The night on the airship was quiet, but the bed was shaking.
It wasn't turbulence.
Princess Zhao Ling woke with a gasp, her hands gripping the sheets. Her legs—usually dead weight—were jerking violently. A severe spasm had seized her lower body, her muscles firing misfired signals that caused her legs to kick out and stiffen like iron bars.
"Jiang Fan," she hissed through gritted teeth.
Jiang Fan was already moving. He sat up, sleep still in his eyes, and threw off the duvet.
"I see it," he murmured.
Her left leg was trembling uncontrollably, the quad muscle tight as a rock. Because she had no sensation, she didn't feel the pain of the cramp, but she felt the violent motion shaking her entire core. It was terrifying—like being attached to a machine she couldn't turn off.
"It won't stop," she panicked, her breathing shallow. "It's shaking the whole bed."
Jiang Fan didn't panic. He moved down the bed and placed his heavy hands firmly on her thighs. He didn't force them down; he applied a steady, grounding pressure.
"Breathe, Ling," he said softly. "It's just a feedback loop. Your nerves are confused."
He leaned his weight into his hands, pinning her legs to the mattress. He began to massage the tense muscle with his thumbs, working deep into the tissue she couldn't feel.
"Is it working?" he asked.
"I... I think so," she watched her own legs. The violent kicking slowed to a tremor, then finally settled back into stillness.
She slumped back against the pillows, exhausted. Sweat matted her hair to her forehead.
"I hate them," she whispered, staring at her feet. "They don't move when I want them to, but they dance when I'm trying to sleep. It's humiliating."
Jiang Fan crawled back up the bed. He pulled her into his arms, letting her rest her head on his chest.
"It's not humiliating. It's biology," he kissed the top of her head. "Your body is just trying to figure out the new wiring. Go back to sleep. I'll hold them down if they start a revolution again."
THE MORNING ROUTINE
The sun rose, bringing the reality of the day.
"Jiang Fan," the Princess poked his cheek. Her voice was small. "I need... the facilities."
This was the hardest part. Fighting monsters? Easy. Asking the man you loved to carry you to the toilet? It shredded her pride every single time.
Jiang Fan yawned, stretched, and threw the covers off.
"Taxi service, at your command."
He scooped her up from the bed. Her body was limp, warm, and familiar in his arms now. He carried her to the bathroom.
It wasn't glamorous. He had to help her lift her nightgown. He had to lower her onto the seat, checking her positioning because she couldn't tell if she was sitting straight. If she sat crooked, she could get a pressure sore.
"I'll wait outside," he said, turning to leave to give her a shred of privacy.
"Don't go far," she said quickly, grabbing his sleeve. "My balance... without the rails..."
"I'm right here," he promised. He stood with his back turned, leaning against the doorframe, humming a tune to cover the silence.
When she was done, the shame flared again. She couldn't stand to clean herself. She couldn't reach properly without risking falling off.
"Jiang Fan," she whispered, her face burning. "I need help."
He turned around. There was no disgust in his eyes. Only a calm, sleepy efficiency. He grabbed a warm, wet towel.
"It's okay," he said gently. He tended to her with the same care he used when polishing his favorite fan. He was thorough, gentle, and respectful. "Done. Fresh and clean."
He washed his hands, then lifted her over to the vanity bench. He began to brush her hair while she stared at herself in the mirror.
"You must hate this," she murmured, looking at his reflection. "You're a Supreme Elder. You shouldn't be wiping..."
"Ling," he interrupted, meeting her eyes in the glass. "I don't love the poop. I'm not weird. But I love you. And this is part of the package."
He put the brush down and kissed her neck.
"Besides, you're going to be conquering a mountain in an hour. A Empress needs a clean start. Now, let's go get your legs."
THE REVEAL
They went down to the hangar deck.
Gu Ling was waiting. She looked exhausted but triumphant, grease smeared on her cheek.
"It is finished," Gu Ling announced.
In the center of the bay sat the War-Lotus: Mark I.
It was terrifying.
Gone were the floating petals and gold trim. This machine was built low to the ground. It moved on two heavy, treaded tracks made of blackened Spirit-Iron. The seat was a reinforced cockpit with a high back and a four-point harness.
On the left armrest: A shimmering blue Energy Shield generator. On the right armrest: A rotary Spirit-Cannon. Under the seat: A massive engine block that hummed with contained violence.
"It doesn't hover," Gu Ling explained, tapping the treads. "It crushes. It can climb a 60-degree incline. It weighs two tons. You are no longer a flower, Your Highness. You are a bunker."
The Princess stared at it. It was ugly. It was brutal.
It was perfect.
"Put me in," she commanded.
Jiang Fan carried her over. The transfer was different this time. He didn't place her gently onto a cushion. He lowered her into the deep bucket seat.
He grabbed the heavy straps. One over each shoulder, two across her paralyzed hips. He pulled them tight—tighter than was comfortable.
"Tight enough?" he asked.
"Tighter," she said. "I can't use my abs. If I lean, I fall. Lock me to the frame, Jiang Fan. Make me part of the steel."
He yanked the straps until she was fused to the chair. She couldn't wiggle even if she wanted to. She was one with the tank.
Gu Ling handed her a neural-link helmet. It was sleek, black, and covered the top half of her face.
"Connection established," Gu Ling said.
HUMMM.
The War-Lotus roared to life. The treads locked into the deck.
The Princess felt the machine. The sensors in the treads fed data directly to her brain. She could feel the texture of the floor through the metal tracks.
"I can feel the ground," she whispered, tears springing to her eyes beneath the visor. "I have feet again. Giant, metal feet."
"Let's go test them," Jiang Fan said, jumping onto the back of the tank and holding onto the roll bar. "To the mines."
THE SIEGE OF THUNDER-PEAK
The Thunder-Peak Mines were guarded by the Golem Legion. Hundreds of stone soldiers, animated by the very crystals they mined, stood watch at the valley entrance.
"Halt!" The Golem Commander boomed, his voice like grinding rocks. "This is Imperial Property!"
The airship ramp lowered.
The War-Lotus rolled out. Clank. Clank. Clank. The sound of the heavy treads echoing off the canyon walls was ominous.
The Princess sat in the cockpit, her paralyzed body strapped in, her hands resting on the control spheres.
"Imperial Property?" The Princess's voice was amplified by the suit, sounding metallic and god-like. "I am the Princess. I am the Empire."
"Fire!" The Golem Commander roared.
Boulders and stone spears rained down.
"Jiang Fan, get behind me!" she shouted.
"Way ahead of you," Jiang Fan was already crouching behind the armored seat, using her as a shield. "Nice cover."
The Princess thought Shield.
The left armrest flared. A hexagonal blue barrier expanded, covering the tank. The boulders smashed into it and shattered into dust.
"My turn," she whispered.
She focused on the Golem Commander. She didn't have to aim with her hands. She aimed with her mind.
Target Lock.
The rotary cannon on her right arm spun up. WHIRRRRR.
BRT-BRT-BRT-BRT.
Streaks of condensed spirit energy tore through the air.
It wasn't a fight. It was landscaping.
The Golem Commander exploded into gravel. The soldiers behind him were mowed down like grass. The War-Lotus surged forward, the treads crushing the debris.
The Princess felt every vibration through the neural link. The crunch of stone under her tracks felt satisfying. It felt like power.
"Eat dirt!" she laughed maniacally, spinning the tank on a dime to blast a flanker.
THE CHECK-UP
Ten minutes later, the entrance was secured. The remaining Golems had retreated into the tunnels.
The War-Lotus powered down, steam hissing from the vents.
"Clear," the Princess announced, panting slightly. The neural link was mentally exhausting.
Jiang Fan hopped off the back.
"Good shooting, Tex," he said. He walked around to the front of the cockpit.
"Get me out," she said. "The adrenaline is fading. My back hurts."
He unbuckled the heavy straps. As soon as the tension was released, her body slumped forward, unsupported. He caught her instantly.
He lifted her out of the machine. Her legs dangled, limp and useless, contrasting sharply with the destructive power she had just wielded.
He carried her to a flat rock and sat down, placing her in his lap.
"Check me," she said quietly. "The recoil was hard. Did I bruise?"
He lifted her tunic. Her hips, where the straps had dug in, were red and angry. Her knees, which had banged against the cockpit wall during the turns, were beginning to bruise purple.
"You're banged up," Jiang Fan murmured, tracing the bruise on her knee. "You didn't feel this hit?"
"No," she shook her head. "I didn't feel a thing. Is it bad?"
"Just surface bruising. But we need to pad the cockpit better."
He pulled a jar of Su Qing's healing salve from his pocket. He warmed the balm in his hands and began to rub it into her paralyzed legs.
The Princess watched him. Behind them, the smoke of the battle still rose. Her tank sat cooling in the sun.
"I feel powerful in the chair," she whispered. "But the moment you take me out... I'm just meat again."
"You're the pilot," Jiang Fan said, massaging the balm into her bruised knee. "The machine is nothing without the pilot. The meat is the important part."
He kissed her bruised knee.
"And I happen to like the meat. It's soft."
She laughed, leaning her head against his shoulder.
"We have the mines," she said. "The Capital goes dark tonight."
"And tonight," Jiang Fan added, picking her up again to carry her back to the ship. "We celebrate with a nap. You did good, Commander."