Morning came faster than expected. Linyue was already awake, seated by the table with a half-empty teacup cooling at her elbow. One hand propped up her chin, the other tapped against the wooden surface with soft, patient thuds. Tap. Tap. Tap. Her face looked calm enough, but her eyes flicked toward the door every few seconds.
She was waiting for the other three troublemakers.
Shen Zhenyu had vanished last night. Not to sleep. Not to sulk in a corner with a scroll. He was off interrogating someone. He had that unnerving talent for it—quiet, calm, and utterly terrifying when he wanted to be.
It had all started when they came back from that haunted cave. As if caves weren't bad enough, there just had to be a bonus horror waiting at home. Something had been lurking in the backyard of their chambers. Because of course it had. This was Shulin, after all. A cheerful place where brides dropped dead mysteriously like it was some horrible tradition. But she was not just any bride.
Linyue had come prepared. In fact, all four of them had. Before they even left for the capital, they had mapped escape routes, marked hidden exits, and buried more than a few "surprises" around the courtyard. A cautious person might call them traps. A generous person might call them insurance. Linyue called them precaution.
When she returned, sure enough, someone had stepped right into the trap. Naturally. People in Shulin seemed born with a talent for poor life choices. She had asked Shen Zhenyu to take care of it. He came back late last night, windswept and smug, as if he had just battled an army of assassins under the moonlight. In reality, he had probably asked three sharp questions, raised a brow, and stared until the unfortunate soul confessed their entire family history. Typical Shen Zhenyu.
Now, Linyue sat alone, frowning at her cooling cup of tea. She was deep in thought, her tapping finger keeping steady time with her restless mind.
That was when someone knocked.
It wasn't Song Meiyu. Song Meiyu never knocked. She would have kicked the door open and declared something absurd like, "Have you missed me, my dearest Junior Sister?!" followed by the scent of stolen pastries and a suspiciously innocent smile.
This knock was... suspiciously polite.
Linyue rose from her chair and walked to the door slowly. Her fingers brushed against the hidden dagger tucked at her waist. Just in case. Always just in case.
She pulled the door open.
Two palace maids stood there, eyes wide, and faces frozen in a tight smile. Their arms trembled under the weight of what could only be described as an unreasonable amount of breakfast. There were plates of dumplings and steamed buns stacked like miniature towers. Pickled vegetables glistened in delicate bowls. Sweet cakes had been arranged into the shape of a phoenix for some reason. Multiple pies. At least three types, judging by the different crusts. One of the maids even held a pot of fragrant tea with both hands.
Behind the trembling maids, as if summoned by confusion itself, stood Shu Mingye.
Linyue stared at him. He looked perfectly calm. Not a wrinkle in his robe, not a hair out of place, as though he had stepped straight out of a painting instead of sneaking up behind a suspicious breakfast parade.
"Did you lose your way to the palace kitchen?" she asked flatly.
His brow rose, sharp and elegant. "Do I have to be lost every time I come here?" His tone was casual, but with just enough drama to suggest he was offended. "Can't you interpret it differently for once?"
"It makes more sense," she replied without missing a beat.
They stared at each other. He, with his eternal patience stretched thin. She, with the absolute seriousness of someone who believed she had just delivered undeniable logic.
Finally, Shu Mingye sighed, long and resigned. Apparently, in her eyes, he was a man with no sense of direction and a pocket full of excuses. "Let's eat together," he offered, ignoring her lack of faith in his internal compass.
That got her attention. Linyue looked at him sharply, suspiciously. Eat together?
Her gaze shifted to the food. The feast looked amazing. Steam curled from the dumplings, pastries gleamed with golden crust, the tea pot still sent up lazy ribbons of warmth. Her stomach lit up in silent applause. Her heart screamed yes. Her brain, however, leaned in and murmured: what if it's poisoned?
Suspicion sharpened her eyes as she looked at him again. Shu Mingye was too calm. Too smug. Too… Shu Mingye.
And of course, he noticed. Her fingers twitched toward the food, but her body hadn't moved an inch. Interest sparkled in her eyes, but her expression remained stubborn.
Ah. She thinks I poisoned it, Shu Mingye realized, almost entertained.
"If you don't want it," he said with a dramatic sigh, "then I'll eat it all by myself. Every last bite." He made a show of turning toward the food and lifting a dumpling to his lips.
Linyue moved faster than the wind. Her hand shot out. Her voice sharpened. "Who said I don't want it?" she snapped, deeply offended. "Let's go in." Then she spun around and dashed into the room like a very elegant, very serious and very hungry cat.
Shu Mingye watched her go, lips curling in quiet victory. Truly, food was the strongest weapon.
Inside, the palace maids moved like lightning—graceful, efficient, and slightly afraid of dropping anything. In just moments, the mountain of breakfast was perfectly arranged on the table. Then, with synchronized bows, the maids slipped away quietly.
Linyue's expression changed instantly. Her usually serious face softened, her dimples appeared, and she smiled so brightly that for a second, it looked like the room got ten degrees warmer. One would think she had just received a divine blessing in the form of dumplings and steamed buns.
Shu Mingye took his seat, watching her with quiet amusement.
Just from this? She's this happy?
It was kind of ridiculous. Also… incredibly cute.
Those dimples. Adorable.
He had remembered her constant mumbling about pie, so he made sure the kitchen added some just in case. Apparently, it had worked. She looked like she might actually cry from pastry-related joy. Her expression was almost unfair—eyes sparkling, lips curled in a smile so bright it could probably stop a war. Not the kind of beauty that turned heads in the market. She wasn't stunning or breathtaking. She was just Linyue. Calm. Unpredictable. Slightly odd. Occasionally terrifying. But right now, she looked... lovely.
All this, he thought, because of pastries.
Truly, food was dangerous.
Shu Mingye sat there quietly, heart doing something… inconvenient. It thumped once. Then again. A little harder. A little too warm. His eyes refused to look away from her. He unconsciously smiled. Soft. Small. The kind of smile that made people suspicious. He kept staring… until he realized. His head snapped to the side so fast it was a miracle his neck didn't break. His face stiffened, jaw tightening.
What was he doing?
This was dangerous.
For her… not for him.
Whatever this strange warmth was, blooming inside him, it wasn't good. He knew himself too well. He was not a man who gave flowers. He was the man who buried people under them. His world was not safe. It was soaked in blood and held together with barely-contained rage. His purpose was still revenge. That path was narrow and dark and she didn't belong in it. She belonged in sunlight. With dumplings and books and ridiculous arguments about stolen pastries.
If this kept going, Shu Mingye thought grimly, she'll be in trouble. And he wasn't sure if he'd be able to stop it. Or if he even wanted to.
Maybe… maybe he really should ask his people to hurry and find those herbs she came here for. Once they were found, she could go back to the East. Back to peace. Safety. Somewhere far, far away from him and his lovely, blood-soaked mess of a life.
Shu Mingye sighed, a long, tired sound full of reluctant logic. Then glanced at her again.
She was still admiring the feast. Her head bobbed approvingly at each dish, eyes shining with joy. She even looked impressed by the pickled radish. But not a single bite had been taken.
"…Why aren't you eating?" Shu Mingye asked at last, raising a brow. "Do you think I poisoned them?"