The three days leading up to Chen Wei's funeral were a whirlwind of calculated chaos. In my past life, his death was a shameful affair, a footnote in the annals of the Chen Family's decline. This time, under Arya's direction, it was being orchestrated as the grandest event the Myriad Rivers Domain had seen in a decade. And I, Meira Su, was at the very heart of it, a co-conspirator in the most magnificent lie I had ever witnessed.
We worked from the Patriarch's secondary study, a large room that had been repurposed as our command center. Scrolls detailing guest lists, ceremonial procedures, and security arrangements covered every available surface. Servants and elders came and went in a constant stream, but every final decision was made by the two of us.
Watching Arya work was like watching a master painter create a masterpiece. He was effortless. He dictated orders with a calm authority that soothed frayed nerves and commanded instant obedience. He negotiated with the suppliers of white mourning silks, securing a bulk discount with a few well-chosen words that were part-charm, part-veiled threat. He redesigned the patrol routes for the estate guards, anticipating potential security threats from the Jin Family with a prescience that bordered on prophetic. He did it all with an easy grace, his expression one of somber duty, his handsome features etched with a noble grief.
I, of course, knew the truth. Chen Wei, the man we were preparing to immortalize as a tragic hero, was a sniveling coward who, in my timeline, had sold his family out for a chance to live on his knees. The irony was a bitter taste in my mouth, a secret I shared with no one. My role was to play the part of the supportive fiancée, and I performed it flawlessly. I oversaw the floral arrangements, selecting the palest Moonpetal Lotuses and Spiritweep Willows. I consulted with the musicians on the most mournful arrangements for the spiritual flutes. Every action was a carefully constructed piece of the grand deception.
But my true purpose was not in the details of the funeral. It was to be by his side.
We spent nearly every waking moment together. We would work late into the night, the room lit by the soft glow of lumina pearls, the only sound the scratching of our brushes on paper. In these quiet moments, the line between our public performance and our private reality would begin to blur.
One night, as I was reviewing the final draft of the eulogy Arya had written—a magnificent piece of fiction that painted Chen Wei as a misunderstood genius consumed by his martial ambition—my eyelids grew heavy. The exhaustion of the past few days, combined with the constant mental strain of living this second life, was catching up to me. My head nodded forward, and my brush slipped from my fingers, leaving a small black smudge on the scroll.
I jolted awake, a flush of embarrassment warming my cheeks. Before I could apologize, a hand gently took the brush from me.
"You should rest," Arya said, his voice a low murmur. He had moved from his side of the table to mine without my noticing. He placed a cup of steaming tea in front of me. "This is Spirit-Soothing Tea from my personal collection. It will help."
I looked up at him. In the soft light of the lumina pearls, the calculating mask of the future patriarch was gone. I saw only Arya, his dark eyes filled with a genuine concern that made my heart ache. It was a caring gesture, but in the context of our grand theater, it felt as profoundly intimate as a whispered secret.
"Thank you," I managed to say, my voice thick with an emotion I couldn't name. I wrapped my hands around the warm cup, the heat seeping into my cold fingers.
He stood beside me for a moment, his presence a warm shield. "You have been a great help, Meira," he said, his gaze fixed on my face. "I could not have managed this alone."
In my past life, he had managed everything alone, shouldering every burden until it finally crushed him. The knowledge that this time, he felt he could lean on me, that he wanted to lean on me, was a revelation so powerful it nearly brought tears to my eyes. I simply nodded, unable to speak, and took a sip of the tea. It was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted.
The day of the funeral arrived, a clear morning under a pale sky. The Chen Riverwood Estate had been transformed. Gone were the vibrant colors of a prosperous noble family. In their place were rivers of white silk, fluttering like mournful ghosts from every eave and gatepost. The air was heavy with the scent of sandalwood incense, a somber perfume that settled deep in the lungs.
The most powerful figures in the Myriad Rivers Domain began to arrive. The Sect Master of the Spirit Cauldron Sect, a portly man with shrewd eyes. The Hall Master of the Myriad Beast Hall, a wild-looking woman with a tamed Spirit Leopard at her side. The Patriarch of the Lei Family, a mountain of a man whose very presence seemed to crackle with latent lightning. They all came to pay their respects, their expressions carefully neutral, their eyes missing nothing.
Arya and I stood at the entrance to the grand Ancestral Hall to receive them, a united front. He was dressed in formal white mourning robes, his bearing regal and somber. I stood beside him, our hands subtly linked behind our backs, a hidden source of strength for us both. To the world, we were the future of the Chen-Su alliance, a picture of grace and unity in the face of tragedy.
The most difficult arrival was the last. The Jin Family delegation, led by their patriarch, Jin Bolin. He was a man who looked more like a merchant than a cultivator, his robes adorned with gaudy gold thread, his smile oily and insincere. I felt a surge of pure hatred, a venomous echo from my past life. This man's family was the root of all my pain. My grip on Arya's hand tightened, my nails digging into his palm.
I felt a gentle squeeze in return. I glanced at Arya. His face was a mask of polite solemnity as he greeted Jin Bolin, but his eyes were as cold and hard as obsidian chips. He knew. He might not know the future I knew, but he understood the nature of the beast standing before us. That shared understanding was a comfort more profound than any words.
The Ancestral Hall was filled to capacity. In the center of the grand chamber, on a raised dais, sat a memorial tablet carved from the finest spirit-jade. Upon it was written a single name: Chen Wei. It was surrounded by a mountain of white Moonpetal Lotuses. It was a hero's send-off for a coward's soul