Wangchen's arm was heavy and warm around her shoulders.
Her head rested against his chest, listening to the steady, mortal, utterly reliable thrum of his heartbeat.
"We had a good run, didn't we, Little Puddle?" Ji'an whispered, her voice raspy with age, her hand resting comfortably over his.
"We built a flawless life, my Ji'an," Wangchen replied, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the crown of her graying head. "I would live it a thousand times over, as long as it was with you."
Deep, deep down in the absolute, locked-away core of her transmigrator soul, Lin Ji'an knew it was a lie.
She knew she was lying in a puddle of mist on an obsidian floor.
She knew she was in the middle of a survival tournament.
She knew she was sixteen, disguised as a boy, and currently fighting for her life in a world of flying swords and immortal monsters.
The lucid, tactical part of her brain was screaming at her: 'Wake up! Break the array! Channel your Qi and shatter the crystal! You are dying!'
