Chapter 58: The One I Chose

The physician arrived at dawn.

Smuggled in through the outer servants' corridor in a grain cart, cloaked and silent, escorted by one of Wei Wuxian's most loyal guards who could stab a man with a hairpin and never wrinkle his uniform. I almost applauded.

By mid-morning, the pregnancy was confirmed.

Yuling was officially, indisputably, palace-certified pregnant.

By noon, the announcement was made.

And by the evening bell, a blessing ceremony had been set—candles, chanting, silk banners, and more peach blossoms than I thought legally acceptable for one pregnancy.

The palace was buzzing. Servants whispered. Nobles sniffed. Ministers started mentally drafting new power charts, and I swear I saw the Queen's hand tighten slightly when the King smiled.

And Yufei?

Absolutely seething.

She hadn't smiled in days. Her tea tasted bitter. Her voice grew sweeter. Which meant, of course, she was ready to murder someone very politely.

Because now, there was a new consort in the spotlight. A new contender for royal favor. And worse—Yuling was pregnant, and no one knew yet if the baby was a boy.

The sex wouldn't be known for seven more months, according to palace lore and whatever complicated fetal-reading rituals they used. But that didn't stop speculation.

If it was a girl? Fine. A future noble marriage, a ceremonial title.

If it was a boy? The entire royal succession might shift.

And that made everyone nervous.

I kept my face neutral. Kept Yuling tucked in her quarters, guarded. Smiling. Monitored.

And I sent a message. To Jian Yi.

Just a favor, I said. Nothing political. Just... find Granny. The one who raised Yuling. The one who protected her. The one who still cooked over a fire and didn't bow to anyone except the gods she believed in. I asked if she could come.

And four days later—she did.

Watching Granny step into the palace, bent with age but somehow stronger than half the guards, was like seeing sunlight break through brocade.

Yuling burst into tears before the greeting was finished. Granny held her face with both hands and called her her "silly little blossom" like she was a child.

And for a moment—just one—everything felt human again.

But I couldn't stay. The emotion was too much. Too raw. Too close to something I'd been trying not to think about.

I missed my mother. My sister. My world.

So I slipped away. Quietly. Silently. Through the side corridor and into the royal garden, where moonlight painted the stones and the wind carried no judgment.

I didn't mean to cry. But the moment I sat on the edge of the pond, tucked between two pomegranate trees, I did.

Not the dramatic kind. No heaving. No sobs. Just silent tears, hot and fast, falling like they'd been waiting for an excuse.

I was wiping at my cheeks with the edge of my sleeve—poorly—when I heard the soft crunch of gravel behind me.

I froze.

Of course. Of course someone would find me while I was leaking emotions in the moonlight.

"Not only are you not very good at disguising," came a low, smooth voice, "you're also not great at hiding."

I turned—and there he was.

The mysterious man. Again.

Draped in midnight silk, moonlight on his cheekbones, looking entirely too composed for someone who just stumbled across a sobbing royal consort.

He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a folded square of cloth. Then extended it toward me. A handkerchief. Elegant. Immaculate. Of course it smelled like sandalwood, ink, and secrets.

I stared at it, hesitating. My inner alarm went off immediately.

Is it appropriate to accept this?

Is this considered intimate?

Am I about to start a scandal with a man whose face belongs on a magazine cover?

He tilted his head slightly, amused, and said, "It's not poison."

I snorted despite myself and took it. The fabric was absurdly soft. I dabbed at my face and muttered, "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

There was a pause. I glanced at him again, still suspicious. "Why are you even here?"

He looked up at the moon, his expression unreadable. "It's a nice night. I was going for a walk."

Uh-huh. And I'm the High Priestess of Plausible Excuses. I didn't believe him for a second—but I didn't press it.

He didn't move. Just stood there quietly, hands behind his back like he was carved into the scenery.

Then, gently, "Missing family?"

I blinked.

"Excuse me?"

He looked back at me, one brow raised. "It's not that hard to guess. The new consort reunites with her long-lost grandmother. You go in smiling, and come out crying. The story writes itself."

I rolled my eyes. "Do you know everything?"

He gave the faintest smirk. "It's my job."

"Which reminds me," I said, squinting at him. "Who are you again? You never told me your name."

For the briefest moment—barely a heartbeat—I saw something flicker in his expression.

A flash of hurt. Sharp. Real. Gone.

But my chest did that weird thing again.

A sudden squeeze—sharp, tight—like my heart had stumbled over a memory I didn't actually have. It jolted, uninvited and unnerving, like it recognized a sorrow I hadn't earned.

Internally, my brain lit up like a warning lantern.

What was that?! Am I dying? Is this how a ghost possession starts? Did I inherit emotional heart palpitations from my past life? Because it only happens when he's around, and I swear if this turns into spiritual cardiac arrest, I'm suing fate.

He smiled again—soft this time. Almost… wistful.

"We'll know each other soon enough," he said quietly. "Until then…"

He turned and started walking away, like he hadn't just upended my entire emotional eQuilibrium and left me blinking under the stars.

"Wait," I called, holding up the cloth. "Your handkerchief!"

He didn't look back.

"Keep it," he said.

And then he disappeared into the shadows like the universe's most stylish plot twist.

I stared at the handkerchief.

It smelled expensive. Of course it did.

The heartache didn't stop. It never lasted long—just a sudden, sharp pull, like someone inside me had plucked a thread and let it snap back. But it always happened.

Every time I saw him.

The mysterious man.

It wasn't just his face—though yes, it was unreasonably good-looking. The kind of face that could make imperial concubines trip over themselves in broad daylight. Lead-role-actor-level handsome, if the kingdom had an entertainment industry.

But that wasn't the problem.

The problem was how I felt around him.

Like something shifted beneath my ribs. Like grief and memory and someone else's longing were threading through my veins—gently, insistently—trying to remind me of something I never lived.

And that scared me.

Because I knew exactly what this looked like—in stories, in dramas, in every cautionary tale dressed up as romance.

It looked like betrayal.

Like forgetting the steady hands that held you when you were breaking.

Like losing something real for something… spectral.

And I wasn't going to be that person.

I have Ming Yu.

Ming Yu, who watched over me like I was both a storm and something sacred.

Ming Yu, who still flinched when I was hurt, who would fight the world if I asked—quietly, solemnly, and without asking why.

I wandered the palace paths without thinking, the moonlight cold on my skin. Eventually, my feet brought me to the familiar curve of the garden path—quiet, shadowed, just around the bend from where his quarters stood.

I could see him.

Sitting at his desk, robes slightly loosened, collar open just enough to make my heart stutter. His hair was half-tied—messy in a way he would never allow in public, the kind of detail only someone close would notice. His brow was furrowed in quiet concentration, the pages before him forgotten as he absently twirled a brush between his fingers.

He looked… peaceful.

And I couldn't knock.

I was a royal consort now. Wei Wuxian's consort. Strolling into the private chambers of his advisor in the dead of night? That wasn't just inappropriate—it was scandal waiting to happen.

So, I did the only thing I could. I took off my name tag. The carved wood was still warm from my skin.

I looked at it once, then—

Threw it through the window. It clinked softly as it hit the desk and skidded across the surface, landing just beside his elbow. He looked up, startled. I ducked behind the edge of the wall like a child who'd just egged a temple bell.

Please, let him get the hint. Please don't let me get arrested.

I scurried back to my room, heart thudding like I'd just committed a petty crime—which, to be fair, I had. Sort of. Then I waited like a criminal awaiting her accomplice.

Thirty minutes passed.

Just as the guards rounded the far corridor on their shift change, my door eased open without a sound.

Ming Yu stepped inside, silent as a shadow.

His hair was slightly mussed from the wind, his robe a little uneven at the collar, like he'd thrown it on in a hurry. His eyes scanned the room immediately, sharp, alert—like he was checking for ambush or conspiracy.

Then his gaze landed on me. I stood by the window, arms crossed, trying very hard not to look like I'd just weaponized a name tag.

His lips curved—just a little. "That's a new method of summoning me," he said, holding up the carved wood between two fingers. "Very subtle."

I couldn't help the grin tugging at my mouth. "Glad you liked it. I'll start engraving 'Please come now' on the back."

He chuckled under his breath and stepped closer, the warmth of him reaching me before his hands did.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, more serious now. "Was Yuling's celebration… not festive enough?"

I shook my head and gently tugged him by the sleeve toward the bed.

"No," I murmured, sinking down beside him. "I just… missed you. And my family. A little."

He looked at me. All the humor drained from his face, leaving only that quiet concern I'd come to know so well. And without a word, he pulled me into his arms.

I melted into his embrace. The tension in my shoulders unraveled all at once, like they'd just been waiting for this exact kind of comfort. His hands moved in slow, steady circles along my back—soothing, anchoring. Like he was trying to hold together what I didn't know was falling apart.

"I understand," he whispered against my hair. "I do."

His voice was soft, but it carried more weight than any promise.

"But I want you to know… I'm here. For you. Always."

Something swelled in my chest—something too full, too fragile to name.

I pulled back, just slightly.

And I looked at him.

Really looked.

For the first time in a while, I wasn't distracted by politics or crisis or court gossip. There was no one watching. No noise. No duty. Just him.

His face, half-lit by lantern glow, was more than handsome—it was familiar in a way that made something inside my chest ache.

His eyes, dark and steady, held everything I didn't know I'd needed—patience, fire, restraint, loyalty. That quiet storm of love he never demanded from me, never pressed. Just offered, again and again, like a prayer he never expected answered.

I used to think Wei Wuxian looked incredible the moment he appeared in The Untamed—that cocky grin, that chaotic energy, the way he owned every room. Then Lan Wangji walked in, all icy silence and tragic beauty, and I remembered thinking, Well, damn.

But none of them—not one—ever made my heart stutter the way Ming Yu did.

Not even close. Not like the way he made my breath catch with a single glance.

There was a K-pop idol I used to like and followed for years. Tall, serious, unreadable. A face that looked like it was sculpted to carry quiet sorrow—elegant, still, and just a little too beautiful. Ming Yu? He looked just like him. Almost too much.

Same piercing gaze. Same quiet grace. That maddening stillness that pulled attention without asking for it.

But that idol? I didn't know him.

I knew the version onstage. The curated charm, the clever lines in interviews, the calculated mystery.

I didn't know how he sounded when he was tired.

I didn't know how he held someone when words failed.

I didn't know how he loved—not really.

But Ming Yu?

I knew the crack in his voice when he was holding back too much.

I knew the way his hands trembled when he reached for me like he wasn't sure he was allowed to.

I knew what it felt like to be chosen by someone who didn't have to say the words to make you believe them.

And that difference? That was everything.

Ming Yu's brow furrowed, his head tilting just slightly, as if trying to read a language written across my face.

"…Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked gently, voice cautious, almost hesitant.

"Nothing..I am just.." I smiled, finally realizing the fact that—

Whatever strange ache twisted in my chest when that mysterious man was near…

Whatever past-life thread tugged at the edges of my soul,

Whatever unanswered question lived in my bones—

None of it mattered.

Not compared to this.

Not compared to him.

Ming Yu, with his quiet loyalty and storm-soft eyes. The man who held me like I was breakable, but never once let me fall. Who stayed. Always.

I wouldn't trade him for anything. Not fate. Not mystery. Not destiny dressed up in silk and sorrow.

"I'm lucky…" I leaned in slowly, my fingers brushing the line of his cheek. "…to be loved…by you."

I kissed him, slow and deliberate, like it was the only truth that ever mattered.

But then he pulled me closer, one hand at my waist, the other at the back of my neck, and the kiss deepened—quiet, certain, and full of everything I couldn't say.

The moon faded. The past blurred. The ache vanished.

Because this?

This was real.

And I would choose him. Again. And again. Every time.