Confluence: Goddess Reborn

I showed up to training the next morning. Late. Barely brushed. Still emotionally tender but upright, which I counted as progress.

I expected the usual—dim incense-filled room, the giant basin in the center like some ominous decorative footbath. Maybe a few scrolls. A cushion or two. Spiritual awkwardness.

What I didn't expect were the three wooden training dummies lined up at the far end of the room like they were about to hold auditions for a tragic martial arts play.

I stopped short in the doorway. "…What is this?"

Shen Kexian didn't even look up from the scroll he was holding. "Combat training."

I blinked. "I'm sorry—combat?"

He finally turned toward me, his expression as neutral as ever, which somehow made it more insulting. "Yes. Combat training."

"Why," I asked slowly, "do I need combat training? I'm the Goddess of Water, not the Assassin of Regret."

He let out a long, suffering sigh and gestured toward the cushion in front of him. "Sit."

I narrowed my eyes but obeyed, lowering myself cross-legged onto the cushion. I crossed my arms. "This better be good."

He lowered the scroll. His face shifted—just slightly. The usual calm, unreadable mask gave way to something more serious. Grounded. Sharp.

"Mei Lin," he said quietly, "I know how you feel right now. I know you don't want to be doing this."

I stared at him, already gearing up for a fight.

"And if you want to go back to your room and wallow in your personal drama with Ming Yu—" he continued.

I shot him a what the hell look so fast my neck cracked.

He didn't even blink. "—I get that."

"Do you?"

"Yes. Unfortunately."

He paused. Then his tone dropped, flatter now. No more teasing. "But have you thought about what's actually happening around you right now?"

I didn't answer. Because no. Of course I hadn't.

"You moved water," he said. "In front of the royal court. In front of nobles. Ministers. Foreign envoys. You didn't just impress the King. You sent a message to every single person who watched it: that the Goddess of Water has awakened. And she can be guided."

Something in my chest pulled tight.

"Before, they were uncertain. Rumors. Hesitation. Now?" He held my gaze. "They believe it. And belief is dangerous."

I stayed silent, my throat dry.

Shen Kexian stood slowly, walking toward the training dummies. "Now is the time," he continued, "that people will begin to act. You won't always see it. You won't always hear it. But it's happening already. There are those who will want to use you. To manipulate you. Some will try to take you. To keep you as a tool. Others?" He looked back at me, eyes dark. "They'll want to kill you."

The words hit like a slap.

"Not everyone wants a divine being walking around ruining centuries of quiet scheming," he said. "When things don't fit into someone's plan, they're eliminated."

I inhaled slowly. "So… that's what I am now?"

"A threat," he said plainly. "Or a prize. Depending on who's looking."

I stared at the wooden dummy in front of me, suddenly seeing something else: a target. A warning. A possibility.

I'd been so caught in my grief, in my broken heart and the chaos of losing Ming Yu, I hadn't even thought to look up.

I stared at the training dummy, the absurdity of the whole situation slowly settling over me like a damp sheet. "So what do you want me to do? Splash water at the enemy until they slip and crack their head open? I can't fight with water."

Shen Kexian actually chuckled under his breath. "You can't. Not yet."

He looked at me seriously now. "That's what we're trying to explore. Together."

That word hit harder than it should have.

Together.

My stomach twisted. There was something warm in it—hope, maybe. Curiosity. And then, right behind it, guilt. Ming Yu's voice echoed in my head. His silence, even louder. The pain I'd left him in.

But another truth cut through the noise.

If I didn't train, if I didn't learn to control this—there might not be a future with him. Not if I ended up dead first.

I sat up, inhaling deeply. "Okay," I said. "Let's try."

Shen Kexian didn't hesitate. "Combat isn't like lifting water into pretty shapes," he said. "It's not delicate. It's not showy. It's directed violence. It needs force. Intention. You need to strike."

He stepped closer, voice low. "You need emotion. Rage. A clear target. It has to be sharp—but not all-consuming. Let it burn, but do not let it own you."

I nodded, slower now.

He looked at the space around us, then back at me. "And I believe," he said, "that our powers might need to be balanced to work properly."

He extended his hand. Again.

I looked at it, then at him. "Hold on. So if I have to fight someone, I have to… what? Drag you around the battlefield? Are we doing tandem combat choreography now?"

He gave me a long look. The kind of look that could be framed and titled Are You Kidding Me?

Then he sighed, deeply. "You cannot summon your power without me. Can you?"

I muttered something unflattering and rolled my eyes. "Fine."

I reached out and took his hand.

The warmth hit immediately—steady, slow, familiar. Like a low tide rolling in, pulling at my ribs. I let it in. Let him in. Just like we'd practiced.

The water didn't rise in soft, ribbon-like spirals this time—it surged upward in dense, coiled columns, the edges sharper, tighter, as if carved by purpose instead of grace. It hovered in the air like it was holding its breath, waiting for a command I hadn't given. 

And then—something shifted. 

The warmth that usually flowed from Shen Kexian, calm and guiding like a steady tide, twisted into something heavier. It darkened. What had once felt safe became suffocating, heat curling under my skin not with comfort but with weight, with pressure. I flinched without meaning to. 

Because I could feel it. Him. His rage. Not wild or flaring, but cold—contained like a dagger sheathed in ice, humming just beneath the surface of his control. It pushed through our connection, like a current far too strong for the channel that held it, rushing into me with the speed and weight of something ancient and furious. 

My body tensed. My breath hitched. Panic surged before thought could catch up. Without warning, I tore myself free, yanked my power back violently, instinct overriding every lesson. 

The connection snapped shut like a slammed door, and the water reacted—screaming outward in a vicious backlash. 

A pulse of magic exploded from the air, raw and wild, and before I could stop it, it struck him. Shen Kexian's body whipped back, hit square in the chest by the blast. He flew across the room and hit the ground hard, the sound of impact cracking against the stone floor like thunder. 

I stood there, frozen, heart thudding painfully in my ears. Then—he coughed. Once. Then again, harsher. And when he raised a hand to his mouth, I saw the smear of blood blooming across his palm—dark, vivid, a jarring splash of reality against his pale skin. He stared at it, silent. 

I rushed to his side, the panic catching up to me in one sharp breath. "Oh my god—are you okay?"

He winced as he sat up slightly, hand still pressed against his ribs. His mouth curled into something between a grimace and a ghost of a smile. "That… hurts."

"No kidding," I muttered, hovering awkwardly, not sure where to place my hands. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to pull away. I didn't think it would—" I stopped myself, searching his face. "What happened? How did I hurt you?"

He leaned back against the training mat, exhaling through his nose. "How did you feel," he asked slowly, "right before you broke the connection?"

I hesitated.

Because I wasn't sure if I wanted to say it out loud.

But his eyes were steady, expectant, and after what I just did, I owed him at least that much.

"I felt…" I swallowed. "I felt your rage. Cold. Heavy. Not like before. It wasn't warm or steady—it was… overwhelming. It filled my chest and wrapped around my ribs like it wanted to squeeze the air out of me. It scared me."

I looked down at my hands. "So I pulled away."

Shen Kexian was silent for a moment, brow furrowing slightly in thought. Then, without a word, he braced his hand against the floor and stood up.

"Let's try again," he said.

I blinked. "Wait, what?"

He brushed a smear of blood from the corner of his mouth and looked at me like I was the irrational one. "We need to figure this out. Sooner rather than later."

I stared at him, dumbfounded. "Are you crazy? I just water-blasted you across the room and made you cough up internal organs. And your idea is to try again?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Would you rather I walk around the palace avoiding emotional intimacy forever?"

"Honestly? Yes."

"I'd rather die trying to find the answer than wait to be killed not having it."

I narrowed my eyes. "Are you saying that with confidence or are you concussed?"

He smiled faintly. "Both."

I threw my hands in the air. "You know, for someone who radiates stoic wisdom, you really lean hard into the 'self-sacrificial idiot' category."

He stepped forward again, hand extended. "And yet here you are. Still standing. Still holding it together."

"Barely."

He didn't reply. Just waited.

And despite myself—despite the fear still curdled in the back of my throat—I looked down at his outstretched hand.

Here we go again

The next three attempts didn't go much better.

I blasted him twice.

Not intentionally, of course. But each time the water rose and I reached for him, that same cold, burning pressure flooded in—too much, too fast. My instincts rebelled. I shut down. And the energy lashed out like it was trying to protect me from him.

The third time, he managed to settle the water before I could cut the connection. The strike formed—just enough to arc toward the training dummy—but it fizzled out before it made contact. He caught the backlash and grounded it, steadying the energy with effort so precise it made my teeth ache.

But his face went pale. Too pale.

His posture stayed upright, his expression unreadable—but I could see it in the tightness around his mouth. The stiffness in his shoulders. He was hurting.

This wasn't surface pain anymore. These injuries were rooting deeper.

I stepped forward. "Let's call it a day," I said quietly. "At this rate, I'm going to kill you before we figure anything out."

He didn't argue.

We parted ways without ceremony. No parting words. No lingering glances. Just silence and exhaustion hanging between us.

I returned to my room in a fog, my body tired but my mind thrumming.

That sensation still clung to me—the cold, the rage, the sheer weight of his power. It made my skin crawl just thinking about it. It wasn't just heat. It wasn't just pressure. It burned. Not like fire, but like being dragged beneath ice that kept thickening the more you fought.

I had tried to endure it. I had tried to let it in and stay calm. But every time, it felt like it wanted to swallow me. Twist me. Snuff me out.

I sat on the floor and closed my eyes, trying to recreate the moment—not the pain of it, but the rhythm, the edge. If I couldn't survive it head-on, I had to learn to breathe inside it. Long enough for him to shape the water. Long enough to strike.

I slowed my breath. Reached inward.

And there it was.

That familiar heaviness. Still lingering like smoke. Still cold. Still sharp.

But if I looked deeper—if I moved past the fear and the pull—I felt something else.

Small. Faint. Flickering just at the edge of our power.

***

The knock came early—polite, soft, and just loud enough to drag me out of the half-dream I'd been sinking into.

I sat up groggily as the door slid open a few inches and a eunuch bowed. "Consort Li. Lord Shen has canceled today's training. He requires… a bit of recovery."

I blinked at him. "A bit of recovery?"

He bowed again. "That is the message, my lady."

Then he disappeared down the corridor, leaving me staring at the space where he'd stood, still clutching my robe like it might give me context.

A bit of recovery?

He wasn't that bad when we parted yesterday. Bruised pride, a little pale, sure—but he was walking. Talking. Still being dramatic with his sleeve flourishes.

I flopped back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.

So why did he cancel? Was he actually worse than he let on?

My stomach twisted. Worry bloomed in my chest without permission. I immediately slapped a pillow over my face.

"No," I said aloud. "No, we are not doing this."

I yanked the pillow off and sat up, scowling at nothing.

Why do you care? Seriously—why?

Shouldn't you be more concerned about yourself right now? About Ming Yu? About the fact that your heart is still duct-taped together and you're emotionally unstable enough to snap porcelain with a thought?

But still… I saw his face. Pale. Too pale.

The way he caught the magic mid-blast and swallowed the backlash like it was nothing—but it wasn't nothing. And I let it happen.

Ugh.

I paced. Then sat. Then paced again.

Because apparently, we're spiraling before breakfast now.

I didn't want to care. I didn't want to feel anything when I thought of Shen Kexian except maybe the urge to throw tea in his general direction.

But the worry didn't go away.

And when I caught my reflection in the mirror—hair a mess, eyes puffy with anxiety I wouldn't name—I knew exactly what I needed to do.

I threw on my robe, tied the sash like it owed me money, and bolted out the door.

Because when the palace spins, and your heart's in pieces, and your moral compass is short-circuiting, there's only one person who can untangle it all:

Yuling.

God helped me, I needed her wisdom. Or at the very least, a cup of tea and someone to tell me I wasn't going insane.

Yuling's quarters were quiet when I got there, save for the soft murmur of her personal maid humming a lullaby from the outer room. I didn't bother knocking. I just pushed the door open like a woman on the verge of a meltdown and staggered inside.

Yuling was reclining on a daybed near the window, wrapped in a gauzy robe, legs tucked under her like a proper court lady and a smug little tea tray balanced perfectly on one side.

She looked up the moment I entered. "You look like someone who hasn't slept and is about to ask a question she already knows the answer to."

I flopped onto the nearest cushion with a dramatic groan. "Shen Kexian canceled training."

She blinked. "Why?"

I waved my hand. "He's recovering. That's what the eunuch said. 'A bit of recovery.' Which means I probably did more damage than I thought yesterday. Which means he's probably in bed somewhere, bleeding internally while I'm just… here. Sitting. Breathing."

Yuling raised one elegant brow. "And that's a problem because…?"

"Because," I said, throwing up my arms, "I hurt him. Like, actual blood-hitting-the-floor hurt him. And now I don't know if he's just trying to save face or if he's genuinely too injured to function."

She poured me a cup of tea, completely unbothered. "And why exactly are you this concerned?"

I froze.

Then narrowed my eyes. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"That eyebrow thing."

She sipped her tea. "It's my natural expression when people are clearly lying to themselves."

"I'm not lying."

"You're definitely lying."

I groaned and buried my face in my hands. "I don't like him."

"I didn't say you did."

"I don't even trust him."

"Also true."

"I'm in love with Ming Yu."

Yuling looked at me, calm as ever. "And yet here you are, spiraling over another man's wellness like he's your favorite porcelain figurine and someone nudged him off the shelf."

I made a strangled noise. "That is not what this is."

"Then what is it, exactly?"

"I don't know!" I exploded, throwing my hands into the air. "That's the problem! I don't know what this is. I don't know what I'm feeling. I just know that when I felt his power yesterday, it scared me. Not just because it was strong—but because it wasn't just rage. There was something else underneath it. Something I can't explain."

Yuling was quiet for a long moment. Then she set her tea down carefully and looked at me.

"Sometimes," she said softly, "when something scares us, it's because we recognize it. Even if we don't want to."

I blinked. "What does that mean?"

She smiled faintly. "It means your heart is smart. Smarter than your mouth, at least."

I stared at her. "You're enjoying this way too much."

"I've been stuck in these chambers for a week with no gossip, swollen ankles, and a child doing acrobatics on my spine. Let me have this."

I laughed—just a little. Then sighed. "What am I supposed to do?"

Yuling reached over, took my hand, and squeezed it gently. "Take a breath. Sort your feelings before you go throwing more water at people. And maybe check on him. Just to be sure he's not actually bleeding out behind a scroll rack."

I narrowed my eyes. "That sounded suspiciously like permission to care."

She sipped her tea again. "I'm pregnant, not blind. Go."

***

Shen Kexian's quarters were exactly what I expected: quiet, cold, and annoyingly well-organized.

Scrolls lined the shelves in perfect rows, not a single one out of place. There were ink stones on the desk, stacked by color and age. A long silk map was pinned to one wall, annotated in neat black characters. Three entire towers of books sat by the windowsill—one historical, one philosophical, and one that looked suspiciously like coded military records he'd definitely not received through official channels.

The whole place smelled like sandalwood, ink, and irritating competence.

And there he was.

Alive. Very much alive.

Sitting cross-legged on a floor cushion, robe loosely draped, one hand holding a scroll and the other reaching calmly for his teacup like he hadn't been violently hurled across a room by elemental backlash less than twenty-four hours ago.

I froze in the doorway.

He looked up, blinked once, then gave me the faintest smile. "Consort Li."

"You are not recovering."

His smile widened slightly. "Oh? You disagree with the message sent on my behalf?"

"Yes. I disagree. I thought I was about to walk in here and find you pale, half-conscious, maybe with dramatic bandages and emotional music playing softly in the background."

"Ah. My apologies for disappointing your flair for melodrama."

I walked in and crossed my arms, glaring at him like it might crack his calm exterior. "You're fine. You're just sitting there. Reading."

He set the scroll aside and gestured lazily to the side table. "Would you like some tea? Or shall I summon a physician to reapply blood for effect?"

I scowled. "You tricked me."

"You visited me," he said mildly. "Uninvited. After skipping training."

"I skipped because you canceled training."

"Because I needed rest."

"You're reading commentary on water formation theory."

"A deeply restorative text."

I stared at him, face burning. "You wanted me to come here, didn't you?"

He tilted his head, eyes glinting. "Did you?"

I opened my mouth. Closed it again.

His smirk was small but unmistakable. "You seem surprised to find me alive."

"I'm surprised you weren't vaporized."

"And yet here I am."

He stood slowly, folding his sleeves with infuriating grace. "Tell me, Consort Li… were you worried?"

I blinked. "No."

"You rushed into my quarters."

"I was being polite."

"You're red in the face."

"It's hot in here."

He stepped closer. "Of course."

The worst part?

I didn't know if I wanted to slap him or ask for more tea.

So instead, I turned away, muttering under my breath. "I should've brought another water blast."

He chuckled. "Next time, aim for the books. It would at least make room on the shelf."

Gods, I hated how much that made me want to laugh.

I turned on my heel, brushing imaginary dust from my sleeve. "Well, since you're clearly not dying, I'll be going."

"Wait," Shen Kexian said, the word soft but firm enough to stop me mid-step.

I paused but didn't turn around. "What. Are you going to dramatically collapse now just to prove a point?"

"Tempting," he said, "but no. Since you're here, why not try a new training method?"

That got my attention. I turned back slowly, eyes narrowing. "What kind of method?"

He was already moving, clearing a space in the center of the room with a casual flick of his sleeve. "Since I was most recently blasted into another spiritual plane by your water backlash," he said with perfect composure, "let's not use water."

I eyed him. "So… what, throw pillows instead?"

"No. Emotion only."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

He looked at me evenly. "No water. No elements. Just the connection. See how long you can hold it. Observe. Withstand."

I gave him a long, deeply skeptical look. "So… you want me to just... hold your hand and suffer?"

"That's a very dramatic way of putting it."

"It's accurate."

He stepped forward, raising a brow. "What's wrong? Afraid you'll feel something?"

I scoffed. "Please. I've been emotionally constipated for weeks. What else could possibly go wrong?"

"Famous last words," he said, holding out his hand.

The moment our hands met, the warmth spread through me like a returning tide. It wasn't forceful. It wasn't dramatic. Just a gentle, steady pulse—alive beneath my skin. His palm against mine felt safe. Familiar in a way I couldn't explain. Like I'd held it before in another life I couldn't remember, but my body did.

He didn't speak for a moment. Just held the connection until the warmth settled in my chest.

Then his voice broke the stillness, quiet but direct. "Do you feel that?"

I nodded, lips pressed together. "Yeah."

He gave the faintest incline of his head. "Alright. I'm shifting."

I barely had time to brace myself.

The warmth began to drain away, as if pulled by unseen hands. It didn't vanish all at once—it receded in slow, deliberate waves, replaced by a different kind of sensation. One that crept into my bones. Heavier. Colder.

My breath hitched.

It was like ice curling around the inside of my ribs. Not biting, not painful, but stifling. The temperature in the room didn't change, but I felt it—that weight, that pressure. The emotional texture of his power. Tightly contained rage. Grief in armor. Anger so restrained it vibrated under the surface, waiting for the smallest crack.

It made me shiver.

But I didn't let go.

I closed my eyes and sank inward, reaching through the dense fog of his emotion. I tried to breathe through the heaviness, tried to remember the exercise—not to block, not to break, but to feel.

Last night, I recoiled. Now, I leaned in.

Somewhere beneath the cold—beneath the clenched silence of his pain—I knew there was something else. I searched for it like fingers brushing through frost, like looking for light behind storm clouds. It took time. Effort. Focus.

And then I found it.

Small. Flickering. Like the last ember in a dying fire.

It wasn't rage. It wasn't sorrow, either—not quite.

It was... a feeling I couldn't name. Not sharp enough to be grief. Not gentle enough to be comfort. It was the ache you feel at the end of a long, quiet goodbye. That moment in a drama when the music swells and you know someone's about to walk away. The way your chest tightens when someone you love tries not to cry and fails anyway.

It felt like compassion wrapped in regret.

The cold vanished all at once, like someone lifting a soaked blanket off my chest. The pressure eased. The bond thinned.

I opened my eyes, blinking against the warmth sliding down my cheeks.

Shen Kexian was staring at me, eyes wide with something dangerously close to worry. He didn't say anything at first. He just reached out slowly and brushed his fingers along my cheek.

That's when I finally realized.

"I'm crying?" I whispered, stunned.

He nodded. "You are."

I blinked, the sting in my throat rising with embarrassment. "What the hell... why?"

He lowered his hand but didn't step away. "You tell me."

I tried to make sense of it. The words didn't come easily. My heart was still tangled in the feeling I'd found. "I don't know," I said slowly. "I reached deep, past the cold… and I felt something. It was small, but it was there. And I just... grabbed onto it."

His gaze didn't waver. The air between us felt stretched, like the space was holding its breath.

And in that quiet, I realized something even more terrifying than my tears.

That flicker I had felt?

It wasn't mine.

It belonged to him.

***

The next day, we tried again—this time with the basin.

I was nervous. Not the "I might trip over my own robe" kind of nervous. The "I might emotionally short-circuit and murder someone I'm kind of starting to care about" kind of nervous.

Shen Kexian stood across from me, calm as ever, one hand hovering over the rim of the water basin. The training dummy loomed behind him like a silent audience member waiting to be impressed or decapitated.

I took his hand.

The warmth flowed through me instantly. Familiar now. Still strange, but no longer foreign. It curled into my chest like a steady heartbeat.

Then he shifted.

The cold came again, slow and creeping, settling in my lungs, wrapping around my spine. It wasn't as sharp as yesterday, but it was heavier this time, deeper. The anger was there too—quiet, simmering. I felt it press against my ribs like a weight I'd have to carry if I wanted to move forward.

But I didn't panic. I stayed still. I searched.

And this time, I found it faster—that flicker. That odd, aching warmth beneath the rage. It wasn't bright, but it was constant. A soft thread woven through everything else. Like a heartbeat inside a storm.

I reached for it and held it. The cold didn't vanish but it stopped suffocating me.

And suddenly, I could breathe.

The water in the basin answered immediately. It lifted—not wild, not spiraling, but straight and sharp. It rose in a clean, thin blade of liquid light. Shen Kexian guided it with precision, his energy threading through mine as one purpose.

The strike landed with a sharp hiss, and for a heartbeat, the room held its breath.

Then the wooden dummy's arm slipped loose—severed clean through—and crashed to the floor with a heavy, splintering clunk. It bounced once, rolled awkwardly, then came to a halt near the far wall, the jagged joint steaming faintly from the magical residue. The cut was so clean it looked almost unreal.

I stared at it, my mind lagging behind what had just happened.

My mouth opened. "Holy—"

I forgot I was still holding Shen Kexian's hand.

And I let go.

The connection snapped like a taut string suddenly cut.

The magic between us, still pulsing, still alive, turned wild in an instant. The water around us collapsed, not gently—but violently, like air rushing back into a vacuum. A shockwave cracked through the room, sharp and deafening.

The backlash hit him first.

Shen Kexian staggered as the wave struck his chest. His foot slipped on the wet stone. He reeled back, his body slamming into the wall with a sickening thud. His hand hit the stone to brace himself, fingers splayed, legs shaking for a heartbeat before he caught his balance.

He didn't fall. But blood splattered on the floor. Bright and sudden.

He coughed again, more ragged this time, and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. More red bloomed against his skin.

I ran toward him, panic rising. "Gods—Shen Kexian—are you—?"

He held up one hand. A little shakier this time. "Don't."

His voice was thinner now, rasping at the edges.

But his eyes—his damned, unreadable eyes—were still sharp as glass.

"You did it," he managed, wiping the blood off like it was an inconvenience, not the result of nearly being exploded.

I stared at him, chest tight. "I nearly killed you. Again."

He coughed again, doubling over slightly, and managed between ragged breaths, "Honestly," he wheezed, "that dummy hasn't looked this good in years."

I blinked. "What?"

He gave a crooked, blood-stained grin. "Worth it."

Then he slid down the wall and muttered, "Next time, maybe you warn me before letting go."

I stood there, soaked in adrenaline and guilt, watching a bleeding, grinning Shen Kexian try to pass off internal injury as a successful training milestone.

And I honestly couldn't decide if I wanted to yell at him… or help him to the infirmary.