I reached out and took his hand in mine.
His hand was warm, strong. A jolt, like a gentle current of lightning, shot up my arm. For a second, I thought he would pull away. The Arya I remembered from this time, the distant and focused prodigy, would have. It was an overly familiar gesture, a breach of decorum, especially in such a public and somber setting.
Instead, his fingers tightened around mine, his grip firm and sure. He held my hand as if it were an anchor in a storm. He kept his focus on the elder, finishing his words of comfort. But his hand was holding mine. Tightly.
My mind went completely blank. All the carefully rehearsed words of condolence, all the plans to offer my family's support, they all evaporated into thin air. All I could feel was 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. It was a voice I hadn't heard in a decade.
I felt a blush creep up my neck, a hot wave of shyness that was utterly alien 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 what I came here for. To be proactive. To be his support. This was my duty. And, my heart admitted with a painful flutter, it was my deepest desire.
So I stood there beside him, my hand in his, a silent partner to his quiet strength. We were a portrait 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 own voice sounding 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 release me. Instead, his grip tightened just a fraction more. "Come. Walk with me. I need to speak with my father about the arrangements."
He led me away from the grieving crowd, towards the patriarch's study. We walked in silence, our hands still linked. The whispers of the family members followed us, but they were no longer just fearful. I could hear the faint murmurs of hope, of speculation. They saw us, and they saw a future. They saw an alliance made manifest.
This is right, I thought, my resolve hardening. This is how it should have been.
As we walked, my inner monologue was a chaotic mess. One part of me, the vengeful warrior, was coldly analyzing 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, the part that had loved this man for a lifetime, was completely and utterly 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 a one-sided devotion. 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 an almost 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 by his side 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 powerfully sweet, so dangerously seductive, 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 blindingly bright.
We found Chen Tianyuan looking exhausted but resolute. Arya, without letting go of my hand, calmly and clearly laid out the plan he had formulated.
"Father," he began, his voice ringing with an 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 a cold, ruthless, and absolutely brilliant political move. It transformed 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 affair," Arya continued, his grip on my hand tightening as if to emphasize our unity. "We will invite all the major powers of the Jade River Alliance. Meira and I will preside over 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, a part of his family's response.
"I agree," I said, my voice unwavering. "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 was scoffing. Honor the traitor. How amusing. But my outward expression was one of loyal support.
The patriarch gave a final nod, a look of profound relief and pride on his face. "So be it. I leave the arrangements in your hands."
As we left the study to begin the grim 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-blooded strategist in me was impressed by his ruthlessness. The reborn avenger in me was pleased that a future enemy was eliminated.
But the girl who had loved him across two lifetimes? She was just blissfully happy that he was holding her hand.