Song Meiyu huffed, clearly exasperated. "That's not what I meant! And that's not how it works!" She crossed her arms like a true expert in emotional gardening. "Now, get on the horse. I'll tell you how to grow it later."
Shu Mingye didn't even try to process what "it" was anymore. Emotions? A heart? Photosynthesis? His grip on reality was already fragile.
Then Linyue turned to him and said simply, "Let's go."
Something in him finally snapped back into place. He smiled—small, quiet, and so unguarded it almost startled her. He helped her onto the horse, then climbed up behind her with a smoothness that looked effortless but definitely hurt like hell. Not that he'd ever admit it.
They set off down the road, the world shrinking until there was only the sound of hooves and the faint coldness of her back against him.
Somewhere behind them, Song Meiyu clutched her own face and whispered dramatically, "They're doomed."
He Yuying didn't even look up from his snack. "Absolutely."
Shen Zhenyu stared at the sky again and let out a long-suffering sigh.
Shu Mingye rode at an unhurried pace, the steady rhythm of the horse almost lulling him into forgetting how utterly unprepared he was for this situation. His arm slid carefully around Linyue's waist—not too tight, not too loose. Perfectly respectable. Probably. But then, as if some ancient, self-destructive instinct had possessed him, he leaned forward slightly. Just enough to let his body rest against hers. And before his brain could scream at him to stop, his chin rested lightly on her shoulder.
That was when it hit him.
Gardenia. A soft, clean scent—sweet and cool, like a breeze through a summer garden after the rain. It slipped past every wall he had built in his mind, right through the iron grip of his self-control, and scattered his thoughts like startled birds. The dull ache in his ribs seemed to vanish. Unfortunately, his heart didn't get the message. It was now beating so hard he was sure she could feel it through his chest.
He cleared his throat and spoke in a tone that was meant to sound casual but absolutely didn't. "Do you mind if I do this?" he asked, his voice just a little lower than usual. His arm tightened around her waist, his cheek brushing—accidentally on purpose—against the side of her neck. Chasing more of that gardenia scent like an addict.
Linyue tilted her head. Then in her usual calm, emotionless tone, she asked, "Do what? Sit on a horse?"
Shu Mingye almost choked on his own breath. For a long second, he simply stared into the middle distance, soul leaving his body in silent despair. He sighed loudly.
Linyue glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "It's your horse," she said, completely serious. "I won't complain if you want to sit, stand, or lie down on it."
He didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or just throw himself off the horse and roll into the nearest ditch. Was she doing this on purpose? No. Of course not. She didn't even realize her words could murder him like this.
"I meant this," he said at last, and his voice came out rougher than intended. He tightened his arm around her waist and rubbed his cheek lightly on her neck, just enough to make his point clear.
Linyue paused at that. He had already done it before without asking. Now he was asking as if her opinion would magically make a difference. "Does it matter if I say I do mind?" she asked in her usual calm, maddeningly reasonable tone.
"Yes," Shu Mingye said at once.
She went quiet, eyes thoughtful, as if weighing the pros and cons of something that barely even registered on her list of important problems. After a moment, she gave the simplest possible answer.
"Then no."
Shu Mingye froze. "No, you don't mind? Or no, don't do it again?"
"I don't mind," she clarified, perfectly straightforward.
For a split second, he forgot how to breathe. Something inside his chest, something he hadn't realized was wound so tight, finally relaxed. He smiled, small and quiet, the kind of smile he didn't let anyone else see. Then, because self-control was clearly a myth, he rubbed his cheek there again. Her skin was still cold, always cold, like living ice. And yet it made him feel impossibly warm.
The world shrank to that moment. The steady beat of the horse beneath them. The faint gardenia scent filling his lungs. The icy touch of her skin warming him in ways fire never could. Then, because his brain clearly enjoyed self-sabotage, he spoke.
"So," Shu Mingye said lightly, "what was that about being emotionally stunted?"
Linyue replied at once. "Nothing much. Sister Meiyu said I'm too emotionless and heartless. But there is hope."
Shu Mingye blinked and glanced at her from the corner of his eye.
She said it so flatly. Not wrong, exactly. But hearing her say it out loud like it was a minor inconvenience like having a pebble in her shoe, nearly made him laugh.
There was hope, huh? He didn't know if she was serious or just saying nonsense again. But as he watched her sit there perfectly calm, staring ahead like nothing at all had happened, while he was here practically melting against her back, he thought—
Yes. There was definitely hope. He just had to survive it.
From the strange things she said to the strange way she made his chest feel like it was being stabbed and set on fire and tickled all at once—yes, he decided, survival was the new goal. Emotional survival. Physical survival. Whatever it took.
Then, as if she felt the need to finish him off completely, Linyue said in that same calm voice, "I thought sunlight would do the job. Apparently not."
That broke him. Shu Mingye actually laughed. Not his usual soft, polite huff, but a full laugh that came from deep in his chest. It hurt a lot, but he couldn't help it. Was she serious? Did she actually think sunlight could grow emotions like watering a plant? What was going on inside that head of hers?
Then, as if she had read his mind, Linyue added, "I was joking. I know it won't work."
He was stunned all over again. She was joking? She could joke? And even more shocking. She looked relaxed. Like she didn't mind his laugh. Like she might even… enjoy it.
Linyue, for her part, decided Shu Mingye's laugh wasn't as annoying as she remembered. Actually… it wasn't annoying at all. It was warm. A little rough, a little low, and annoyingly very human. Even the weight of his body against her back felt strangely comfortable too.
She could also feel it. The steady thump of his heart—fast, a little too loud. He hadn't fully recovered. Was he about to drop dead on this horse? Why had he even come all this way when he should have been in bed?
Before she could ask, Shu Mingye leaned closer. Close enough that his breath brushed her ear. His lips curved into that maddening, smug smile. "Really? You know? That's surprising." His tone was light, teasing, but there was a soft undercurrent that felt far too sincere. "Maybe there is hope after all."
Linyue turned her head just enough to give him a cool sideways glance. "That's what I said."
He grinned wider, the expression so boyish it almost didn't match his usual terrifying presence. "And I'm agreeing. That's called emotional progress."
Linyue blinked once, then faced forward again.
Emotional progress. Hm. Was that what this was? She wasn't sure, but she let it slide. For now.
"Why did you come all the way here?" she asked calmly.
That question hit him hard. His smirk faltered. He cleared his throat, very much like a guilty man trying to improvise. "Routine inspection. Someone has to make sure the roads aren't… cracking. Or infested with wolves. Or… bandits."
Linyue blinked at him. Roads cracking? Wolves? Bandits? Was he making a checklist of random disasters?
Before she could question his strange reasoning, he added quickly, "The palace physician also said I need sunlight and light activity. Riding a horse counts, doesn't it?"
Linyue frowned, her usual calm expression turning slightly skeptical. "Riding a horse counts as recuperating?" she repeated flatly. Really? That sounded suspiciously like someone trying to justify their own bad decisions.
Shu Mingye nodded, like he was absolutely sure of this highly scientific medical advice. "It does."
But before her sharp brain could poke holes in his logic again, he smoothly changed the subject. "Anyway, would you like the noodles mildly spicy? Or really spicy?"
That worked. Linyue's train of thought derailed completely. She tilted her head, considering this very serious question. Then her lips curved—not a big smile, just a small, wicked one. "Really spicy," she said with quiet delight.
She could already picture Shen Zhenyu's elegant, composed face turning bright red as tears ran down his cheeks. It was oddly satisfying.
"Alright," Shu Mingye said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that had nothing to do with spicy noodles.