Shu Mingye lingered for a second longer, eyes narrowing at the bright red stain on Linyue's collar. She didn't even look like she noticed she was injured. Meanwhile, he was probably leaking enough blood to summon a small pond.
He sighed, muttered something rude under his breath, and turned around.
There were still things to do. So he got back to it. Clean-up. Demon remains. Burn the corpses. Quietly threaten any soldier trying to do something stupid. Normal post-battle activities.
By the time they finished burning the last demon body and clearing the battlefield, the sun was already setting. Long shadows stretched across the broken ground. The air felt heavy. Everyone was too tired to care anymore.
Linyue looked up.
At least it's not raining. That would be too dramatic, Linyue thought.
Right on cue, a raindrop landed on her shoulder. Then another. And then it poured.
"…"
She stared up at it, expression blank.
Behind her, Shen Zhenyu calmly set fire to a stack of demon limbs, ignoring the rain completely.
Song Meiyu shouted in the distance, "Wait, did anyone grab my sword?!"
He Yuying's reply was barely audible: "You threw it into a demon's face."
"I knew that!" Song Meiyu yelled. "I just forgot where!"
Then, someone grabbed her wrist and dragged her away.
Shu Mingye?
What now? Did he finally decide it was time for interrogation? In the rain? How poetic.
He didn't speak, just kept walking toward the inner wall. She followed, mostly because he didn't give her a choice. They made it past the inner wall, soaked from head to toe. Shu Mingye untied his horse, pulled her up then climbed on behind her.
And then—whoosh—they took off.
The horse galloped through the rain, hooves splashing against the muddy road, rain slapping her fox mask, wind howling—very dramatic, very unnecessary.
"Linyue…" he said softly, lowering his head behind her.
"What?" she didn't even turn around.
He reached for her mask, probably with the intent to check her face or confirm she was still alive or something equally noble.
Her hand shot up and caught his hand mid-air. "Don't ruin my makeup."
He stared. She wasn't even looking at him. Just sitting upright.
Makeup? She cared about make up at this time?
He was too tired to argue. Whatever.
He leaned closer, resting his chin right on her shoulder. The sweet scent of gardenia mixed with blood hit his nose. Oddly calming. Kind of terrible, but calming. He sniffed without thinking, then rubbed his cheek against her shoulder. His arm around her waist tightened like he was trying to squeeze the life out of her.
What was this lunatic doing now? A new move to confuse the enemy?
Linyue glanced back. His face was pale, lips almost white, eyes half-closed and completely unfocused. He wasn't even watching the road. Huh. Was he dying?
Linyue grabbed his wrist, the one currently trying to strangle her waist.
"Don't die yet," she said flatly.
Shu Mingye blinked slowly. Her hand was ice cold. How could a fire cultivator have hands that cold? And… did she just say don't die? Was that… concern?
Then she added calmly, "I don't know the way."
Shu Mingye: "…"
Just when he thought, for half a second, that she was worried about him. Of course, it was about directions. Again. He was too tired to be annoyed. He was too tired to feel anything besides the rain soaking through his clothes and the sweet scent of gardenia and blood in front of him.
Linyue, for her part, genuinely didn't know the way to the palace. Last time, she arrived in a carriage, and she spent half the time trying to scrub swamp goo out of her sleeves. Directions? What directions?
She let out a long, dramatic sigh. Loud enough to be heard over the rain and the galloping hooves.
Shu Mingye blinked rain out of his eyes. Her sigh stabbed him right in the worry. "Are you okay?" he asked, already bracing for either a serious wound… or something absurd.
"No," she said flatly. "I didn't get to eat that thousand-layer pie."
…Pie?
His brain, already running low on blood and patience, had no idea how to process that. First it was makeup, then directions, and now pastry?
He stared straight ahead. His face said nothing. His soul said: What kind of creature is this woman?
He couldn't help it. The words slipped out. "Then why did you come back so fast?"
Linyue replied as if it were obvious. "Someone told us to."
So, they were ordered back? That sounded more official than her entire personality.
"Who?" he asked. "Did someone hire you?"
That would make sense. There were a lot of mercenaries out there. People who didn't want to join the military or pledge loyalty to any state. They traveled, took jobs, hunted demons for money. Some even did assassinations or spy work. Maybe she was one of those. That would explain the weird weapon and the whole mysterious stabby energy vibe.
But Linyue just tilted her head and said calmly, "No one can afford to hire me."
Shu Mingye stared into the distance.
Of course they can't.
She said it like it was a fact of nature. Like gravity. Or taxes. Or demon attacks.
He sighed. He was wet, tired, and confused. Bleeding from at least three places and a possibly cracked rib. Despite everything, a small tired smile crept onto his lips.
Somehow, she made this miserable rainy night just a little more bearable.
He still had a thousand things he wanted to ask. What was she? Who was she really? What exactly was that blue flame? Why did she act like makeup was more important than medical attention?
But now wasn't the time. They were both injured, damp, and probably one more shock away from collapsing. She had to be tired too, even if she didn't act like it. Not a single complaint. Not even an "ow." The only things she ever grumbled about were makeup and pie.
He squinted into the rain.
The horse's hooves splashed through muddy puddles as it carried its two ridiculous human passengers through the storm. If horses could sigh, it was probably sighing and muttering, "Why me?"
Finally, they reached the palace gate.
A figure stood there under the archway, dry and waiting.
Linyue blinked at her.
She looked young—round face, big round eyes, the kind people described as "gentle" when they didn't want to say "confused." She wasn't tall. Her hair was neatly braided with a few too many fancy hairpins. She wore a long purple robe, elegant and embroidered with tiny flowers at the hem. Not exactly pretty, but she had a soft, doll-like cuteness to her.
As soon as she saw them arrive, the woman smiled sweetly. She glided right past Linyue and went straight to Shu Mingye's side.
Linyue tried to get off the horse.
Tried, really. But Shu Mingye hadn't moved. His hand was still around her waist. Firmly. Unmoving. Suspiciously comfortable.
She turned her head slowly and raised one perfectly judgmental eyebrow at him behind her fox mask.
He didn't say a word. Just slowly let go. Like he was releasing a hostage.
Linyue hopped off without a word, not even sparing the mystery woman a second glance. She had better things to do. Like bath. Warm bath. Hot tea. And possibly snack. Yes. Those three things.
Behind her, Shu Mingye stared at the overly sweet woman with disapproving eyes. His mouth said nothing, because he was still too tired to start whatever this conversation was about to be.
Linyue had no idea who she was. Too well-dressed to be a maid. Too soft-looking to be a guard. Too cheerful to be an assassin. Maybe baker? Butcher? Beggar? Mistress? Lover?
Whatever. It wasn't her problem.
More hooves approached behind her. The rest of the crew had arrived. They all already took off their festival masks.
Song Meiyu spotted her and dashed over, drama already written across her face. Shen Zhenyu followed close behind, giving her the usual disapproving stare. He Yuying raised an eyebrow that clearly said, Again?
Before anyone could burst into tears, yell, or worse—ask questions—Linyue moved fast. She grabbed Song Meiyu's arm, tugged He Yuying's sleeve, and motioned Shen Zhenyu with her chin. No words. Just a silent group abduction.
She turned around and marched straight into the palace.
Behind them, Shu Mingye stayed where he was, still on the horse, still in the rain, watching them go quietly.