Linyue placed her hands on the table, calm on the outside but fully ready inside to either apologize or bolt for the door.
The soup-drenched man pushed back his chair and stood slowly. Steam curled up from his clothes. Then he started walking toward them.
All four of them immediately turned their heads in different directions.
He Yuying stared at the ceiling as if admiring the woodwork. Song Meiyu suddenly found her soy milk very interesting and sipped loudly. Shen Zhenyu adjusted his sleeve, the picture of serenity, as if he wasn't sitting in the middle of a crime scene. Linyue watched the market outside the window.
The waiter, who looked like he wanted to vanish into the floorboards, bowed repeatedly. "C-customer, I'm really sorry. It was an accident!"
Song Meiyu raised a trembling hand, still staring at her soy milk. "It's… it's my fault," she whispered, barely louder than the sound of soup dripping onto the floor. "I'm sorry."
The man stopped at their table. His face was calm. Steam still rose from his soup-stained robes. His voice was low and even. "How," he said slowly, "are you going to compensate me?"
All four turned to look at him in perfect unison.
He looked young, maybe early twenties. Tall and lean, the kind of person who probably trained with swords at dawn. His simple robes were now decorated with a very large, very unfortunate splash of broth. Even so, he stood straight and proud, like someone who belonged in a palace or at least the expensive side of town. There was something noble about the way he held himself.
Song Meiyu froze. Her mouth opened but no sound came out.
He Yuying squinted at the man, his eyes narrowing like he was already calculating how fast this stranger could throw punches and how fast he could dodge them.
Shen Zhenyu tilted his head, judging him quietly.
Linyue studied the man's face in silence. Objectively speaking, the man was handsome. Sharp features, tall build, the kind of person who might turn heads on the street. If she had met him before Shu Mingye, she might have stared a little longer. But Linyue now had what could only be described as Shu Mingye filter. After all, once someone like the Demon King confidently walked into your life with his dangerous beauty, shameless flirting, kissable lips, and lashes that looked like they were blessed by the heavens themselves, other men simply… faded.
Before the man could speak again, Shen Zhenyu, reliable peacekeeper and full-time straight-faced adult, finally broke the silence. "I'll compensate for the damages," he said in his usual calm tone. "For the food. And your clothes."
The soup-drenched man smirked and tilted his head with an irritating amount of confidence. "With what?" Then just to make things worse, he glanced at Linyue. Directly.
Shen Zhenyu's brow twitched. His voice was still calm, but a fraction tighter. "Gold."
"I don't lack money," the man replied with a shrug, still locking eyes with Linyue.
The poor waiter was still standing nearby, frozen in panic. Around them, the entire restaurant had stopped eating. Spoons hovered in midair. Noodles dangled helplessly from chopsticks. Every single customer was now watching the live drama unfolding at Table Four.
Shen Zhenyu didn't even blink. His voice stayed flat. "Great. Then I guess you don't need any compensation." He stood smoothly and dusted off his robe. Then he gave the group a nod. "Let's go."
Linyue quickly stood up. Song Meiyu scrambled after her with wide eyes. He Yuying followed without a word, though his hand was already inching toward his sleeve. Not for a weapon, possibly for buns he stole this morning.
They were ready to leave. Ready to never eat spicy clay pot rice again. Ready to leave this man with his soup-scented outfit and his overconfident smile. But just as Linyue stepped forward, the man moved. He was fast. One second she was walking past him and the next he was standing right in front of her, blocking her path.
"I would like a different kind of compensation," he said smoothly, his tone polite but his stance firm. "Something that is not money."
Linyue blinked up at him, her face perfectly calm. Inside, her thoughts were less calm. Is he about to say something ridiculous? He is, isn't he? Please don't say something ridiculous.
Then he said something ridiculous.
"I want her," he said with a small nod toward Linyue and a smile that should have been charming but was really just irritating. "She can be the compensation."
The restaurant collectively gasped. Even the cooks peeked out from the kitchen.
Song Meiyu also gasped. "She is taken!" she cried, her voice sharp.
Linyue gave a small nod.
He Yuying sighed, pulled his sleeve over his mouth, and whispered under his breath, "Did this guy hit his head on a boiling pot?"
Shen Zhenyu's frown deepened. He stepped forward, his movements quiet but sharp. "No."
The soup-drenched man crossed his arms and raised a brow. "Then let's decide with a match. She will be the prize."
Linyue frowned. This soup man is surprisingly bold, she thought. Bold and stupid. A dangerous combination.
This was going to be trouble. The longer they stayed, the higher the chances this entire restaurant would turn into a battlefield.
Shen Zhenyu's tone stayed calm, though there was an edge to it now. "I have to disagree. She has nothing to do with this."
The soup-drenched man, undeterred, pointed at Song Meiyu with far too much confidence. "Then you have nothing to do with this either. She was the one who caused it."
Song Meiyu gasped so loudly it could have been heard three tables away. "How dare—!" she squeaked.
Shen Zhenyu didn't even flinch. His expression stayed cool, his voice steady. "She's my junior sister. Of course she has something to do with me."
"Oh?" The man's smirk widened. "Then you must also be junior sister." He waved at Linyue. "So she has something to do with this too."
Linyue stared at him. "I'm engaged," she said slowly in a very clear and polite voice. "I have a marriage agreement."
The soup-drenched man grinned like that meant nothing at all. "Then you haven't married yet. Perfect. I own a mercenary guild. Come with me. You'll live very well."
He Yuying, who had been quietly wiping chili oil from his mouth, snorted so hard he almost choked. "He's not serious," he muttered. "Please tell me he's not serious."
Shen Zhenyu raised one brow. Ah. So that was where the man's confidence came from. Mercenary guild. Big boss. Probably used to getting his way with loud voices and decent pay. Too bad none of that worked here.
"She's already living very well," Shen Zhenyu said flatly, his tone carrying no room for argument. "If you don't want to accept gold, then we'll leave."
The soup-drenched man chuckled darkly, clearly thrilled with himself. "Let's fight. If you win, I'll let it go."
Song Meiyu gasped again.
He Yuying groaned. "Great. We fight because of soup."
Shen Zhenyu sighed and simply nodded once. "Fine. Let's do it outside."
Linyue narrowed her eyes at the soup-drenched man. His confidence was suspicious. Either he was strong, or he was stupid. Or worse, he had backup. If he really owned a mercenary guild like he had claimed, then he definitely wasn't just some soup-loving bystander.
The three of them stepped outside while Shen Zhenyu stayed behind to pay for their meal and the unfortunate soup disaster. As he handed over the coins, Linyue quietly accepted the grim reality. They probably couldn't eat at this restaurant again. Not unless they wore disguises. Or used fake names. Or started a new life with new identities and faces.
Soon after, Shen Zhenyu joined them outside.
Song Meiyu leaned closer, her eyes wide. "Brother Zhenyu, are you really going to fight him?"
"Mm."
She looked around suspiciously. "Where is he? Did he run away?"
"He's changing his clothes."
"…He brought a spare set?" Song Meiyu said, scandalized. "He was that confident?"
Shen Zhenyu shrugged. "It seems someone brought it for him. He probably has people following him."
Song Meiyu nodded seriously. "Right, right. He said he owns a mercenary guild. That means he has money. And resources. And clean pants."
He Yuying, leaning against the nearest wall, lazily pointed toward the road. "Then isn't this a perfect time to run away?" he said, his voice almost hopeful.
Linyue considered it. It was an excellent suggestion. More running meant less trouble. And definitely no more soup-related duels in public.