Chapter 65: The Body Remembers

I couldn't keep it from him any longer.

Not the flickers of power.

Not the heart-pounding moments.

Not the way Shen Kexian looked at me like he'd already lost me once.

And most of all—not the way my body kept reacting like it knew something my heart didn't.

So that evening, after Xiaohua delivered tea and left us alone, I took a deep breath and did something terrifying.

I told Ming Yu the truth.

Not all of it—not the dreams, not yet—but the water, the basin, the almost-sphere, the hand-holding.

Every breath-stealing, shame-inducing moment of it.

His expression didn't change much at first.

Which was worse than anger.

He just sat there, listening. Quiet. Still.

Like the world had slowed down around him and he was the only one left thinking at full speed.

When I finished, my voice felt thin. Embarrassed.

 "I'm not… attracted to him," I said quickly. "Not in that way. I swear."

His gaze flicked up to mine.

"This isn't in my mind, Ming Yu," I whispered. "It's my body. I react when he's near, and I don't know why. It's like my heart remembers something I don't. But I don't want it. I didn't choose it."

Silence stretched between us.

His jaw clenched. Once.

Then relaxed.

And after what felt like a hundred years, he asked a question I hadn't even considered:

"…The girl you share this body with. The one from this world. What if she's the key to this feeling?"

I blinked.

"What if it's her," he continued softly, "that knew him before? Felt something for him? What if it's not your heart reacting—but hers?"

I didn't know what to say.

Because suddenly, the ache—the pull—made a different kind of sense.

Not love. Not attraction.

Memory.

Like touching something warm from a story you've never read, but somehow still remembering the end.

My chest tightened.

"I'm not her," I whispered. "And I don't like him."

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady.

"I love you. Every part of you. Even when you're angry. Even when you're silent. Even when I don't deserve how gentle you are with me."

His throat bobbed.

Then—finally—he pulled me in.

Hard.

His arms wrapped around my waist, crushing me to him like he didn't trust the world to let me stay.

I pressed my face into his chest. Felt the rise and fall of his breath. The pounding of his heart. The warmth that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with home.

"I believe you," he whispered. "I hate this. I do. But I believe you."

I held him tighter.

We stood like that for a long time. No words. No movement. Just two people clinging to the thread that had always tied them together, even when the world tried to fray it.

***

The next day, I found myself once again walking the long corridor toward the training chamber—feet dragging, stomach in knots, and heart wrapped in layers of guilt, confusion, and mild dread.

The door was already open.

Inside, the same round basin waited in the center of the room, still and silent, like a trap pretending to be a mirror. Cushions were already laid out, everything arranged with infuriating symmetry.

And there he was. Shen Kexian.

He stood by the water, arms folded behind his back, dressed in midnight-blue robes that caught the light like ink in motion. His gaze flicked over me with quiet calculation, and though he didn't quite smile, something softened in his eyes.

'You came,' he said simply.

I resisted the urge to throw something decorative at his face. "Unfortunately."

A flicker of amusement crossed his lips. "I wasn't sure if you'd show."

"I considered escaping through the kitchen tunnels, but Xiaohua keeps eating all the sesame buns in there."

He chuckled quietly. "Well, I'm glad the cuisine isn't the only thing keeping you in place."

I narrowed my eyes. "Let's get one thing clear—I'm here to learn how not to cause a magical flood every time someone touches me. Not to be emotionally harassed by a man who wears sandalwood like a weapon."

His smirk vanished at that, and for a heartbeat, I saw something flicker in his eyes again.

Not wounded, not angry—just… sad.

"Understood," he said after a pause, voice level again. "Shall we begin?"

He didn't sit beside me this time.

Instead, he gestured for me to sit while he stayed standing, a respectful distance away.

It didn't help much.

My chest still tightened the moment I stepped near the basin. My palms still tingled as I sank down onto the cushion and placed my hands gently on the rim.

"Today," he said, his voice smooth again, "we try stillness. You've proven your power can respond to emotion. Now, let's see if you can command it without being overwhelmed."

The surface of the water didn't so much as ripple. Not even a shiver.

I sat there, fingers lightly pressed to the rim of the basin, heart quietly willing something to happen. But the water just lay there. Blank. Reflective. Disinterested in my entire existence. Like a judgmental puddle. I tried focusing on my breathing. Tried thinking about that sensation from last time—the surge, the pulse.

Nothing.

I narrowed my eyes. Okay. Maybe I wasn't being emotional enough.

I thought of Yufei. Still nothing.

I thought about my mother. My sister. Home. Not a flicker.

I thought about how stupidly calm Shen Kexian always looked. Still nothing—wait, no. That just made me want to throw the basin.

I huffed. "Apparently, I'm emotionally constipated today."

Shen Kexian, from behind me, let out a faint sigh. A very deliberate, I-knew-this-would-happen kind of sigh.

Then I heard the soft rustle of silk, the shift of movement. He plopped down beside me with all the graceful annoyance of someone who had just given up on patience.

His presence alone had weight. Not suffocating, just… dense. Like the room shifted around him, leaned toward him. Like gravity forgot itself a little when he was near.He didn't speak. Just extended his hand again. Open. Waiting.

I stared at it for a moment, my pride and hesitation trying their best to strangle each other.

Then I sighed, a , a long and defeated sigh sigh, and placed my hand into his.

The moment our skin met, it surged. A warm, steady pull, like a tide drawing breath beneath the surface of still water.

His hand was warm, too warm, again. However it wasn't uncomfortable. It was the kind of warmth that crept up the wrist, curled into the shoulder, and settled in the chest.

And my chest? My heart tugged. Tightened. Like his hand had touched something inside me that had been waiting—quietly, stubbornly—to be recognized.

I flushed immediately. The tips of my ears burned.

The water in the basin responded before I even realized it.

It lifted. Not as violently as before—no splash or wave—but slowly, curling upward like steam rising off a calm pond, until a strand of liquid hovered in the air between us, dancing to a rhythm neither of us spoke aloud.

"Feel it?" Shen Kexian said quietly.

His voice, low and smooth, curled around my spine like incense smoke.

I nodded once, mutely, because I could feel more than just the water.

I could feel him.

His hand in mine—steady, unyielding—tugging gently on a part of me I didn't want to acknowledge. The pulse in my wrist beat faster. I turned my head away, tried to focus on the water, on the stillness, on anything that wasn't the way his fingers curled so perfectly against mine.

I shifted, made to pull away.

But he didn't let go. Instead, with quiet resolve, he interlocked our fingers. I stilled. My heart was thudding.

"Focus," he said.

One word.

But it sent a tremor through me.

Because I couldn't. Not fully. Not with that warmth seeping into my palm and pooling deep in my ribs. Not with this invisible thread in my chest stretching toward him like it knew his name before I ever did.

I clenched my jaw, trying to steady my breath. And in the silence that followed, I sent a prayer—not to the gods, but to the girl whose body this once was.

Let me be in control. Please. Whoever you were. Whatever he meant to you. Let me breathe without losing myself. This is my heart now. Let it be mine.

"Now," Lord Shen murmured, voice as smooth as the still surface between us, "let the water settle. Slowly. Gently."

He didn't raise his voice. Didn't guide my hand. Just… spoke.

And somehow—his words wrapped around my thoughts like silk cords, calming the wild current that had coiled so tightly inside me.

I stared at the floating water. It hovered for another breath—then, as if responding to a hidden pulse, it lowered.

Gracefully. Like a bow from the sky. It returned to the basin with not a splash, not a ripple—just stillness. Absolute and soft. Like it had never moved at all.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Only then did I feel his hand slip from mine. Slow. Measured. Deliberate. The loss of warmth startled me. My fingers twitched where his had just been.

When I looked up, his eyes were already on me. Watchful. Almost… searching.

I realized with horror that my face was still warm—cheeks no doubt flushed, ears tinged with the treacherous shade of pink I couldn't hide. I tore my gaze away and looked down, needing a second to collect myself. To assess what just happened.

Okay. You didn't explode anything. You didn't faint. You didn't confess to emotional possession or treason. That's a win.

I flexed my fingers once. Still shaking. Why did it feel like I had just been unraveled and sewn back together in a slightly different shape? I could still feel the echo of his touch, his command, the water obeying like it had known him longer than I had. And somehow, part of me had obeyed too.

Then, softly, with just the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, he said,

"You've improved."

I blinked. "That… counts as improvement?"

"You didn't faint. You didn't flood the room. And you followed a command without overloading your emotions." He tilted his head. "Yes. That counts."

I stared at him, still trying to process the fact that nothing exploded.

Then he added, almost casually, "Now we're ready for the show."

I stiffened. "The what?"

He turned to me with a perfectly serene expression. "The king has requested a progress demonstration. It's been a few weeks."

My mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. "A demonstration? As in… in front of people?"

"Yes. Nobles. Ministers. The Queen. Possibly some foreign envoys. Nothing extravagant."

My jaw dropped. "That is extravagant!"

He raised an eyebrow, entirely unbothered. "You're the Goddess of Water. This is what the court expects."

"No," I snapped, pushing to my feet. "This is not what I signed up for. I signed up for surviving, not being possessed by someone else's weird leftover emotions or causing unintentional aquatic destruction!"

Shen Kexian rose as well, casually brushing an invisible speck from his sleeve. "And yet here you are. Alive. Channeling your power. Making progress." He paused, then added with infuriating calm, "And today—no magical damage. Well done."

I threw my hands in the air. "I hate how calm you are about this."

"I've learned to be calm," he said, "when things are inevitable."

I groaned and clutched my head. "I need tea. Or wine. Or death. Maybe all three."

He gave the faintest smile and turned toward the door. "The demonstration is in three days," he said. "Plenty of time to spiral."

I glared at his back as he disappeared into the corridor, his silhouette maddeningly composed.

"I'm not panicking," I muttered.

I was absolutely panicking.