Shu Mingye was already standing there, waiting. His hands were clasped neatly behind his back, his face unreadable. He wore black, of course. Because apparently, color was for mortals. Yet tonight, silver threads glimmered faintly at his cuffs and collar, catching the last rays of fading sunlight. The shimmer softened his usual menace, tipping him dangerously close to refined elegance. His hair was tied neatly, his posture straight, and his face… still unfairly good-looking.
Without saying a word, Shu Mingye extended his hand.
Linyue blinked at it. Suspicion first, then hesitation, then something else entirely. Before her mind could generate a hundred excuses, her fingers slid into his. His grip was steady. Warm. Irritatingly steady.
They walked in silence, side by side, hands loosely linked. The polished floor echoed softly under their steps. Neither spoke. Not because they had nothing to say, but because—for once—the silence was comfortable.
Song Meiyu trailed behind them. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity, mischief, and just the right amount of chaos.
When they reached the palace hall, Linyue paused. Then blinked. Then blinked again.
It was empty. Completely, unsettlingly empty. No ministers. No guards. No maidservants bustling about. Not even a suspicious corpse in the corner for decoration.
Just Prince Lu.
He sat comfortably in one of the seats as if he had been born there, one arm hanging carelessly over the side, looking far too relaxed for someone sitting in a foreign hall. His maidservant stood behind him, polite and quiet, the very picture of politeness. On the table beside them, an empty teapot told its own sad story. And judging by how perfectly Prince Lu lounged, he had been waiting long enough to either nap or redecorate.
Linyue stopped cold at the entrance.
Was this… normal? Was this how people in the South welcomed a visiting royalty? With eerie silence and suspiciously empty halls? Or was she looking at the opening act of a very elaborate assassination attempt?
No witnesses. No guards. No one. Just a perfectly neat hall, polished to reflect murder cleanly from every angle. Efficient. Suspicious. She could not decide whether to be impressed or deeply alarmed.
Shu Mingye, of course, looked neither impressed nor alarmed. His grip on her hand stayed firm. Without even acknowledging Prince Lu with more than a passing glance, he strode forward like he was the trap itself. He dropped lazily onto the central seat, one leg stretched out, his posture all arrogance. His expression flat, unreadable, the exact look of someone thinking, What prince? I see no prince.
Linyue followed, because apparently this was her life now.
Official title: Princess.
Current job: Emotional support furniture for the Demon King of the South.
Future role: Either soon-to-be witness… or accomplice. Hard to say.
From her seat, Linyue glanced toward Prince Lu. At that exact moment, Prince Lu turned his head.
Their eyes met.
Oh no.
Linyue immediately shifted her gaze to the table like it was the most fascinating piece of wood she had ever seen. Amazing table. Excellent craftsmanship. Such elegant wood grain. Possibly carved from the bones of an ancient spiritual beast. She was absolutely mesmerized. Table was life. She was one with the table now. She did not see Prince Lu. She had never seen Prince Lu. What was a prince? Who was Prince Lu? Nonsense.
On the table sat a mountain of food and drink. Roasted meats dripping with golden fat, delicate cakes stacked like miniature towers, a pot of tea that smelled far too expensive for its own good, and deep red wine that gleamed like fresh blood in the light. Too bad she could not enjoy any of it. Her appetite had been murdered by panic.
Because here was the problem.
Right now, she was Princess Fu Yuxin. The quiet, polite, proper, very not familiar with Prince Lu. A princess who had never stood on the wall of Luyan, sword in hand, side by side with Prince Lu. A princess who had never laughed at his reckless jokes, never snuck him extra buns when his sister wasn't looking, never called him a suicidal idiot while dodging demon claws.
Linyue had.
And Prince Lu absolutely, unmistakably, one-hundred-percent knew it too. His eyes had that sharp gleam that said: recognition. She could practically feel Song Meiyu buzzing behind her. The silence was so loud she might as well have shouted: Do we know him? Do we pretend we don't? Do we pretend we've never shared stolen dumplings with him? What's the script??
Linyue hadn't thought much of it when Shu Mingye asked her to come along earlier. She should have refused Shu Mingye on the spot. Too late now. Escape routes: zero.
There was a beat of silence, just long enough to make things weird.
Then Shu Mingye finally spoke. His voice was calm, polite, and absolutely soaked in sarcasm. "Prince Lu," he said smoothly. "I heard you brought medicinal supplies to Shulin. How kind of you."
There it was. That subtle edge. The polite version of I know you're lying, and I'm deciding whether to throw you out the window now or after dessert.
Linyue didn't even need to glance at him. She could feel the mockery hiding in that "how kind of you." He was not buying the "I come in peace" story.
Prince Lu, to his credit, looked unbothered. If anything, he seemed entertained. He returned Shu Mingye's fake smile with one of his own. "I heard King Shu was injured while protecting the wall from demons," he said lightly, "so naturally, I came to help. It's only right to support each other during hard times."
He paused, letting the words float just long enough to be suspicious. Then, with a grin that could only be described as problematic, he added cheerfully, "Oh! And of course, I came to congratulate you… on your engagement to Princess Fu."
There it was.
The conversational grenade.
Linyue resisted the urge to sink under the table.
Prince Lu casually lifted his cup to Shu Mingye, drank it with perfect elegance, and set the cup down. Behind him, his maidservant poured more drink, silent as a ghost. Efficient. Graceful.
Linyue inhaled slowly. Wonderful. Just wonderful. She was trapped between a demon king sharpening invisible knives beside her and a prince lobbing conversational grenades across the table. And somehow, she was supposed to sit here smiling like a polite princess.
Shu Mingye snorted loudly. He hadn't even brought a servant with him. Not that Linyue was sure he owned one. Probably scared them all away with his glares and sparkling personality. He poured himself red colored wine from the pot, slammed it down his throat like it was demon blood, and put the cup down with a satisfying thunk. Message received.
Then Prince Lu turned to her. Their eyes met again. Linyue immediately wanted to become one with the teacup.
"Princess," he said smoothly, lifting his refilled cup, "this is for you. Congratulations on your engagement with King Shu."
He drank slowly. Smiling the whole way.
Linyue stared.
Behind her, Song Meiyu leaned forward, grabbed a pot from the table, and poured the contents into Linyue's cup. No words. Just silent support and chaotic encouragement in liquid form.
Linyue raised the cup. Made eye contact with Prince Lu. Drank all of it. Then set it down elegantly, trying very hard not to fling the cup at anyone's head.
This was fine. Everything was fine. She was absolutely not trapped in a weird, passive-aggressive tea battle with a prince who knew too much.
Then Prince Lu smiled again. That smooth, dangerous smile that always meant trouble. "Princess," he said, "that dress suits you well."
And just like that, he raised his cup again and drank.
Linyue stared at him, dead inside. Oh no. Oh no, he was doing that. She had no choice. She raised her cup and replied, "You're too polite, Prince Lu."
Sip. Down it went.
But Prince Lu was not done. Of course he wasn't.
"Not at all," he said with fake modesty and another smile. "I'm just telling the truth. You look stunning, Princess."
And up went the cup. Again.
Linyue could feel her brain melting. He was doing this on purpose. This wasn't a toast. It was a trap. A compliments war disguised as courtesy. Still, as Princess Fu Yuxin, she had to pretend she had no idea what was going on.
"You look good too, Prince Lu," she said, her voice dangerously close to robotic. Then she raised her cup again and drank like it was bitter medicine.
Behind her, Song Meiyu looked like she was watching a palace drama come to life. She was practically vibrating.
Meanwhile, Shu Mingye, seated like a dark cloud between two flirt storms. His expression darkened with every sip exchanged.
"Stunning?" he muttered under his breath.