I was still reeling from Wei Wuxian's proposal.
Sure, I adored him—as a character. As the chaotic genius who broke every rule and still made you love him. But I never imagined I'd be asked to marry him, even in name only.
It was one thing to be a fan, to root for his love story with Lan Wangji from the safety of a screen. It was something else entirely to be drafted into it. I liked Wei Wuxian, deeply admired him—but not like that. Not that way. And now, I was supposed to stand beside him, pretending to be his Consort, just to shield the love he couldn't live without?
My heart twisted with questions. What if I fell for someone, truly fell? Would that person have to live in the shadows forever, unable to claim me publicly? How could I ever ask that of him?
The thoughts circled like a storm cloud I couldn't outrun. I needed a distraction—something to ground me before I got swept away by hypotheticals and royal drama.
So, I went where I always went when the world felt too loud: the infirmary.
The familiar scent of herbs, the quiet rustle of parchment, and the muted hum of morning routines wrapped around me like a balm. There, among shelves of dried roots and vials of tinctures, life made sense. There were no titles, no lies, no politics—just healing.
Old Liang was hunched over a tray of dried leaves, muttering under his breath. Same as always.
"Morning, Miss Mei Lin," he grunted, not even bothering to look up.
"Morning, Old Liang," I replied, summoning a cheer I didn't feel. "Anything interesting today?"
"Same as yesterday. Few scrapes. Couple of fevers. Nothing worth your worry." He finally glanced up, his sharp eyes narrowing. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
I gave a weak laugh. "Just... thinking too much."
He stared at me for a moment, then grunted again and went back to his herbs. That was the thing about Old Liang. He never pried, but somehow always knew more than he let on.
I rolled up my sleeves and got to work, letting the rhythm of grinding roots and preparing salves drown out the chaos in my head. For now, this was enough.
The day passed in a blur of bandages, fevers, and herbal remedies. Patients came and went, each one a welcome distraction from the whirlwind inside my own head. By the time the sun dipped low in the sky, casting a golden hue through the infirmary windows, I was physically drained—but at least the noise in my mind had quieted.
Old Liang, ever observant despite his gruffness, noticed. "You should rest," he muttered, his voice softer than usual.
I nodded, grateful for the excuse to step away.
But instead of heading back to my room, I wandered toward the garden, hoping the open air would help me breathe a little easier. The palace gardens were quiet, bathed in the warm light of dusk. I found an empty bench tucked beneath a willow tree, its branches swaying gently in the breeze.
From where I sat, I had a clear view of the palace gates—tall, imposing, beautiful. Officials and servants moved with purpose beyond them, each caught up in their own little world.
And mine? Mine felt too big and not mine at all.
I hugged my arms around myself as the ache of homesickness crept in, slow and steady. The garden, serene as it was, couldn't soothe the deep longing that tugged at my chest. I missed home. I missed my family. I missed being someone ordinary, where love wasn't a political trap and my choices didn't have the weight of kingdoms behind them.
My eyes stung. I blinked rapidly, but the tears came anyway.
With a shaky sigh, I wiped them away. No one could see me fall apart—not here, not now.
I straightened my back, inhaled the scent of blooming jasmine, and forced myself to hold it together.
Just a little longer.
As I sat there trying to pull myself together, a flash of white robes caught my eye. I turned toward the path leading to the library—and promptly froze.
Lan Wangji was walking calmly toward the entrance, and beside him, unmistakable even in the low evening light, was him.
Ming Yu.
My heart stuttered. What in the—how is he here? My brain scrambled for logic while my hands instinctively wiped at my face, trying to erase any evidence of tears. Not the moment to look like an emotional wreck.
Driven by curiosity (okay, and maybe a little flutter of excitement), I slipped quietly into the library after them, schooling my face into something neutral. Lan Wangji noticed me first and nodded in greeting.
"Mei Lin, this is Liu Ming Yu," he said with the usual calmness. "Jian Yi's cousin. The one we mentioned before."
Ming Yu turned, that familiar playful glint in his eyes already giving away the joke. "Ah, Mei Lin," he said smoothly, lips curving into a smirk. "A pleasure to meet you. Please, call me Ming Yu."
I nearly snorted. We're doing this, huh? Matching his energy, I gave him a deliberately straight-faced nod. "The pleasure is mine, Ming Yu," I said, barely keeping the laughter out of my voice.
Lan Wangji, completely missing the silent game, continued without pause. "I asked him to help investigate the light you emitted. Ming Yu, she is the one I told you about."
Ming Yu's eyes widened, and this time, the mischief faded into something more serious. "You?" he asked, his voice laced with awe. "You really are full of surprises."
I scratched my head awkwardly.
Ming Yu recovered quickly and pulled out a small scroll. "In the Xuanji Sect in Daqi, we have an ancient record of something like this. It says only those at the Soul Formation stage of cultivation can release a light like that during a spiritual breakthrough. It's rare—even among sect leaders."
I blinked. "Wait, but… I've never cultivated a day in my life. I don't even know what that means."
Ming Yu nodded thoughtfully. "That's what makes this unusual. But it's possible something else is at work. When my master finishes his seclusion, we can ask him to examine you. He'll be able to determine if you've formed a Golden Core."
My jaw dropped. "Golden Core? As in… the thing that makes cultivators powerful? That would be so cool if I had one!"
I could hardly wrap my head around it—the idea that I might have a Golden Core, that I could actually cultivate. It was the stuff of fantasy, the kind of thing reserved for the leads in dramas, not for girls who fell into mysterious caves and baked emotional apology cakes.
As we stood in the quiet hum of the library, Ming Yu's expression lit up with a casual sort of charm that made it very hard to think straight.
"I heard you're heading south soon," he said. "Since Daqi lies in that direction, I figured I'd join your group and travel back with you."
My heart immediately betrayed me with a skip. More time with him? On the road? In close proximity? I was already spiraling.
"Really?" I blurted out, eyes wide. "That would be amazing!"
The grin he gave me in response made it very clear he'd noticed my enthusiasm. And maybe—just maybe—he didn't mind one bit.
That night, after the palace finally quieted and the sky turned its inky shade of night, I slipped back to my room with a plan brewing in my head. Most people would probably spend their last free evenings packing or praying. Me? I was inventing poker.
Look, we were about to be stuck in a carriage together for days. Trapped in a wooden box with Lan Wangji's eternal silence, Wei Wuxian's chaos, Ming Yu's devastating cheekbones, and my own tendency to spiral when left unsupervised. We needed entertainment. We needed bonding. We needed… cards.
So I improvised.
I rummaged through the writing table in my room, finding stiff paper, scissors, and ink. Not ideal, but it would work. I started carefully cutting rectangles, thirty, forty, until I had a full deck. I even scribbled tiny symbols—hearts, spades, clubs, diamonds—and numbered them accordingly. For chips, I used small marbles instead.
Xiaohua wandered in halfway through and gasped like I was crafting a forbidden scroll.
"Miss Mei Lin! What… what is this?" she asked, peering over my shoulder with wide eyes.
"A game," I said proudly. "It's called poker."
"Poh-kur?"
I nodded. "Yes. It's from my world. You use these cards to bluff your way to victory and question all your friendships in the process."
She blinked. "That sounds… chaotic."
"Exactly. You'll love it."
I spent the next hour teaching her the basics—pairs, full houses, how to keep a straight face when holding absolutely nothing. She was suspiciously good at it.
"You're a little too quiet," I muttered, narrowing my eyes. "You're hiding something."
Xiaohua smirked. "Am I?"
I gasped. "Are you bluffing me right now?"
"Maybe."
I knew then that I had created a monster.
Perfect.