I reached out and took his hand.
His hand was warm. For a moment, I thought he would pull away. It felt like a breach of decorum, especially in such a serious setting.
Instead, his fingers tightened around mine, his grip firm. He held my hand like it was an anchor in a storm. He stayed focused on the elder, finishing his words of comfort. But his hand was still holding mine.
My mind went completely blank. All the carefully rehearsed words of condolence and plans to offer my family's support evaporated. I could only feel the warmth of his skin against mine, the solid pressure of his grip.
He's holding my hand, a girlish voice squeaked in the back of my mind. I hadn't heard that voice in a decade.
I felt a blush creep up my neck, a hot wave of shyness that felt completely foreign to the vengeful sword fairy I had become. I wanted to pull my hand away, to hide my sudden and unprofessional fluster. But I couldn't. I wouldn't. This was why I came here. To be proactive. To support him. This was my duty. And, my heart admitted with a painful flutter, it was my deepest desire.
So I stood beside him, my hand in his, a silent partner to his quiet strength. We were a picture of unity, the heirs of the two most powerful families in the city, standing together in the face of tragedy.
After a few more moments, he finished speaking with the elder and turned to me, his gaze softening. He still hadn't let go of my hand. "Meira," he said, his voice low. "Thank you for coming."
"Of course," I managed to say, my voice surprisingly steady. "I was… worried about you."
"It has been a difficult morning," he admitted with a sigh. He finally looked down at our joined hands, as if noticing them for the first time. For a heart-stopping second, I thought he would let go. Instead, his grip tightened just a bit more. "Come. Walk with me. I need to talk to my father about the arrangements."
He led me away from the grieving crowd, toward the patriarch's study. We walked in silence, our hands still linked. The whispers of family members followed us, but they no longer felt just fearful. I could hear faint murmurs of hope and speculation. They saw us, and they saw a future.
This is right, I thought, my resolve hardening. This is how it should have been.
As we walked, my thoughts were a chaotic mess. One part of me was coldly assessing the situation. The coward is dead. Good riddance. He was a future traitor. His death saves me the trouble of dealing with him later. This simplifies things. The only thing that matters is how this affects Arya and the family's stability.
But another part of me was completely consumed by the simple sensation of his hand holding mine.
He's still holding my hand. His thumb just moved. Oh, heavens, he just brushed his thumb against my skin.
It was the most intimate touch I had ever shared with him, in either life. In my past life, my love was one-sided. We were friends, then allies of circumstance, but never this. This simple act of holding hands felt more significant than any battle I had ever won, more real than any breakthrough I had ever achieved.
I felt a nearly painful joy bubbling up inside me. It was so intense it felt like a physical pressure in my chest. This is enough, that foolish part of my heart whispered. If I could just stay like this, walking beside him with his hand in mine for the rest of my life, it would be enough. I wouldn't need anything else.
The thought was so sweet and dangerously tempting that it terrified me. I couldn't afford to be this happy. Not yet. The future was still uncertain. Jin Hao was still out there. My sister was still a venomous snake waiting in the grass. I had to stay focused. I had to remember the pain, the betrayal, the burning need for revenge.
But as he led me into his father's study, his hand still warm and firm in mine, it was getting harder and harder to remember the darkness of the past when the present was so bright.
We found Chen Tianyuan looking exhausted. Arya, without letting go of my hand, calmly laid out the plan he had made.
"Father," he began, his voice ringing with authority that belied his years. "We cannot let this mystery fester. It will breed fear and instability. I propose we announce that Chen Wei, in his eagerness to bring glory to the family, attempted a forbidden body-tempering art. He was a martial enthusiast who pushed himself too far for the sake of power. We will honor his spirit."
I listened, my admiration for him growing with every word. It was an absolutely brilliant political move. It turned a mysterious death into a tale of tragic ambition, a story that would resonate with the entire cultivation world.
Chen Tianyuan nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on his son. "And the funeral?"
"We will make it a grand public event," Arya continued, his grip on my hand tightening to emphasize our unity. "We will invite all the major powers of the Jade River Alliance. Meira and I will oversee the arrangements together. We will show the world that in the face of tragedy, the bond between the Chen and Su families has only grown stronger. We will show them not weakness, but an unshakable resolve."
He looked at me then, a question in his eyes. He was including me. He was making me a part of his plan and his family's response.
"I agree," I said, my voice steady. "The Su Family will lend its full support. We will help you honor the memory of your cousin." Even as I said the words, my inner voice scoffed. Honor the traitor. How amusing. But my outward expression was one of loyal support.
The patriarch gave a final nod, a look of relief and pride on his face. "So be it. I leave the arrangements in your hands."
As we left the study to begin the difficult but necessary work of organizing a grand funeral for a man I was glad was dead, Arya still hadn't let go of my hand. My heart was a battlefield of conflicting emotions. The cold strategist in me was impressed by his ruthlessness. The reborn avenger in me was pleased that a future enemy was gone.
But the girl who had loved him across two lifetimes? She was just blissfully happy that he was holding her hand.