I didn't know how to feel about any of it. Lianshui had every right. It was her body. She was in control.
Ming Yu hadn't stopped her. He didn't say anything, but his silence didn't feel like agreement—it felt like acceptance. The kind that says, I'm letting this happen because you're giving up your life for someone I love.
Shen Kexian was still alive. Ming Yu didn't storm off and destroy him. That counted for something.
I kept telling myself it wasn't going to be me, not really. I wouldn't be the one moving. It wouldn't be my voice or my hands.
But I would still feel it.
And that was what scared me.
I was going to feel what she felt. See through her eyes. And I knew I'd see him holding her.
Holding me.
No matter how many times I reminded myself it was her decision, her moment, her goodbye—there was still a part of me that twisted at the thought.
My mind raced with every step she took toward his quarters. The hallway felt longer than usual. Each footfall echoed like a countdown I didn't ask for. I wanted to look away, to shut myself off somehow.
But I couldn't.
She knocked once, then let herself in.
Shen Kexian was seated at his table, half-turned toward the lantern light, a scroll resting open in front of him. He looked up, surprised.
"Lianshui," he said, standing as she entered. "Is something wrong?"
"I want to talk to you about something," she said quietly.
She crossed the room and sat on the daybed near the window. He followed, his movements careful, as if he already sensed something was different.
"Kexian," she said, meeting his eyes, "tonight is my last night here. Can I spend it with you?"
He froze. Just for a second. But I felt it—an instant of hesitation that rippled through both of us.
"Lianshui…" His voice was low, cautious. "You mean…?"
"Yes," she said. Clear. Steady.
He exhaled slowly, like he was trying to buy himself a moment to think. His gaze lowered, troubled.
"Lianshui… I—Mei Lin would never want this."
Excuse me? My mind scrambled. He's reluctant? I was not emotionally braced for that particular twist.
Lianshui stayed silent. Unflinching. Like none of this surprised her.
"Whatever I feel," she said gently, "she feels too. Not in the same way. But I already asked her."
Shen Kexian's gaze sharpened. "She didn't object?"
"She didn't," Lianshui answered, her voice calm. Then, after a pause: "But she would have, if she were the one in control."
He frowned, uncertain.
"She would have stopped this. For you. For Advisor Liu. Because the guilt would eat her alive." Lianshui's tone softened, threading warmth into the space between them. "But this… this might be the first and last time—for both you and me. And for her."
Shen Kexian looked down. His hands curled at his sides. The weight in his silence said more than words ever could.
"I know you love her," Lianshui continued. "You're hesitant because of that. Because of me. And I understand."
She reached out, her fingers brushing his lightly.
"I've always loved you, Kexian," she said, almost a whisper now. "All I want is for you to be happy. So, for tonight… please. Let's not leave anything unsaid."
My heart ached. It ached in a way I didn't know it could.
Because she meant every word.
She wasn't asking for anything. She was offering peace. Closure. Maybe love, in its last fleeting form.
"I can ask her right now," she said. "If she doesn't want me to… I'll leave."
And then she looked at the empty space like I was there. "Miss Mei Lin, It's now or never. What do you say?"
Damn it. What do I say?
Fine. Yes. But if you do the forehead touch thing, I swear I will lose it.
The words left our mouth before I could second-guess them.
Lianshui's lips moved, but those words—he knew.
Shen Kexian's eyes widened, just for a breath. Then, without a word, he stepped forward and pulled her into a kiss.
Not hesitant. Not unsure. Like he had been waiting for permission all this time, and now that it was given, he wasn't going to waste a single second.
His hands in her hair. The trembling exhale. The way her heart surged under my skin like it belonged to both of us at once.
He didn't pull away. Not even for breath.
Still kissing her, he moved us toward the bed with quiet purpose, his hand flicking once in the air to activate a noise-suppression charm. The sudden hush in the room was thick—soft, private, like the outside world no longer existed.
Chapter 108.5: Last Night of Our Being
He laid her down gently, reverently, as if every inch of her mattered.
His lips never left her skin. The kiss deepened—slow, unhurried. A confession told without words.
His fingers moved to the folds of her robe, loosening the sash, his mouth pressing soft, lingering kisses against her collarbone, her shoulder, her throat. Each touch felt like something sacred. Remembered.
She reached up, gripping him tightly, pulling him closer.
The feeling I had right then? It was like playing advanced VR in full 3D.
I couldn't feel it directly—not technically—but I could feel it through her. Every pulse, every brush of skin, every flicker of heat blooming under her ribs.
I wasn't the one kissing him. But my soul was apparently along for the ride.
I imagined myself sitting somewhere deep inside her subconscious, clutching my chest like a scandalized auntie at a romance opera, blushing so hard I could power a lantern.
This is fine, I lied to myself.
With the last knot loosened, Shen Kexian pulled off his robes—and then hers.
And that's when I realized: the man had cheekbones and abs.
Great. Perfect. Of course he did.
Just when I was about to mentally look away—truly, spiritually, morally ready to give them privacy—Lianshui's gaze landed somewhere very specific.
There.
His member.
Hard. Long. Straight. Boldly existing.
She blushed.
I blushed. A spiritual blush. The kind that bypasses skin and goes straight to the soul.
He kissed her again, deeper this time—slower, more certain, as if sealing something unspoken between them.
Then he began to move lower.
His lips traced the path down her throat, along her chest, down her stomach, reverent in every touch. Her breath hitched. Her body trembled beneath him.
When he reached her center, she jerked—soft, instinctive.
And I felt it. Not directly, but vividly enough that my soul practically left the building.
Every flick of his tongue sent her spiraling, and I spiraled with her—helpless in the current, swept into a sensation that was not mine, but somehow still wrapped itself around my every soul.
Lianshui gasped. I gripped something imaginary and screamed internally. This was beyond 3D. This was an emotional whiplash in lace and heat.
He paused.
Lifted his head, lips glistening, breath steady.
And smirked.
"Has she gone crazy inside your head yet?" he asked, smug as sin.
SHEN KEXIAN, I screamed internally, YOU—ABSOLUTE—
Lianshui giggled.
"A little," she said sweetly. "But she might not feel the same way I feel right now."
He tilted his head with that look—the one he always got right before he did something brilliant, or completely insane. He moved back up and kissed her forehead.
Then he smiled. Slow. Calculated. Dangerous. The kind of smile that meant he knew exactly what he was about to do—and exactly what it would do to me. And then I felt it. That shift. That flicker. The pulse of something intimate and unmistakable sparking to life.
Our Connection
He opened it without warning, without permission, like pulling a curtain wide and letting me fall straight through. I didn't just feel Lianshui anymore—I felt him. What he was doing. What he was feeling while doing it.
Warmth spread fast, flushed and sharp. Pressure built like a wave caught mid-crash. Euphoria hummed so loud I thought I'd lose consciousness inside my own mind. My entire spiritual form wanted to combust. I had no body to react with—but every nerve in Lianshui's lit up like it was mine.
Then he kissed her again. Not rushed. Not teasing. Just slow and consuming, like he was anchoring her to the present.
His hand skimmed down her side, fingers brushing the curve of her hip, then lower, until he found her center again—already soaked, already trembling. He knew exactly where to touch. How much pressure. What rhythm. Like he'd memorized her in some other life.
Every flick of his fingers lit a fuse in her, and it burned straight through me. I could feel her thighs tighten. Her hands claw into his back. Her chest rising in fast, shallow gasps.
And it was like all her nerves had become my nerves.
He kissed down her throat, her collarbone, over the swell of her chest. Each brush of his mouth against her skin sent another wave through her—and through me. My soul was practically convulsing. I tried to pull back, tried to anchor myself, but I couldn't. I was tethered to every moan, every jolt, every pulsing wave building between her legs.
He moved over her.
Then he aligned himself with her—slow, careful.
His hand braced beside her head. His breath was warm against her neck. He paused for a heartbeat, forehead resting gently against hers, eyes closed as if grounding himself before the plunge.
And then—
He pushed in. Slowly.
The stretch of it made her gasp, and I felt every inch of it—not physically, but as a wave rolling through every part of her body and through me, raw and flooding.
He filled her inch by inch, steady and deliberate, until he was seated fully inside.
She arched instinctively beneath him, back lifting from the mattress as her legs wrapped around his waist. Her fingers gripped his shoulders, searching for something solid as her body adjusted around him.
Her walls clenched around him, and I could feel the echo of it ripple through me like aftershocks. She whimpered. He groaned softly into her skin.
He stilled for a moment—letting her adjust, letting her breathe.
He moved slowly at first.
Every thrust was deliberate—measured, careful, like he was memorizing the shape of her from the inside. She gasped softly, her hands bracing against his shoulders, her legs trembling around his waist. The stretch of him filled her completely, and I could feel it—not just the physical sensation, but the emotion threaded through it. The reverence. The disbelief. The ache of finally having something you'd only ever allowed yourself to dream about.
This was his first time with her, with me. And he treated it like something sacred.
He moved deeper, his hips rolling with smooth precision, grinding just enough to make her breath catch every time he bottomed out. Her body tightened with every slow pull and push, adjusting around him, clenching involuntarily like she couldn't bear to let go of any part of him. Each motion stoked the heat between them—between us—until the air felt thick with it, humming, waiting.
Her body responded to him instinctively. With every thrust, she opened more, tightened more, shivered more. He kept the rhythm, unwavering, letting the friction, the fullness, the stretch build something fierce in her belly. Her legs curled tighter around him, her back arched, her breath came faster.
He shifted just slightly, angling his hips—just right—and her cry cracked through the room. He kept going. Unrelenting now. Deeper. Fuller. The rhythm stronger, hitting the spot again and again, each stroke pulling a sound from her throat.
Her body trembled, clenching around him in sharp pulses. She was unraveling.
And then—
She broke.
Her climax surged through her, full-bodied, breathtaking. Her muscles seized around him, her entire frame shaking as the wave crested and crashed, unstoppable and raw. Her voice tore from her throat, and I felt it echo through every part of me.
I shattered with her.
Spiritually, emotionally, somewhere beyond the body.
There was no line between us anymore.
She broke beneath him, body arching, muscles trembling, breath lost in a cry that echoed through the room like a confession.
But he didn't stop.
He held her through it—kept moving, his rhythm faltering only slightly as she pulsed around him, as her body clung to him like it didn't want him to leave.
And I could feel him unraveling.
His composure cracked.
That iron control he always carried, the restraint woven into every inch of him—it slipped.
His thrusts grew faster now, deeper, more erratic. Like he was chasing something he'd been denying himself for far too long. Like the sound of her breaking open beneath him had undone something in him too.
He buried his face in her neck. His hands gripped her hips tighter. His breath stuttered against her skin.
Then, with one last deep thrust, he froze—his whole body going taut as the pleasure took him.
He came with a low groan, buried deep inside her.
And I felt that too.
The flood of heat.
The full-body tremble.
Like she was his last wish made real.
His breath slowed. His body sagged into hers, both of them slick with sweat, wrapped in silence that wasn't empty, but full—of everything they had just shared, everything they had finally let go.
Afterward, in the stillness that followed, he held her.
His fingers traced the curve of her shoulder, slow and gentle, as if trying to memorize the feeling of her one last time. The room was quiet, bathed in the faint silver glow of moonlight filtering through the screens.
Then he whispered it.
"I love you."
The words landed softly, but they echoed like thunder in the space between us.
Was that for me?
Or was that for her?
I didn't know.
And I was terrified to find out.
Lianshui didn't ask. She didn't flinch. She just smiled—soft, sad, peaceful.
"Thank you," she said gently, her fingers brushing his chest. "Thank you for fulfilling my wish. I can let go now."
He pulled her close, arms tightening around her like he wasn't ready to let her go at all. His voice broke when he spoke.
"I'm sorry," he murmured into her hair. "I know I put you through pain because of me."
Lianshui shook her head. "Don't."
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"It's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault. It's just… it is what it is."
He didn't argue.
He just held her tighter.
Because there was nothing left to say.