“Array.”
Shen Zhenyu’s eye twitched. “Was that why this room was full of smoke earlier?”
Linyue gave him a pleasant, almost innocent smile. “I’m not very good at drawing.”
Shen Zhenyu closed his eyes briefly, as if ntally preparing himself for inevitable chaos. “Do you really want to learn it?”
Linyue nodded, dead serious. “It will be useful.”
He Yuying, still munching lazily on a snack, muttered, “So is not setting things on fire, but clearly we’re not choosing that path.”
And so, the four cultivators gathered around a table surrounded with paper, ink, and brushes, as if preparing for a scholarly painting session rather than potential arson. The mission was simple but terrifying: draw a working array without setting off smoke, fire, or structural damage.
Song iyu dipped her brush with great enthusiasm and imdiately splattered ink all over the table. “Oops.”
He Yuying sighed deeply and quietly scooted his chair two feet back, clutching his snack like it might be his last. “We’re all going to die.”
Far away from the chaos (emotionally, spiritually, and thankfully) Shu Mingye sat in his study, once again buried under a small mountain of reports. His eyebrows were in their usual place: furrowed into a permanent scowl of a man deeply unimpressed by everyone and everything.
The latest updates had arrived. The water from the haunted well had been tested. It was the source, just like Linyue and her overly dramatic loud friend had predicted. No surprises there. But the cure? Now that was a whole different ss. He had already offered a large reward—gold, land, the freedom to eat soup loudly in public—but nothing worked. Not a single physician or scholar had found a cure. They had torn through every ancient scroll in the palace, flipped through forgotten books, and even consulted that one extrely old guy who always slled like radishes.
Nothing.
As for who was behind this... that part was easy.
The emperor. Obviously. But the emperor would never do it himself. No, he would get soone else to do the dirty work. And now that Queen Shen, his loyal supporter (or secret lover, depending on which gossipy eunuch you asked) was executed, it wasn’t hard to guess who stepped into her place.
King Shen. Her son.
It all lined up. Motive, opportunity, perfect timing.
Unfortunately, Shu Mingye also knew this: having all the pieces of a puzzle didn’t an you had the one piece that proved everything. Evidence was slippery. Especially when it involved kings, dead queens, and haunted wells filled with poison plant water.
Of course, he had spies in Shenlin. What kind of king didn’t have spies in enemy territory? He might be surrounded by chaos goblins pretending to be heroic cultivators, but he wasn’t completely out of his mind. One of those spies had finally co back with sothing useful.
Apparently, that tall, quiet swordsman who always looked like he’d rather be in another universe, wasn’t just a random brooding guy. He was the first prince of Shenlin.
Thirteen years ago, he packed his things, said goodbye, and walked out of Shenlin. Left the palace, left the title, probably left behind a very confused palace cat. With him gone, there had been only one heir left. The second prince. The sa second prince who now called himself King Shen. And this was where everything started to sll suspicious.
According to his spy and palace gossip, the second prince might not even be the real son of the late King Shen. Queen Shen had been having a very long affair with none other than Fu Jingtao. This started before Fu Jingtao beca the emperor.
After Shen Zhenyu left, King Shen started getting sick. Slowly. Quietly. Suspiciously.
A few years later, King Shen died. The timing was a little too perfect. Shen Zhenyu clearly knew sothing. Probably a lot of things. But Shu Mingye, of course, didn’t care much about royal family dramas. Unless they spilled over into his territory. Which they just had.
The four cultivators were waging a very different kind of battle. This one was with ink, brushes, and their own questionable talent.
“I think I’m not talented in this," Song iyu declared, holding up her paper. Her array looked like a snake had breakdanced across it and then given up halfway through.
“You’re not alone,” Linyue said calmly, showing her own attempt. The lines wobbled in every direction, forming what could only be described as an angry worm having the worst day of its life. This exact sa pattern had filled the room smoke earlier, which was why the room still slled faintly of charred paper. It had not been a good ti.
He Yuying, never one to stop snacking, lifted his own paper with zero sha. “It was supposed to be a star,” he said around a mouthful of dried fruit.
Everyone leaned closer.
It looked less like a star and more like a very confused spider trapped inside a box.
Song iyu squinted at his paper. “You sure?”
“No,” He Yuying replied with complete honesty, then calmly popped another dried plum into his mouth.
Song iyu huffed and turned to the only one in the room who had achieved anything remotely resembling success. “Brother Zhenyu, why are you so good at this?” she demanded, pouting as if his success was a personal insult.
Shen Zhenyu held up a perfectly drawn array. Straight lines, flawless curves, not a single hint of a drunk snake or an angry worm anywhere. “I learned to draw when I was young.”
“Oh right!” Song iyu’s eyes lit up with sudden realization. “You were once a prince!”
He Yuying nodded, chewing thoughtfully. “That explains the handwriting. Royal brush technique.”
Shen Zhenyu didn’t say a word, but the faint twitch of his eyebrow spoke volus. He was almost certainly rethinking every life choice that had brought him here—sitting in a smoky room, surrounded by an array that looked like a confused spider, a worm summoner, and a very enthusiastic snake artist. Still, he stayed. This level of chaos was nothing new to him. Perhaps, like Shu Mingye, he had learned that not every battle was fought with swords. Sotis they were fought with ink, paper, and the silent hope that no one accidentally called up another smoke demon.
Shen Zhenyu held up his perfectly drawn array and asked, “What do we do next, Linyue?”
Without looking up from her new ssy attempt, Linyue replied in her usual calm voice, “Infuse it with spiritual energy.”
He Yuying imdiately dove behind the nearest chair. “I swear,” he muttered darkly from his hiding spot, “if another demon pops out, I’m leaving. I’ll shave my head, join the monks, and spend the rest of my life chanting. Peace, quiet, and no angry ink monsters.”
Linyue didn’t even glance his way. Her brush kept moving. “It’s just a simple heat array. It warms the paper. People used to wrap their stead buns in it so they’d stay warm longer.”
He Yuying slowly peeked out from behind the chair, suspicious but curious. “Wait. It heats food?”
“Of course,” Linyue said with a little smirk. “Unlike reckless fire cultivators who just incinerate their dinner, people invented arrays to make life easier.”
He Yuying looked mildly offended. “We only burn it slightly. dium rare!”
Song iyu, ignoring the argunt entirely, bounced in her seat. “Quick! Quick! Let’s try it!” She waved her ink-covered paper.
Shen Zhenyu gave her a long, quiet look, then glanced down at the ss she was holding. “You didn’t even draw the right symbol.”
Song iyu gasped, dramatically offended. “How do you know? Maybe this is a secret, undiscovered array that will revolutionize cultivation forever!”
“It’s upside down,” Shen Zhenyu replied.
She looked at the paper, turned it around, and blinked. “…Oh.”
He Yuying imdiately ducked back behind the chair again. “Definitely joining the monks,” he muttered darkly.
Linyue stared at the three horrifying creations scattered across the table in absolute silence.
He Yuying’s star looked like it was having seasonal allergies.
Song iyu’s snake had sohow sprouted legs halfway through its journey.
Linyue’s worm looked deeply offended by its own squiggly existence, as though begging to be erased.
“…It might summon sothing again,” Linyue admitted quietly.
A long, thoughtful silence settled over the room. Even Song iyu stopped bouncing.
Then, very slowly, He Yuying reached out, slid his disastrous paper closer, crumpled it with both hands, and dropped it onto the floor. “I think my food prefers to be cold,” he declared.
Song iyu smacked the table with renewed determination. “No! We can’t give up now! Victory is one brushstroke away!”
“Or an explosion away,” He Yuying said from behind the chair.
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