Boyi visibly stiffened. His expression said, This is it. This is the day I slam my head into a pillar and end my suffering.
Shanjun blinked and said flatly, "I don't think that's how medicine works."
But then to everyone's shock. To her own shock, Linyue nodded. "Alright. I'll walk you to the door."
Shu Mingye felt his heart do something very stupid and undignified. Like flutter. His chest still ached. His ribs still throbbed. But somehow, everything felt lighter. He even mercifully released Shanjun from the death glare. For now.
He slowed his pace as they neared his chamber, pretending to admire… something. The tiles. The breeze. The way the sunlight hit a random pillar. Anything that could justify walking just a little slower and hold her hand a little longer.
Linyue didn't say anything. She didn't rush him. Didn't question his very obvious stalling tactics.
When they reached his door, Shu Mingye looked down at their joined hands. Then he looked at her. Then back at their hands again. If he let go now… would she disappear? Like some strange dream after sleep?
He didn't want to ask. He really didn't. But his mouth betrayed him anyway. "You're not going anywhere, right?"
"Unlikely. I don't have any plans." She paused thoughtfully. "Other than spicy dumpling noodles. And nap."
Shu Mingye's lips curved into a soft, quiet smile. And some of the tension in his shoulders finally loosened. "Alright."
He let go of her hand reluctantly. Every part of him protested. Just a little longer wouldn't hurt, right? Maybe a few more seconds. Maybe a minute.
No. No. Dangerous thinking. If he stayed longer, his brain might start coming up with truly terrible ideas. Like asking her to stay. Or worse… offering to share a nap.
Absolutely not. He still had limits. Probably. So, with every ounce of self-control he possessed (which wasn't much at this point), he gave her one last nod, turned sharply on his heel, and disappeared into his chamber. The door clicked shut behind him.
Then clicked again, louder this time.
…Then a thunk as he threw the bolt for good measure. Just in case his treacherous brain got any more reckless ideas. He had survived this far. He was not going to ruin it now.
Meanwhile, Linyue made her way back to her own chamber. She slipped off her shoes, climbed onto the bed, and stretched out with a soft sigh. Her eyes fluttered closed. Finally. A moment of peace. Solitude. Silence. Or so she thought.
BANG!
The door flew open so hard it hit the wall, and a dramatic gust of wind whooshed into the room, making the curtains flutter. Song Meiyu charged in, glowing with gossip energy.
She bounced across the room and landed beside Linyue's bed. "Sister Linyue! TELL. ME. EVERYTHING!" she demanded, eyes wide and sparkling. "Did something happen? Don't you dare say no. Your aura is different. You're glowing! Is it love? Is it scandal? Is it—"
Linyue stared at the ceiling for a long, silent second. Then she said flatly, "I think you're right. There is hope."
Song Meiyu gasped loudly. She clutched her chest, her eyes sparkled. "NO. WAY." Her voice cracked on the second word. "Sister Linyue! You finally understand it?!"
Linyue turned her head slightly. "Of course. I understand sunlight won't work."
Song Meiyu's jaw dropped. She let out a strangled noise of pure despair. "THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT!" she wailed.
Song Meiyu stomped her foot. Then she seized the edge of Linyue's blanket. "Forget sunlight! I will teach you how to grow, Sister Linyue. Emotionally! Romantically! Trust me! I'm an expert!"
Linyue blinked slowly, still half-wrapped in her blanket like an unimpressed dumpling. "How?"
Song Meiyu's face lit up. She raised one finger dramatically into the air. "Step one! We must understand your preferences. Tall men or... wait, no, you already have him. Fine. Step two—face type! Do you prefer a sharp, dangerous jawline or a soft, lovable puppy face? Do you like brooding tragic hair-down style or tied-up like a noble hero? Or WAIT. Let me tell you about my neighbor's love story. It involves dumplings, three chickens, and a very suspicious well."
Linyue stared at her. "…Why?"
"Because you need emotional fertilizer, Sister Linyue!" Song Meiyu declared. "You can't bloom without it!"
Linyue stared blankly at the ceiling. Maybe… this was part of her training. Maybe emotional growth really did mean surviving Song Meiyu's dramatic lectures without screaming, fainting, or throwing herself out the nearest window. She pulled the blanket over her face slowly, leaving only her eyes peeking out.
"…There is hope," she whispered to herself. It sounded less like a statement and more like a desperate prayer.
Song Meiyu, of course, was unstoppable. "—and that's why tragic misunderstandings are ESSENTIAL, Sister Linyue!" she continued, waving her hands. "The more rainstorms, the better! Hair-down moments are CRUCIAL! Also, did you know a man tying his hair up can unlock his inner softness? It's science. SCIENCE."
Linyue felt something in her soul quietly detach and drift away. Was this… was this her battlefield?
Just as Song Meiyu took a deep breath, ready to dive into the symbolic meaning of dumplings in romance, a soft knock echoed at the door.
Linyue let out the faintest breath of relief, as if the heavens had personally intervened. She sat up, tossed the blanket aside, and rose to her feet. Whatever waited on the other side of that door, she was ready for it. Anything. Even an assassin would be a welcome change at this point.
Two maidservants stood at the door, bowing politely. One carried a tray with a bowl of steaming spicy dumpling noodles. The other held lotus seed pies so perfect they might as well have been blessed by the kitchen gods themselves.
Linyue's eyes lit up instantly. The entire Song Meiyu emotional lecture, complete with rainstorms and tragic misunderstandings, vanished from her mind.
Behind her, Song Meiyu nearly tripped over her own feet trying to peek over Linyue's shoulder. "Yayyy!" she squealed. "I'll call the others!" And before Linyue could blink, she was gone—zooming down the hallway.
That was when Linyue noticed him.
Shu Mingye stood a little to the side, arms loosely folded behind his back. His face was calm, almost unreadable, as though he hadn't spent the entire morning quietly hijacking her emotions. But his eyes… his eyes were warm, amused, and just a little too pleased with himself. So he really had gone to the trouble of asking the palace kitchen for all this.
Linyue's lips curved in a small, genuine smile. "Thank you," she said simply.
Shu Mingye tilted his head, pretending not to be absurdly pleased by that small smile. "Can I come in?"
"Don't you need to rest?"
"I need to eat too," he countered.
"Here?"
"It's still my palace," he said, the faintest edge of a smirk tugging at his lips.
She considered it. Technically, he wasn't wrong.
After a pause, Linyue stepped aside. "Suit yourself."
Shu Mingye smirked and strolled in like he owned the place (he did). Unfortunately for him, he had just walked straight into the middle of what was about to become the palace's most chaotic noodle gathering in history.
Within moments, the rest of the group arrived like a small, hungry army. Song Meiyu flopped into her seat with a triumphant grin, eyes shining. He Yuying slid lazily into his chair, already unwrapping a snack he had smuggled in because apparently, spicy dumpling noodles weren't enough. Shen Zhenyu, as always, moved like a shadow—silent, brooding, and serious.
In eerie synchronization, they all reached out for the prepared utensils.
Shu Mingye raised a brow, amused. "You're using regular chopsticks now?" His memory flicked back to their last meal together when they had used those fancy silver ones.
Linyue answered without hesitation, "Sister Meiyu said you wouldn't poison our food."
Shu Mingye choked on pure air. "Poison? Those chopsticks were for detecting poison?!"
All four of them nodded in perfect unison.
Shu Mingye sighed deeply. This group was impossible. Completely chaotic. Thorough in the strangest, most worrying ways. They never did anything halfway, whether it was detecting poison or… whatever else they had been up to while he was unconscious.
Fine. He would let it go. For now. He picked up his own bowl and started to eat. The spicy dumpling noodles were excellent and definitely not poisoned. He should have been able to enjoy them in peace. But then his brain decided to attack him with a delayed question.
"Wait. How did you manage to get Princess Han to confess?"