Confluence: Goddess Reborn

I must have fallen asleep.

Just for a few hours—curled up sideways in the chair, my arm half draped across the edge of the bed, one foot still in a slipper. Morning light poured into the room like it had been waiting for permission.

I stirred when I heard movement. A rustle of fabric. A breath, shallow but conscious. Then a voice—hoarse, but entirely too familiar.

"Is this the part where you admit you were worried about me?"

My eyes opened.

Shen Kexian was awake. His voice was rough and dry, and he looked like he'd fought a war with a wild boar and lost—but he was smirking.

"You're alive," I said flatly. "Tragic."

He shifted slightly, wincing, and let his head rest back against the pillow. "You're dodging the question."

"I'm ignoring it on purpose."

His eyes found mine, slow but sharp, like he was still piecing together the room. "You sat by my bedside all night?"

"No," I said. "That was Xiaohua. I just wanted to be here in case you died so I could tell people I told him not to go alone."

"Touching," he rasped. "Truly."

I handed him a cup of water. He took it with shaky fingers and drank slowly, eyes still on me like he was trying to catch something I wasn't saying.

"You know," he said, setting the cup down with effort, "if you were going to cradle my hand and whisper over my unconscious body, you could've at least kissed my forehead. For morale."

I blinked. "You were delirious."

"And yet even in my half-dead state," he murmured, "I still remember your voice."

"Because I was shouting at you not to bleed on my rug."

His lips curved faintly. "Ah. Romance."

I sighed, leaning back in the chair again. "You've been awake for two minutes and you're already insufferable."

He closed his eyes for a moment, still breathing carefully, then murmured, "You were worried."

I didn't respond. Because he wasn't wrong and I wasn't ready to admit it out loud. So I tried to change the subject.

"What happened to you anyway?" I asked quietly. "You said something about the Queen."

His expression shifted. The humor drained from his face, replaced by something colder. Sharper.

He exhaled slowly. "The cultivators that attacked us in the alley—they weren't random. I traced the trail back before they caught me."

I sat up straighter.

"They were hers," he said. "The Queen ordered it. Or someone under her direct command."

My mouth went dry. "She tried to kill us?"

"Possibly," he said. "She wanted us gone but that failed. Now she sent someone to silence me or warn me instead, not to interfere with her plan."

I stared at him. "But why? What is she planning?"

His eyes met mine. Steady. Heavy.

"She's plotting something," he said. "Something big. And I think it's already in motion."

A chill crawled up my spine.

"You know Yufei is pregnant, right?" I asked.

He gave a humorless smile. "Oh, she's pregnant alright."

I blinked. "She is??? How??? But—Wei Ying didn't—"

"Of course he didn't," Shen Kexian cut in, voice clipped. "That's the point. You all walked into it without thinking."

My stomach dropped.

"She knows him," he continued. "She knows he'd never touch her. The only way she could pull this off was to get him to spend one night in her quarters. One plausible night."

I stared at him, stunned.

So it had all been her plan. The drugging. The scandal. The illusion of a tryst. We thought we were sabotaging her. But we'd given her exactly what she wanted.

The story. The night. The excuse.

"So… the child's not his," I said slowly.

"Correct," Shen Kexian replied. "But now no one can question it. The timeline fits. The servants were already paid. The rumors planted."

I felt sick.

"And imagine," he added, voice low. "Even Yuling has a son. Even if Wei Wuxian is crowned, her child will always be next in line. And the Wang family? They'll make sure of it."

My throat tightened.

"They'll push Wei Wuxian out," he said. "Step by step. Until Yufei's son is the crown prince. And once that happens—"

"She'll rule through him," I finished quietly.

He didn't answer.

He didn't need to.

***

Shen Kexian ended up hiding in my room for the next two days.

Not exactly ideal.

He mostly slept, occasionally mumbled half-coherent political analysis in his sleep, and somehow still managed to look vaguely superior even while bleeding through bandages. I kept him alive. Xiaohua kept the door guarded. Ming Yu… kept getting more and more annoyed.

By day three, he'd had enough.

"You're harboring a half-dead noble spy in your bed chamber," Ming Yu said, standing just inside my doorway with the most composed expression I'd ever seen on someone actively seething.

"I'm harboring a national secret," I corrected.

He gave me a long look then sighed.

"Stay at Wei Ying's for a while," he said. "Please. I can't keep pretending this doesn't bother me."

I stared at him. "You want me to sleep in Wei Ying's quarters?"

"I trust him more than I trust myself not to start a fight with someone half-conscious."

So I packed a small bag, kissed Ming Yu's cheek in the shadows of a quiet corridor, and relocated.

Once Shen Kexian was strong enough to walk without wobbling, he did exactly what Shen Kexian would do. He re-entered the palace from the west. Clean robes, perfectly pressed.

A convenient cover story.

He bowed before the King, reported that he'd been away gathering intelligence on the attack, and would continue his investigation discreetly.

The Queen smiled.

And just like that—nothing had ever happened.

By evening, a new notice arrived in my chambers.

Training with Shen Kexian would resume the next day.

Of course it would.

As much as Shen Kexian strolled back into the palace like nothing had happened, it was obvious he wasn't fine.

He hid it well—shoulders straight, steps measured, voice smooth as ever—but I noticed the way he moved slower when he thought no one was looking. The way his hand would drift toward his side when he stood too long. The occasional wince he buried under sarcasm.

So when training resumed, we didn't go near the water basin.

No slicing dummies. No magical needles.

Just sitting.Breathing. Strengthening our connection.

It was frustrating.

Because I wanted to do more. To fix what I broke last time. To prove I could hold the power without blacking out. But he waved it off with that infuriating calm.

"We start with focus," he said, settling onto the mat like his ribs weren't still half-bruised. "You can't channel power if your mind's running around like an untrained dog."

"That's ironic," I muttered. "Given that you look like you were just hit by a cart."

"I was hit by two swords and a rooftop," he corrected, eyes closed. "There's a difference."

I sat across from him, letting my palms rest on my knees. After a long silence, I finally said what had been bothering me.

"That day—the fight. When you blasted those cultivators… I could barely stay upright. I nearly collapsed after the strike."

He opened his eyes, gaze steady. "You nearly collapsed because you treated it like a single move."

I frowned. "It was a single move."

"Exactly," he said. "And that's the problem."

He shifted, carefully, like every motion still had to be rationed. "In a real fight, you can't just channel everything into one big attack and hope the universe rewards you for drama. Fights are long. Messy. You hit. You dodge. You bleed. And then you keep going."

I looked at him. "So what, you want me to throw five water spears next time?"

"I want you to last," he said. "And yes—learn to dodge. You have magic. You don't have armor. It's time you learn how not to get skewered."

I sighed. "Great. So now I have to train my body and my emotions. Anything else?"

"Flexibility," he said. "And balance."

"Let me guess. Mentally and physically."

His lips twitched. "You're learning already."

Under all the annoyance, I knew he was right. If I was going to survive this—whatever this was turning into—I couldn't rely on power alone.

A few minutes into breathing practice—which mostly felt like me trying not to fall asleep—Shen Kexian stood up and walked to the side of the training room.

He walked to the far end of the training room without a word and pulled something down from the ceiling.

Ropes. With small sandbags tied to the ends.

I narrowed my eyes. "What is that?"

"Your next lesson," he said calmly, dragging them to the center of the room. He tied them to the overhead beam with practiced ease, each knot tight, even.

"Dodging."

I stared at the swinging ropes like they were about to declare war. "You're joking."

He didn't answer. Instead, he grabbed one of the ropes, gave it a gentle push—

—and the sandbag smacked me directly in the chest.

I stumbled back a step. "Ow!"

"Again," he said, expression flat as ever.

I scowled. "You could've warned me."

The next swing came faster. I braced, stepped to the side—

Felt briefly triumphant—

Right before it looped back and hit me in the back of the head.

I staggered forward, clutching my scalp. "Are you serious?!"

He chuckled.

Chuckled.

"Momentum," he said dryly, like he was quoting a textbook. "It's your enemy and your teacher."

I gritted my teeth. "I'm going to kick your sandbag."

"Again," he said.

I took a breath. Braced properly this time.

The first swing came. I dodged.

The second—sidestepped again, clean.

I was starting to feel like I actually knew what I was doing.

Then came the third.

I misjudged the angle. My foot caught the edge of the mat. My balance wavered—and the world tilted.

I tripped backward, crashed into the side table behind me with a loud thud, and before I could completely collapse—

He caught me.

One arm around my back. The other at my waist. The sudden stop knocked the breath out of me.

I froze.

So did he.

We were close. Too close.

My chest was pressed to his. I could feel his breath—uneven, shallow. His hand against my back wasn't steadying me anymore. It just stayed there. Holding me like I might disappear if he let go.

I looked up, startled. And that's when I saw it. Something shifted in his expression.

It wasn't smug. It wasn't blank. It was raw.

A flicker of something I didn't recognize at first—then did.

Sadness. Regret. Longing.

He looked at me like I was something he remembered too late. Like I belonged somewhere far away… or maybe once belonged here.

The breath caught in my throat. Then, just as quickly, the expression vanished.

He steadied me. Let go. He stepped back like nothing had happened.

But something had.

My heart was still racing—louder now than it had been during the dodging exercise. My skin buzzed where he'd held me, where his breath had grazed my cheek. The air felt tight, like we were still caught in the space between falling and what came after.

He turned away, adjusting the rope with the same casual precision as always. The sandbags swung gently in the silence, like none of it meant anything.

But I knew what I saw.

That look in his eyes—sharp with longing, dulled with something like grief. A flicker of something I wasn't supposed to witness.

And I knew what I heard.

The name.

Lianshui.

He'd whispered it when he was half-unconscious, burning with fever. Clutching my hand like it meant something to him. I'd brushed it off. I had to, at the time. There were bigger things to worry about. Like him dying.

But now, with the silence stretching, and the memory heavy on my chest like a stone I couldn't put down, I couldn't ignore it anymore.

This was the moment. The crossroads. Ask the question, or walk away. Curiosity kills cats. Sure. But ignorance? Ignorance builds palaces out of shadows and calls it safety.

And I was tired of pretending I didn't want to know.

"Kexian," I said quietly.

He stopped.

Not dramatically. Not sharply. Just… stilled. As if the sound of his name like that made something inside him pause.

He didn't turn at first.

No one called him that. Not really. Not unless we were mid-fight and I was trying to provoke him. But this time, I said it without heat. No venom. Just… intention.

He turned slowly.

His eyes met mine, guarded—but not angry. There was a surprise there. Something alert. Something soft underneath that I couldn't name yet.

"Can I ask you something?" I said, stepping forward a little, my voice lower now, like the air between us might shatter if I raised it too loud.

His gaze flicked down, then back to me. Still quiet. Still unreadable. But his jaw tightened.

"Who is Lianshui?" I asked.

The question landed between us like a stone dropped into still water.

And he went completely still.