Return Voyage to Medang — Week One at Sea
The ocean looked calm.
Seagulls flew low.
Waves whispered softly under a bright morning sky.
But the main deck… burned hotter than hell.
Diplomacy died. Emotion took command.
Chen sat in their cabin, unusually serious.
"Srimadu… I've tried to stay silent. But I can't anymore."
Sri sharpened her dagger without looking at him.
"If you've decided to stay silent, then don't talk."
Chen inhaled slowly.
"I want you to step down as Senapati Anom."
Silence.
Then—
TING!
The dagger struck the wall behind him.
"If I'm not a commander, then I'm not Sri."
Chen stood, trying to stay calm.
"I just… I can't bear it. The thought of losing you again—like in my palace.
If it happens once more, Sri… I'll burn the world again."
"Then don't love me as a soldier," she answered, eyes steady as steel.
Chen froze.
Sri walked out, leaving him alone — chest tight, pulse burning.
The Ship Becomes a War Zone
Since that fight:
1. Sri moved to the training deck to sleep.
2. Chen wrote passive-aggressive poetry on the sails.
3. Even the wind started blowing sideways.
Emergency Meeting of the Perpetual Victims: Raka, Mei Lin, and Han Yue
Location: Logistics storage near salted-fish barrels.
Mei Lin slammed a pot.
"THIS HAS TO END!"
Han Yue murmured, calm as always:
"If this lasts another week, I'm jumping overboard."
Raka sighed.
"We need to make them reconcile.
If not, Chen's emotional storm might sink the ship."
Reconciliation Strategies of Chen's Collateral Damage
Raka invited Sri to train — but "accidentally" mentioned Chen's name every three minutes.
"Say his name once more, Raka, and I'll use you as a punching bag."
Mei Lin cooked Sri's favorite dish — using Yi Dynasty recipes.
Sri only sniffed it and muttered,
"It smells like one thing: frustration."
Han Yue slipped one of Chen's handwritten love poems under Sri's door.
Sri replied with a blank sheet of paper — with a single strand of her hair attached.
(Chen, later: "She left her hair… Is that a signal?!")
Chen's Final Tactic — Seduction as Diplomacy
"I can't win a commander with logic," he admitted.
"But she's not immune… to other forms of strategy."
He prepared meticulously:
Lighting: only jasmine-scented candles.Drinks: honey-spiked tea (secretly ordered from the royal physician).Attire: a minimalist war uniform, sleeveless, perfectly showcasing two weeks of "stress training."
That night, the sea outside breathed like an old man in meditation — slow, steady, honest.
Inside, only the sound of waves… and tension.
Sri sat by the round window, back straight, shoulders heavy. The night air touched her skin; her heart wasn't as cold as she pretended.
There was still a spark buried under the ashes of anger and silence.
It wasn't hatred — it was restraint.
Then came the creak of a door. She knew the rhythm of those steps — too confident for a soldier, too alive for a ghost.
Chen. Of course.
"May I come in?" he asked softly.
He was already inside.
"Still angry?"
His tone was warm wine — sweet at first, intoxicating later.
Sri didn't answer.
She stirred her cold tea, measuring which words wouldn't ignite another war.
Chen smiled faintly. He knew her silence wasn't peace.
"Srimadu," he whispered, moving closer,
"You know I hate being ignored."
Sri's eyes stayed on the dark sea.
"And I hate when wars are mixed with feelings."
Her voice was calm — but sharp as a freshly whetted blade. Chen almost laughed.
"You call that feelings?"
He leaned closer, his scent — faint spice and salt — cutting through her logic.
"You think I can separate you from them?"
"Don't start, Chen."
"Start what?"
His fingers tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"Honesty?"
Their eyes locked — a duel in silence.
When his lips finally met hers, the world outside stilled. Only the pulse of waves, heartbeats, and the scandalous curiosity of the ocean remained.
The kiss wasn't peace — it was a ceasefire. Inside it lived another war: between pride and something far deadlier. Chen broke the kiss, panting lightly, eyes gleaming.
"Finally," he murmured, "my iron-hearted general… softens."
Sri almost hit him — but instead, she laughed, half bitter, half sweet.
"Soft doesn't mean defeated."
He chuckled, and in one swift motion, lifted her — easily, like she weighed nothing at all.
"You're right," he whispered near her ear.
"But I've always loved a battlefield that fights back."
Before she could retort, his lips found hers again — deeper, truer. The waves outside crashed louder, as if the sea itself blushed.
Chen whispered against her breath, voice low and rough:
"If my Srimadu can't pull the spear from my heart…
at least let me pull mine from yours."
Sri didn't resist.
That night, the ship tilted — but not from any storm.
The Morning After — Chen's Tactical Victory
Sri slept peacefully, worn out but serene.
Chen, bare-chested in thin silk, stood beside her bed with a strategist's grin.
"Step one: calm her heart.
Step two: demote her rank.
Step three: make her train recruits in modest uniforms."
By sunrise, they were back on deck — smiling, composed, suspiciously glowing.
Chen gently tied her hair.
Han Yue muttered from the shadows:
"Why do I feel like this was His Highness's plan all along?"
Mei Lin replied dryly:
"Because it was."
Raka sighed.
"I've realized… I'm just a pawn on Lu Han's chessboard."
Mei Lin patted his shoulder.
"Welcome to the Chen Victims' Club. We have shirts."
Chen looked out to sea, smirking directly into the horizon —as if staring straight into an invisible camera.
"One week left till Medang.
Plenty of time to make sure my wife stops loving her sword…
and starts loving me completely."