Shu Mingye stared at Shanjun for a long, dangerous mont. Sowhere in the back of his mind, he made another ntal note: next ti, he was definitely giving Linyue a spirit transmission jade. And maybe… chaining her to the furniture while he was at it.
His gaze shifted back to Shanjun. His words still hung in the air.
“My loyalty has always been dedicated to one person.”
It was painfully obvious that person was not him. Then it could only be… Linyue. Of course it was Linyue. Because who else could make one of his most trusted n lie straight to his face, risk death without blinking, and kneel there like betrayal was just part of daily routine?
Shu Mingye let out another sigh. That made what, the fifth in ten minutes? At this rate he would sigh himself into an early grave.
“How long have you known Linyue?” he asked at last. Not out of jealousy (well, maybe a little), but mostly because he was starting to suspect she had been running an entire shadow empire under his nose.
Shanjun didn’t even hesitate. “Since she was four years old.”
Shu Mingye blinked. She had people since she was four? At four, he had been busy learning how to gut a man with a wooden spoon. Linyue, apparently, had been busy collecting life-long bodyguards.
He sighed again. Louder this ti. Longer too. At this rate the palace physicians would start asuring his life by the depth of his sighs. His eyes dropped back to Shanjun. He was one of his most trusted n. And Linyue was the woman he… well, she was very, very important. And now both of them were hiding things from him.
“Lord,” Shanjun said quietly, as if Shu Mingye wasn’t seconds away from setting the curtains on fire, “I really can’t tell you. But I’m sure they’ll return safely. She promised.”
Shu Mingye stared at him. A promise? From Linyue? That ant exactly nothing.
Still, he didn’t order punishnt. Didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t draw his sword. Because the truth was he was worried. Furious, yes. But worried all the sa. They always caused trouble. Chaos, even. He had lost count of how many tis he had sighed over them. They sneaked off without warning, gave him endless headaches, and had probably aged him five years already. And yet, they were strong and capable. Oddly good at what they did, even if what they did was completely insane.
And Linyue… she wasn’t reckless. Not really. …Alright, fine. She was. But only when she had a plan. Which sohow made it worse.
He clenched his jaw, eyes cold and sharp on Shanjun. “At the very least,” he muttered, “I’d like to know where they went and what they’re doing.”
Because if they died out there, he wasn’t just going to kill soone. He’d revive them and kill them again. Starting with Shanjun. And possibly ending with himself for not chaining Linyue to the bed when he had the chance. For her safety, obviously. Entirely practical. Nothing weird about it. A perfectly reasonable thing to do when your woman kept sneaking into demon dens.
Another sigh escaped him before he could stop it. At this rate, he was going to set a new record for sighing. Future historians would probably carve it into stone tablets: Here lies Shu Mingye, King of Shulin. Murderer, ruler, record-breaking sigher.
His sharp gaze never left Shanjun, who hadn’t dared to move a muscle. “Then tell about her,” he said finally. “When she was young. What was she like?”
Shanjun’s shoulders tensed. His face twitched. “That… I can’t tell you either, Lord.”
Shu Mingye raised an eyebrow. His voice dropped a few icy degrees. “You can’t?”
“I really can’t,” Shanjun repeated firmly. He swallowed hard. “Why don’t you… try asking Boyi?”
Shu Mingye blinked. “Boyi?”
What did Boyi have to do with this?
But Shanjun nodded seriously. “He followed Queen Shu for a long ti. He has… a lot of stories to share.”
That made everything worse. Much worse. Why did everyone around him seem to know sothing he didn’t? It was like the entire world had received a secret handbook titled "The Hidden Life of Linyue" while he was left holding nothing but sighs. Speaking of which, another one escaped him before he could stop it. At this point, sighing wasn’t just a habit, it was practically his new cultivation technique. Who needed sword practice when his lungs were getting this much exercise?
“Go,” he said, his voice low and tired but leaving no room for argunt.
Shanjun blinked. “Go… where?”
“Out.”
Shanjun’s eyes widened, as if expecting a sword to suddenly leap from nowhere and slice him in half. But he wisely kept his mouth shut. If Shu Mingye was letting him walk away this easily, it only ant one thing: he was saving the punishnt for later. So he gave a deep, careful bow and bolted from the room, probably hoping to live long enough to regret nothing… or at least survive until tomorrow.
Shu Mingye stayed rooted in the middle of the chamber, staring at the empty space where they should have been. He took out the note, smoothed the paper between his fingers and read the neat little note again. The handwriting was almost polite. Deceptively polite. Just like her.
Sightseeing, it said.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long, frustrated sigh. Of all the words she could have written, she picked the one that sounded like a holiday. That was Linyue for you: calm, tiny rebellions, and the ability to ruin his morning by signing a note. He pictured her laughing with Song iyu, plotting, slipping past guards, and vanishing without so much as a farewell bowl of dumplings. The image made his jaw tighten. He tried to be angry. He really did. But under the anger was worry, sharp and steady.
The next ti she returned, he decided, he would chain her to the bed and sit there with a brush until she learned proper etiquette in leaving notes. He imagined teaching her calligraphy, the slow careful strokes, the kind that would make her think twice before writing anything that made his blood pressure spike.
It was ridiculous and slightly terrifying. It was also exactly the sort of thing he would do.
The four cultivators pressed deeper into the forest, eyes darting left and right. They were still hunting for the Crimson Bloodroot, still not finding it. The sky above had already swallowed the sun and now seed determined to turn even darker, just to set the mood—or at least that’s what Linyue guessed. The forest was silent and creepy. Creepy in that “soone is watching but you can’t prove it” way.
No high-level demons had appeared yet, which was either a blessing or a trap disguised as generosity. They hadn’t stopped once—not for a rest, not for snacks, not even to take a proper breath. They just marched. And marched. And marched so more.
The trees leaned close together, crooked trunks pressing in from all sides. Leaves? Gone. These trees had upgraded to “haunted skeleton arms.” A twig caught on Linyue’s sleeve. Another tried to hook Song iyu’s braid. He Yuying swatted a stick that grazed his shoulder, muttering sothing about how the trees were clearly out to get him.
“Ugh,” Song iyu groaned for probably the seventh ti. “This tree touched my face. I’m going to shave it bald.”
“It’s already bald,” Linyue muttered as she dodged a particularly enthusiastic branch trying to slap her ear.
To avoid getting hopelessly lost (and possibly eaten), they stuck glowing talismans on trees every few steps. It was their smartest idea on this trip, which said a lot about their choices so far.
Still no crimson bloodroot. Still no high-level demons. Which made everything worse. Because if nothing tried to kill them soon, Song iyu looked dangerously close to starting a fight with the trees purely out of boredom and frustration.
After what felt like a hundred years of endless marching (but was probably just one very miserable hour), the four of them stepped into a more open space. It was a clearing. Right in the middle of it sat a huge crater. Not just any crater, either. It was the kind of hole that made people say, “Hmm. That used to be sothing.” A pond? A lake? A failed demon hot tub? No one knew. And more importantly, no one wanted to know. What actually caught their attention wasn’t the crater itself, but what stood around it.
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