was calculating now. Already shifting into damage assessment.
Shen Kexian did say anything for a while but then his expression softened just enough to shift the mood. He leaned forward slightly, his voice gentler now—curious, but cautious.
"Lianshui," he said, "how did you feel every time I fought alongside Mei Lin?"
She blinked slowly, considering it. Her brows drew in the smallest amount—not confusion exactly, but a kind of careful reflection.
"And what was different… earlier?" he added.
Lianshui paused. Thought. Her hand brushed lightly against her chest, as though the answer was somewhere in her ribs.
Finally, she said quietly, "Something was missing."
Shen Kexian tilted his head, eyes narrowing just slightly. "What was missing?"
There was another pause.
Then she answered, "Miss Mei Lin's feeling. I couldn't feel hers."
Wait, WHAT?
I felt like I'd just been kicked in the brain.
What do you mean you couldn't feel me?! I was right here!
Lianshui blinked again, softly repeating, "Her feeling is usually there, beneath mine. Like warmth under the water. But earlier… it was gone."
Gone??
What do you mean GONE?! Define gone. Emotionally distant? Mildly ghosted? Hello?!
But Shen Kexian didn't look surprised.
"Is it…" Shen Kexian hesitated, then asked, more carefully, "the feeling toward me?"
I'm sorry—WHAT?
My brain short-circuited.
What feeling toward you?? Shen Kexian, why on earth would you even—
But he wasn't joking. His voice was too soft. Too serious. Like he'd been carrying that question for far too long and finally dared to give it shape.
Lianshui shifted—just slightly, but I felt the flicker of unease beneath it.
And then—she nodded.
LIANSHUI??
What do you mean?
What do you MEAN?!
I was internally screaming into a void.
Shen Kexian's expression didn't change much, but I knew him well enough by now to read what was underneath. He wasn't surprised. He'd suspected. Maybe even hoped.
Lianshui finally whispered, "She didn't know."
Then she glanced up at Shen Kexian, eyes clear and gentle. "And you probably didn't either."
That made him freeze.
For the first time since he walked in, Shen Kexian looked… off balance. His gaze flicked to her face like he was searching for something—anything—to hold onto.
"Lianshui, I—"
"Don't even try to fool me," she interrupted, voice still calm but laced with quiet knowing. "I've known you long enough, Kexian."
Know him long enough to what?!
WHAT are we talking about here??
My internal screaming was already halfway to volume ten. I was pacing in spiritual circles like a very flustered ghost with no emergency exit.
Lianshui sighed softly and gave a serene little smile to Shen Kexian. "One moment."
Then she turned her gaze inward—toward me.
"Miss Mei Lin," she said sweetly, "please calm down for a moment. Let me finish explaining, and you may scream after."
I… froze. I had nothing.
Even I couldn't argue with that level of polite, divine authority.
Shen Kexian let out a sudden chuckle—the first real sound of amusement I'd heard from him since this whole situation exploded.
I mentally crossed my arms. Fine. I'll wait. But the second you're done explaining, I'm grabbing a spiritual megaphone and we're going to have WORDS.
Lianshui smiled again—because of course she heard that too.
"Kexian," Lianshui said softly, folding her hands in her lap, "you loved me. I know that."
Her voice didn't tremble. It didn't accuse. It simply was—truth laid bare in its most delicate form.
"But after you realized I was gone… you made peace with it. Didn't you?"
Shen Kexian's expression shifted—barely, but enough.
"Now I'm awake again," she continued, "and you're conflicted."
She looked at him—not coldly, but with the kind of softness that came from knowing someone too well to lie to them.
"That's because…" her gaze dropped, then lifted again, "…you've been in love with her all this time."
Oh gods.
My heart stopped in its metaphorical chest.
"I can feel it," Lianshui whispered. "Every time you made a connection. Every time your power touched us. The feeling that poured into me, it wasn't for me anymore."
She blinked once. Slowly.
"It was for her, wasn't it?"
Shen Kexian didn't speak. But he didn't need to. Because guilt was written all over his face.
Lianshui wasn't finished. She looked at Shen Kexian, her voice still soft, still steady.
"Miss Mei Lin feels something for you too."
I froze.
"She doesn't love you the way she loves Advisor Liu," Lianshui continued, kind but unwavering. "But it's there. Enough that she'll protect you when you're hurt. Enough that she would rather feel pain herself than let you suffer."
I didn't say a word.
Couldn't.
Because she was right. And the guilt that had been quietly simmering inside me cracked open like a dam.
Guilt for Ming Yu for the way he looked at me like I was everything, and I still couldn't keep my heart from trembling when Shen Kexian was near.
Guilt for Lianshui for waking her, for living in her body, for making her bear the weight of my life and love and fear.
And guilt for Shen Kexian himself for letting something grow between us that never should've existed in the first place.
This is such a mess.
Not just any mess.
An emotional disaster.
Shen Kexian didn't say anything at first.
He just sat there, eyes fixed on her, on us, as if searching for the right words in a language that no longer fit.
The silence stretched. Then, finally, he spoke.
"I'm sorry, Lianshui," he said quietly. "For putting you through this."
There was no defense. No bravado. Just that rare, stripped-down honesty he only ever offered when it was too late.
And then, without asking, without hesitating—he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her.
Pulled her in like he'd been holding the urge in his chest for years.
And all I could do was sit there, emotionally caged inside the same body and think:
Well. So much for the no-hug policy.
Guess that's just… completely irrelevant now. Not that I could blame him.
Because it wasn't just about now—it was everything. The years he thought she was gone. The relief. The grief. The guilt of moving on. The guilt of not moving on.
Lianshui didn't pull away. She let him hold her. Her arms moved with that same soft grace, resting around him—not tightly, not with expectation. Just presence. Familiar, forgiving.
And me?
I stayed quiet.
Because in that moment, I realized, things will get even more complicated.