An ex, as the name says, is a cord cut clean, a thread snapped; Shelika and Rex ended it, and the one who cut first was the former Shelika.

It wasn’t because he was trash; if anything, Rex was model-bright, steady as a pillar, with every box checked like stars in a clear sky.

Yet the bridge still broke; why? The question pricked like a thorn. She sifted memory for seconds, fog parting to a thin strip of road.

The former Shelika had a dark-bellied streak, but in love she chased purity, like a spring that refuses even a fallen leaf.

Put simply, she couldn’t abide even a grain of sand in her lover’s feelings, a cup of tea that must stay clear as moonlight.

And Rex? At the start, he chased her for her height of station, like a moth to a noble lantern—the third princess of the Dark Blood Clan.

His thinking ran like a river into politics: if an abyssal talent of the Demonic Human Race wed a jade maiden of the Dark Blood Clan—

Then two clans with old cracks might mend like stitched silk, and the Dark Spirit Empire would knot tighter, a banner without rips in the wind.

So at the beginning, Rex courted for a state purpose; and she, at the Queen’s nod, answered, a chess piece moved by a white-gloved hand.

Once your rank climbs, even love wears chains; no wonder the former Shelika dreamed of a Prince Charming, and the current Shelika now sees the roots and branches.

Still, the main reason she broke it was that lone posting sixty years ago, a cold road stretching like a pale ribbon to the horizon.

She had to go alone to the Doran Kingdom in Nordland; with mountains long and waters wide between, feelings would thin like ink in rain, so she severed clean.

That chapter closed like a book with pressed flowers, scent fading into paper.

But what Shelika cares about now isn’t the old romance, it’s a single pebble in her shoe—

Did that man ever sleep with the former her?

Boyfriend and girlfriend, holding hands, kissing, even making a life—these are ordinary, like rain and harvest.

Fulin doesn’t balk at that, nor can she police what the body’s original owner did; she thinks it coolly, like a mirror over still water.

She was male in a past life; the edges of that self blur like ink, yet cause and effect still thread the loom, weaving today’s Fulin.

So if she inherited a body already bedded, even if it’s not her true form, Fulin would feel filthy-lucked, like sweet porridge stirred with a latrine stick—

It goes down, but wrong; the taste clings like damp, and her mood would sink for days like a stone in a well.

Good thing the former Shelika and Rex stood high in rank, among nobles whose manners are glass-clear; in such circles, friendship stays cool as water.

Bluntly, they never slept together; not even a kiss, not even fingers laced—air between them like frost on a window.

With that thought, the taut wire in Shelika’s chest slackened, like a bow unstrung.

She also recalled: though the former Shelika didn’t like Rex, he changed; after a time, he grew true feelings, a flame no longer borrowed.

Even after she said it was over, Rex kept her in mind like a name carved into bark, years weathering the groove but not erasing it.

To meet her predecessor’s entanglement here of all places—what a headache, a knot she doesn’t want to pick.

She forced a smile, thin as paper in wind. “Rex, this lady as well. Sixty years gone—hope you’ve been well?”

As she spoke, she stepped back one pace, like a tide pulling away, just outside the reach of his open arms.

His handsome face dimmed, a lantern in mist. “Shelika, you still doubt me, don’t you… My feelings for you are true!”

He caught her hand; she shook free like a bird from a snare. “Rex… what we had is over.”

It wasn’t just a karmic tie cut; even the body isn’t the original, and Fulin doesn’t like men, with a to-do list long as a mountain road—no reason to tend a dead fire, no matter how fine the firewood.

Shelika turned to leave; Rex pursued, stubborn as a nail in oak. “Wait, Shelika!”

He cut her off, a wall across a narrow alley. She stopped showing a pleasant face; her tone cooled like frost. “Anything else? This lady is busy.”

Rex looked at the Shelika before him, gaze layered like clouds. “Shelika, you’re still the same as before…”

Arms crossed over her chest like a closed gate, her voice went colder. “I don’t have time to reminisce.”

He acted like the chill didn’t bite, speaking with a sigh like wind through pines. “I heard about what you did in Oriel City. Brilliant. I’m ashamed by comparison.”

She angled her head away, a swan refusing a lake. “If there’s nothing else, this lady will go.”

He stared at her graceful back, determination hardening like iron from the forge. “Shelika, give me time. I’ll be worthy of you! I swear I—”

Before that vow could land, another girl burst into the scene, a stone splashing into already rippled water.

She was Demonic Human Race too, dressed cute as spring bloom; her face was sweet, her figure slim, beauty like a fresh peach not yet heavy.

She cut in front of Rex, blocking him like a drawn curtain, and flared at him, sparks flying. “Rex! You ditched our date for ‘urgent business,’ and it was to flirt with another woman? You two-timing idiot!”

Rex spread his hands, helpless as a sailor in crosswinds. “No, Winika. I really had business. A priest was making trouble at a restaurant in the commercial street. I was on duty!”

“Hmph—on duty,” Winika shot Shelika a jealous glance, a knife flick of the eye, then glared back. “Leaving your current girl to meet an ex—is that ‘on duty’ too?”

“You really know how to play, huh!” Her temper climbed like a fire catching dry grass.

Rex looked ready to cry, rainclouds gathering. “Winika, I never agreed to be with you!”

Shelika sighed, breath like a small cloud. She watched them bicker, words fencing like reeds in wind, then waved. “You two, farewell. This lady has matters to attend.”

She turned, spread her wings; with a soft whoosh, she lifted off like a swallow cutting through dusk.

Rex lunged to chase, vow still hanging like unfinished thunder, but feet can’t catch wings; his voice stretched thin and far. “Hey! Shelika? Shelika—!”

Winika ran after him, skirts fluttering like petals. “Rex—stop right there! Explain why you just—”

Strictly, flying inside the city is bad manners for the Blood Clan, like skimming stones in a temple pond, but Shelika couldn’t care.

Those two could tangle her for ages; feelings are threads that fray and snarl, the more you cut, the more it knots.

If she kept haggling words with them, Charlotte waiting at the inn might starve, hunger clawing like a cat behind a door.