“Highly likely,” Linyue replied calmly. “But I’m waiting for the others so we can eat together.”
Ah. Of course. She made it sound perfectly reasonable. Like: the buns might be cursed, but let’s wait for friends first.Cursed breakfast tastes better with company.
Truly, the spirit of teamwork was alive and well.
This woman… really. Shu Mingye didn’t know whether to laugh, sigh, or lock himself in his study and pretend none of this conversation had happened.
Then, as if her brain had taken a sharp left turn with no warning, Linyue tilted her head and asked, “More importantly, did the previous brides also stay in the sa courtyard I stayed before?”
…What?
They had been talking about food. Pie. Poison. Normal things. Now suddenly brides?
“Yes,” he said slowly, watching her carefully.
She nodded, thoughtful. “How did they die?”
That made him pause. She had never asked about them before. Not once. Not a flicker of curiosity. Was this finally fear surfacing? Did she think he was plotting to kill her too?
He narrowed his eyes, voice low. “Why do you ask?”
“For reference.”
There it was again. That sa unshakable calm. Shu Mingye stared at her, then let out a long sigh. His jaw tightened, but he gave her the truth. “Four of them committed suicide. Two were assassins.”
Linyue nodded slowly, as if taking ntal notes. “Suicide,” she repeated softly. “Can you be more specific about the suicide part?”
He froze. Why did she need details?! Was she planning sothing? Testing him? Preparing a counterattack? Or did she just think he was making it up?
Shu Mingye rubbed his temple, trying to fight the sudden headache forming behind his eyes. “Why do you want to know?” he asked, warily.
“Just to be sure,” she said, still calm.
That wasn’t reassuring at all. Just to be sure of what? That the windows were high enough? That the poison worked quickly? That he wasn’t the one pushing brides into suspicious “accidents” during breakfast?
Shu Mingye sighed again. A long, soul-draining sigh that said I am far too emotionally unstable for this conversation.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and studied her face, the steady eyes, the maddening calm. “Did sothing happen?” he asked at last. “You’ve never cared about them before.”
Linyue looked up at him. “Soone tried to sneak into my chamber when we went to that haunted cave.”
Shu Mingye blinked. “How can you tell?”
“We have our way,” Linyue replied mysteriously. “Brother Zhenyu interrogated that intruder last night.”
Their way? Interrogation? Wait… they caught the intruder?
Shu Mingye leaned back slightly, unsure whether to be impressed or deeply concerned. This little group of hers… At first glance, they looked like a bunch of loud wanderers who argued too much, ate too much, and had questionable survival instincts. But now? They were starting to look suspiciously like misfit geniuses with secret thods and unnervingly good teamwork.
He gave her a long, pointed look. “You’re always full of surprises.” Then his voice sharpened. “So, where’s the intruder now? Did they say I sent them?”
Linyue leaned a little closer. Close enough that the sweet, refreshing scent of her reached him. She smiled sweetly. “If he did,” she said in a gentle voice, “you’d already be on your way to Master Yin Xue’s experint table.”
Then she sat back upright as if nothing had happened. As if she hadn’t just casually threatened to donate him to a very enthusiastic and questionably sane physician.
Shu Mingye froze. His brain attempted to process the last five seconds.
Was that a threat? A joke? So poetic way of saying she trusted him?
And that smile of hers didn’t help. Soft. Polite. Almost innocent. As though she had no idea she had just said sothing terrifying. And for one ridiculous mont, Shu Mingye wondered if he should be worried.
Before he could decide whether to feel flattered or horrified, Linyue spoke again, effortlessly ruining his inner debate. “The intruder is a guard. From the north side of the palace. He didn’t know much. Princess Han told him to spy on us. That’s all.”
Shu Mingye blinked.
“I didn’t know Princess Han was still alive after Hanyue fell,” Linyue went on, her tone calm, steady. “And that she stays here. Oh, and the intruder is still in Brother Zhenyu’s chamber. Sleeping… or sothing close to that.”
Sleeping. Right. Because nothing said “successful interrogation” like being tucked into bed afterward.
Shu Mingye sat up straighter.
Princess Han. He never trusted her. Or her brother. Not even when they were on their best behavior which, frankly, had been rare and always suspiciously well-tid. That was why he kept his own people watching them. Quietly. Constantly. Always nearby. Always listening. And yet… nothing. No strange movents. No whispers of conspiracy. No convenient disappearances. Had they really been sneaking under his nose all this ti? Or worse… was there a spy among his own people?
Of course there was. There was always a spy. High chance. Practically guaranteed. He could almost picture it in his mind—blending in, smiling politely, reporting back to the enemy. Maybe it was the new guard at the palace. Maybe it was one of the palace maids. Maybe it was the teapot in his study. He narrowed his eyes. Yes. The teapot had always looked a little too innocent. Or… the palace cats. They were always slinking around at night, appearing in hallways they had no business being in. Cats were perfect spies. Silent. Observant. Pretending to be cute while morizing escape routes.
His spiral only broke when Linyue’s voice cut in, cool and direct.
She was staring at him again. Calm face, sharp eyes. “So,” she said evenly, “you have nothing to say?”
He blinked, dragged back to reality. He had not expected her to ask that so directly. Or to share all that information with him so easily. Did that an she trusted him? Even just a little?
The thought pleased him far more than it should have. Not that he showed it. His face stayed unreadable. He replied truthfully, “Their father, King Han, helped when I was exiled thirteen years ago. I just let them stay out of respect for their father.”
Linyue raised her eyebrows, genuinely surprised. So he did understand things like respect and debt. Who knew?
“That’s all?”
Shu Mingye t her gaze head-on, voice firm. “I didn’t know what they were planning. I’ll look into it.”
She didn’t respond right away. But he could see the gears turning behind her calm face. She wasn’t the type to waste words. If she was quiet, it was because her mind was busy dissecting five different suspicions and filing them into neat little categories like “possible conspiracy,” “probable assassination attempt,” and “Shu Mingye being dramatic again.”
He watched her carefully, waiting for judgnt. At last, she gave a single nod, like stamping a docunt and setting it aside for later.
Finally, she asked. “So, about the brides. How did they commit suicide?”
Shu Mingye blinked. The sudden topic shift hit him so hard he was sure sothing inside him dislocated. “…Two used poison,” he said slowly. “One slit her wrists. One hanged herself.”
Linyue didn’t even flinch. She just nodded again. “Did you ever see them?”
His eyes narrowed. “When they were alive, yes.” He gave her a look. “They greeted when they arrived. Just like you did.” He paused, letting that sink in. “And a few days later, I received word they were dead.”
He didn’t say it aloud, but the implication sat heavy in his head. Brides arrived. Brides smiled. Brides died. And now Linyue was here—calm, unbothered, sipping tea, and casually requesting autopsy-level detail about her predecessors.
“Did you ever visit them?” she asked again.
He frowned. “No. I only t them once.”
Was she analyzing the tiline? Or quietly judging him for being the worst host in history? No flowers, no warm welco, just an early funeral slot.
Then she asked, “Who gave you the report?”
His frown deepened. “You think there’s more to their deaths?”
“I don’t know,” Linyue replied, tilting her head in that unnervingly polite way of hers. “It wouldn’t be that complicated if you were the one who did it.”
Shu Mingye stared at her. Then a laugh broke out, low and surprised. He couldn’t help it. Was she accusing him? Or complinting his efficiency? With her, the line blurred dangerously.
He gave her a sideways glance, amused and weary all at once. “I got the report from one of my guards. I didn’t investigate in detail.”
Why would he? The “brides” were political offerings from the emperor’s side. If they dropped dead mysteriously, it saved him the effort. Less paperwork. Fewer headaches.
“Forget it,” Linyue said suddenly. “I think I’ll just go back to east with Prince Lu.”
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