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She still has nightmares, of the times she forsaken her modern-day ideas to understand and fight against such an ancient man, ancient in the sense that he would've scoffed at the idea of a woman gaining and utilizing her own agency, her own choice.
It feels so foreign, with her having a good quality mattress beneath her, the temperature of the room neatly controlled by convenient devices with a touch. Wang Cuiha sighed and tried to shimmy herself off her ever clingy Empe—sweetheart—in and effort to stand up, but alas, she was thwarted.
Zhang San was nothing but determined to keep her in his arms, and while she was glad of it, a physical anchor through all the pain they've been through, sometimes...
Sometimes she had to let go. For a while of course.
She mustered up a bit of energy to carefully take his arm out of her waist, wincing at his mumbled confusion. It was still ingrained into her after all those months ago, to step into a darkened room without even a whisper of her presence. Secrets, both learnt and shared, rippled through her mind but for a single moment.
While he wanted nothing more to sleep, the moment he felt a shift, Zhang San carefully woke himself, one eye barely open for his view. He had far too many nights spent waiting for a strike to hit him to ever fully let down his guard, although he was trying.
In the corner of his eye, his sweetheart was trying hard to slip away for herself. He curbed his impulse to keep her with him by slightly embracing her tighter, but when she made to leave, he let her be.
In the sunlight they were together, laughing, playing tennis, and eating hotpot at special moments. Some days were even tense, with the careful discussion on the treachery, the deceit, the inhumanity of their transmigration.
But during the night? Oh the times one had to shake the other awake after a nightmare, both hearts pounding, in fear and in worry, was far too much for their liking. It was the way the night silently crept into their progress of healing themselves, and made the mind remember it all.
Wang Cuiha my love, how I want to wipe away your pain with everything that I have.
A voice within him replied, scathingly true and cruelly sharp. Emperor, what foolish endeavour you desire when you yourself burden her with the same agony.
What really made her upset was her makeup earlier. Something so simple, foundation and powders and blush, but all she could see was the paper character that grew to be a person in their eyes. Xie Yong'er... no. Ma Chunchun deserved better than to bleed on that mountain pass, but it was war.
City A, huh?
It was only when she heard familiar footsteps, loud in the silence and a foolish mistake if they were back in the Xia kingdom, that she realised she whspered it.
Wang Cuiha felt his arms gently wrap around her waist, letting his head nuzzle the crook between her neck and shoulder. His steady breath, slow and steady, was a rhythm she followed with her heartbeat.
She let the tears fall as she turned around and hugged him with all her might. At least, at least—!
At least she was home.