Confluence: Goddess Reborn

I sent Xiaohua on a covert mission to find out if Yufei was actually pregnant, just some light espionage, nothing illegal, probably. She returned two days later looking like she'd aged ten years and had been spiritually crushed by a wall of polite smiles.

Apparently, Yufei hadn't left her quarters once, not even for fresh air or dramatic hallway pacing. Her servants, all from the Queen's handpicked inner staff, were so alarmingly composed they made stone statues look expressive, and every time Xiaohua tried to sneak a glance at anything suspicious (meals, medicine, belly size), she was met with a serene smile and redirected like a lost child at a festival. 

No one was allowed in. Nothing was left behind. Food came and went under strict watch, and the woman herself was apparently floating around her chambers like a mythical maiden with zero flaws and possibly zero digestive system. 

We had no signs, no schedule, no access, no proof. Either Yufei was actually pregnant, or she deserved an award for method acting.

At one point, she'll slip—she has to. No one can fake being pregnant for nine straight months, right? Eventually there has to be a baby, or at least a convincing pillow, and I refuse to believe even Yufei can maintain this level of perfectly choreographed fragility for that long without blinking.

Since subtlety failed, we sent in Wei Wuxian. We sent him to her quarters under the pretense of being the alleged father of the alleged child.

The idea was simple: create a distraction, stir the pot, maybe get a rise out of Yufei—emotionally or hormonally.

He went in that afternoon with a tray of "restorative herbs" and a grin I absolutely did not trust. He came back fifteen minutes later. Empty-handed. And mildly traumatized.

"She's fine," he said, slumping onto my couch. "Sitting on a mountain of pillows, smiling like a blessed phoenix. Surrounded by servants who stare at you like you're the one being inappropriate."

"You didn't see anything?" I asked.

He gave me a look. "She's covered in so many silk layers I couldn't even see if she had knees, let alone a baby bump."

Ming Yu, who had been quietly sharpening a hairpin in the corner, didn't even look up. "It's too early to tell."

"Exactly," Wei Wuxian muttered. "She could be pregnant. She could be possessed. She could be hiding a snack. Who knows."

Lan Wangji said nothing, but the sigh he let out felt deeply judgmental.

So that was it. No visible proof. No medical records. No nothing. Just a smug consort, a sealed room, and an entire palace pretending not to blink.

We could do nothing. Except wait.

***

That night, I was getting ready for bed. The room was quiet, lanterns dimmed to a soft gold, and Xiaohua had just brought in the evening tea. I was halfway through unpinning my hair when someone knocked.

A single, solid knock.

"Xiaohua?" I called out, not looking up. "Did you forget something?"

No answer.

That wasn't unusual. Sometimes she got distracted reorganizing the tea cart for the fifth time. But something about the silence—too long, too still—made me turn.

I crossed the room and opened the door. And there he was.

Shen Kexian.

Pale.

Clothes torn like someone had tried to carve a warning into him. His robe was soaked with blood—too much of it. Slashes down his sleeves, across his side, like he'd walked through a battlefield just to end up on my doorstep.

"Oh my god—Shen Kexian."

He looked at me, breath shallow. "I need a place to rest."

Then he sagged forward, catching himself with one hand against the doorframe, the other pressed weakly against his ribs.

I reached for him before I could think. "I'll get a healer—"

"No," he said, voice sharp and low. "You can't trust anyone."

That stopped me cold. He didn't elaborate. Didn't need to.

I slipped an arm around his waist—gods, he was heavier than he looked—and dragged him inside as fast as I could without dropping him.

"Xiaohua!" I shouted. "Now—go get Ming Yu. Right now."

She took one look at him, blanched, and sprinted off like her feet were on fire. I shut the door behind us, heart pounding.

Shen Kexian's blood was already staining the floor. His breath came in shallow, clipped gasps. He was trying not to collapse.

And all I could think was—Who did this to him? And what in the gods' names had he just brought to my door?

I didn't have time to think. I dragged him toward the sitting area and eased him down as gently as possible, which wasn't very gentle at all. He slumped against the cushions with a low groan, one arm curled around his side. Blood soaked through the layers of his robe and onto the floor like it had been waiting.

I snapped into motion. I grabbed my satchel, knocked the tea tray aside, and pulled out gauze, salves, whatever I had. I wasn't fully stocking my room with medical supplies so I pulled all the clothes that I have out.

I ripped open what was left of his robes.

There were three wounds. One across his chest, shallow but long. One at his ribs—deeper. And one across his back, still seeping blood through the fabric.

I pressed cloth to his side and barked, "What happened?"

He hissed but didn't flinch. "I went to investigate."

"Investigate what?" I asked, already dabbing the wound clean, checking for the depth.

"The Queen," he said. His voice was rough. Gritted through his teeth. "I got too close to something I wasn't supposed to see. The ones who attacked us were ordered by the queen."

My hands froze.

He went on. "This wasn't just a warning. This was a message. Or… a silencing attempt."

The cloth was already soaked through. I grabbed another, pressed harder. "You should've gone to the infirmary."

"I couldn't," he said. "It's compromised."

He lifted his head just slightly, eyes meeting mine through the haze of pain. "The only place I could think of was here."

That landed hard. Because it wasn't just that he trusted me. It was that he had no one else. Not for this.

The window burst open. Ming Yu vaulted through it like a shadow, landing in a crouch before standing fully upright, eyes scanning the room.

His gaze locked onto the blood. Then Shen Kexian.

Then me.

He looked stunned. Just for a breath.

I didn't let him process.

"Ming Yu," I said sharply, already reaching for more gauze. "I need your help. The wound on his back—I can't reach it."

He moved fast. Without a word, he crossed the room, dropped to one knee, and flipped Shen Kexian onto his side with careful strength.

Shen Kexian groaned faintly in protest but didn't fight it. I pressed the fresh cloth to the ragged cut across his back, breath tight. "Hold him steady."

Ming Yu braced his arm under Shen Kexian's shoulder while I worked, wrapping clean bandage over the worst of it, fingers moving quickly, efficiently. My hands were soaked, but I didn't stop.

Shen Kexian drifted in and out—conscious, but barely. The blood loss was worse than I thought.

"He needs medicine," Ming Yu said quietly. "Something stronger than what we have here."

I met his eyes. "We can't take him to the infirmary."

"I'll go," he said.

"No, it's being watched—"

"Not the royal one," he cut in. "The old training infirmary. No one pays attention to who goes in and out."

He was already standing, already moving.

"I'll get what you need," he said. "Just keep him alive."

Then he was gone—out the window again, like the only thing he trusted was speed. I was left kneeling beside Shen Kexian, pressing harder against the bleeding, heart hammering in my chest as I whispered, "You better not die on my couch, you dramatic bastard."

Xiaohua returned breathless, eyes wide, but didn't ask questions.

She took one look at the blood, gathered the soaked cloths and discarded bandages, and started scrubbing the floor in silence.

"I'll burn these," she said quietly, gathering the fabric into a bundle. "No one will find a trace."

I nodded, barely hearing her over the pounding of my own heartbeat. Shen Kexian's breathing had gone shallow. His eyelids fluttered. He was sweating now—his skin clammy, face too pale.

I knelt beside him, tried to shake him gently. "Hey. Hey, stay with me."

His head lolled slightly. I pressed a cool cloth to his temple, heart climbing higher with every second he didn't respond.

"Don't you dare fall asleep," I said. "Not on my couch. Not like this."

His fingers twitched. Then reached for mine. And suddenly, his grip was tight.

"Lianshui…" he murmured, barely audible.

I froze. That wasn't my name. His voice was hoarse, distant—half-aware. His hand clung to mine like it was the only thing tethering him to the room.

"Lianshui… don't go…"

His forehead was burning. The fever was setting in. I pressed the back of my hand to his cheek, panic knotting in my chest. "Shen Kexian—wake up."

But he didn't hear me. 

Ming Yu was back. He vaulted through the open window like a shadow given form, landing in a crouch without a sound. He crossed the room in two steps, setting down a small cloth-wrapped bundle of herbs, vials, and a jar of prepared tincture. His eyes scanned Shen Kexian, then flicked to our joined hands. He didn't say anything. Just knelt beside me.

"I got everything I could without raising suspicion," he said. "What happened? Who did this to him?"

I swallowed. "The queen."

Ming Yu's jaw tightened, but his hands were already moving—opening vials, crushing leaves into the bowl, mixing. No wasted motion. Just quiet focus.

"Let's get him through the night first," he said.

***

By dawn, Shen Kexian's fever had broken. He was still pale. Still weak. But his breathing had evened out, and the sweat had cooled on his brow. His pulse, faint hours ago, was finally steady under my fingers.

He would live. Ming Yu had stayed the whole night.

He didn't speak much. Just watched over us, handed me gauze when I needed it, adjusted Shen Kexian's blanket when it slipped. Silent, steady, present.

When the light began to spill across the edge of the window, I let my head rest lightly on his shoulder. Just for a moment. He didn't move. Didn't speak. Until finally, he said quietly, "The guard rotation will shift soon. I should go."

I lifted my head, reluctant to let go of the stillness we'd carved out.

He stood slowly, glancing toward the door, calculating in that way he always did—thinking three moves ahead.

"I'll come back later," he said. "Let me know if anything changes."

I rose with him and, without thinking, stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him.

A full embrace. Quiet. Warm.

"Thank you," I murmured into his chest. "For coming. For staying."

He held me just long enough for me to feel it in my bones. Then pulled back with a soft nod. No words. He didn't need them. He slipped out the window, careful, quiet.

And I turned back to Shen Kexian—still sleeping, still too pale.

For now, we'd keep him here. Hidden.