Shu Mingye glanced down. She wasn't wrong. His once elegant black robes now resembled tattered battle flags—slashed, scorched, and barely covering him in polite company.
"I—" he began, trying to come up with a dignified reply. Maybe something noble. Or charming. Or at least not tragic. Before he could find the words, Boyi came sprinting toward them.
"Lord! Are you alright?!" Boyi shouted, his face pale as he skidded to a stop.
Shu Mingye stared at him for exactly two seconds. "Give me your robes."
"…What?" Boyi blinked.
"Quick," Shu Mingye said flatly, tugging at the tattered edge of his own sleeve.
"Lord… surely there's another way—" Boyi's hands shot protectively to his outer robe.
"No," Shu Mingye cut him off, his tone perfectly serious.
Boyi opened his mouth to argue. Then shut it. Then opened it again, but only managed a weak, "Yes… Lord."
Meanwhile, Linyue was already walking away. No dramatic hair flip. No slow-motion effects. Just calm, purposeful steps across the battlefield. She had zero interest in hearing two grown men wrestle for clothes behind her.
Her eyes fell on a surviving sword lying in the dirt. She picked it up, giving the blade a quick flick to shake off the blood. She had no spiritual energy left, not after turning the sky into her personal lightning show, but low-level demons didn't deserve that kind of effort anyway. This would do.
Behind her, Shu Mingye's eyes followed every step she took. His gaze stayed locked on the faint swish of her robe hem, the swing of her ponytail in the breeze, the way her shoulders stayed steady even after everything.
His jaw tightened. Quietly, he let out a long exhale. "Work's not over," he muttered, pulling his new, slightly-too-short robe tighter around his shoulders. (Boyi's robe wasn't made for someone with his build, but dignity was a luxury now.) With a sharp flick of his wrist, he reignited his flame and turned back toward the cracked, skeletal husk of the Red Phantom Maiden. Time to make sure it stayed dead.
Together, but not side by side, they swept through the battlefield. Linyue moved like a phantom herself, her blade flashing in clean, efficient arcs. Shu Mingye followed his own path, his flames blazing high as they devoured every last cursed remnant.
The once-red sky began to soften, fading into pale blue streaked with tired clouds. The eerie glow that had clung to the land for days finally broke apart, leaving only the faint scent of scorched earth and iron in its place. The Weeping Moon had passed, its blood-like hue dissolving as if it had never been there. They had survived the worst of it. Now came the part no one liked but had to do anyway: cleanup.
The demon-cleansing dragged on until the sky darkened again. Low growls and dying screeches echoed less and less until silence finally took over. By then, every last monster had been turned to ash. The battlefield smelled faintly of smoke, steel, and exhaustion.
A long moment of silence passed. Then someone let out a shaky cheer. It was small at first, but like sparks catching on dry grass, it spread. Soon the whole battlefield was alive with noise. Some soldiers laughed, tossing their weapons into the air and hugging whoever was closest. Others sank right where they stood, too tired to even cheer, sitting in the dirt with glassy eyes and shaky breaths. A few wept quietly, clutching the hands of friends who would never rise again.
Linyue stood among them. The scent of scorched earth and demon ash clinging to her crimson robes. She felt exhausted. Her body heavy, her spiritual energy scraped raw, but strangely… she felt lighter too. Her gaze swept the battlefield. Past cheering soldiers. Past smoldering piles of what used to be demons. Past Boyi yelling at someone for bleeding too much on his borrowed robe.
Ah. There.
Shu Mingye was walking toward her from the other side of the battlefield, every step measured and quiet. His robes were crumpled, his hair loose and wild, streaks of dried blood painting his jaw and collar. He looked like someone who had been forced to fight a hurricane and was now pretending it hadn't been that big of a deal.
She didn't wait. With the same confidence she used to poke demons in the face, Linyue walked straight up to him. No words. No warnings. Then she grabbed his hand—his very bloodied, very warm Demon King hand—and clasped it like it was hers now.
Shu Mingye flinched. Just slightly. The tiniest, almost imperceptible twitch of surprise. But it was enough. Linyue smiled inwardly. Still silent, she turned on her heel and started walking, dragging him along behind her toward where the horses were tied.
Shu Mingye didn't protest. He didn't even say a word. He just followed, his long strides keeping up effortlessly. His expression stayed blank, but she could almost hear his thoughts swirling. Was he shocked? Shy? Wondering if she had finally lost her mind?
She tilted her head at him as they walked, studying him. Then her voice came, soft and sweet. "Need me to carry you up the horse?"
Shu Mingye blinked at her. For a terrifying king, he looked very close to choking on air. His usually sharp eyes narrowed—not in anger, but confusion.
That tone. It hadn't been flat. It hadn't been the icy calm she used when stabbing demons or kidnapping someone. It had been… playful.
What was she doing? Had something happened while he wasn't looking? Did the spring water mess with her head somehow? Had it rewired her personality while she slept? Or worse… had prolonged exposure to Song Meiyu corrupted her? (Chaos was contagious, after all.)
Her hand was cold as always. Her touch hadn't changed. But she had. Her usually blank face now looked brighter. Her eyes, normally calm and unreadable, now sparkled with something very close to trouble. Mischief.
Shu Mingye's heart, which had spent the day battling demons like a true warrior, now felt... unsure. There was no storm, no Red Phantom Maiden, no exploding battlefield. Just one woman and her terrifying, teasing smile. She was glowing. She was joking. She was…
He clenched his jaw.
She was terrifying. And he, the Demon King feared across eight states, was suddenly at the mercy of one playful woman holding his hand.
And then, very bravely (or stupidly bravely) he said, "Only if you carry me bridal style."
The moment the words left his mouth, Shu Mingye regretted everything.
What kind of nonsense was that? Had his brain finally melted from exhaustion? Or was it the gardenia scent messing with his blood flow?
Linyue's smile deepened, her dimples carving mischievous crescents into her cheeks. "Should I try?" she asked sweetly.
Shu Mingye's heart jolted so violently it almost leapt out of his chest. Unfair, he thought. Completely and utterly unfair. He had fought demons with claws longer than his arm. He had burned monsters bald. Yet here he was… defeated in one strike by a smile.
He cleared his throat and forced his voice back to calm. Cold. Dignified. Kingly. "Of course not. I would rather crawl than be carried by you." (He absolutely wouldn't. Everyone knew it.)
Without waiting for her retort, because there would definitely be one, he scooped her up and set her on the horse the way he always did. Smooth, efficient. Kingly. But his hands… they were trembling. Slightly. Barely. Surely not enough for her to notice. Maybe.
Linyue said nothing. Which was somehow worse. Either she hadn't noticed out of kindness, or maybe she was planning something worse later.
Shu Mingye mounted behind her and took the reins. His arms circled her waist. Again, completely normal. Routine. Nothing unusual at all. Except the moment he pulled her a little closer, his heart betrayed him.
Thump. Thump. THUMP.
Why was it so loud? Could she hear it? Could the horse hear it? Was he going to die from this? Taken down not by a sword or demon, but by his own heartbeat?
No. He wouldn't die. But he might lose what little pride he had left.
It started with a small lean forward. Barely noticeable. Perfectly reasonable. Just adjusting his posture, that was all. Then he leaned a little more. And a little more. And then he sniffed her.
Once. Twice. Three times.
The scent hit him like a spiritual attack straight to the soul. Gardenia. Sweet, fresh, and cool. It filled his mind and clouded it. He was dizzy. His chest felt tight. His fingers tightened on the reins. So this was what losing control felt like.