Shu Mingye sat alone in his study, the room was quiet except for the soft rustling of paper and the occasional scratch of his brush. His hands were working, but his mind… had long left the building.
He didn't even know what he was feeling anymore. Anger? Frustration? Sadness? Annoyance? All of them? None of them? Whatever it was, it made no sense. He had hoped—foolishly—that she would not actually pour that suspicious liquid into his tea. Maybe she'd roll her eyes and say something sarcastic or toss it out the window. Or better yet, dump the tea over his head and storm off. That, at least, would've made sense.
He let out a long breath and crumpled the paper in his hand without realizing. Wonderful. Another report ruined. His emotions had never been this tangled before. Normally, his feelings about people were simple. Most of them were enemies. A few were useful. Very rarely, tolerable.
And then there was Linyue. A mystery with a cold stare and even colder hands. A woman who gave him dead demons and poisoned tea as if those were acceptable tokens of affection. What made it worse was that nothing happened. No stomachache. No fiery pain. No dramatic blood coughing. If anything, he felt better. His ribs didn't ache anymore. The pain that nagged at him when he breathed deep was also gone.
He sat very still, eyes narrowing. No. Absolutely not. The emperor would never hand him something useful. It had to be poison. The slow kind. The kind that worked sneakily, just like the man himself.
Shu Mingye rubbed his temple, half from confusion, half from stress. This was too much thinking. He hated it. He never thought this hard even before killing someone. Normally, it was simple: decide, strike, done. No feelings. No headache. But this? This was like trying to fight a ghost. Annoying, invisible, and somehow always behind him.
Suddenly, the spirit transmission jade on his desk lit up. His eyes snapped to it. He had sent two shadow guards to keep an eye on them, just in case they did something reckless, like accidentally blow up a courtyard. Or whatever chaos they might cause.
He tapped the jade, voice flat. "What?"
"Reporting," came the quiet voice of one of his shadow guards. "They've entered a cave in the mountain near the border."
Shu Mingye stared at the jade in silence. Then repeated, very slowly, "…A cave?"
After the swamp… now a cave? What were they doing, collecting all the worst field trip destinations? Were they on some kind of scavenger hunt for misery?
"Next stop," he muttered, "volcano. Probably."
With a long, suffering sigh, he leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. He could already feel the headache forming. Despite everything—the suspicious tea, the strange way she always managed to surprise him, the absolute nonsense of a cave trip—what bothered him most was the fact that he still cared. Why? He didn't know. But the more he tried to stop thinking about it, the more his brain clung to the problem.
He pressed his palm harder against his forehead. "Why do I still care…"
The jade was silent. The ceiling, rude as ever, offered no answers.
...
The four brave, or maybe just very lost, cultivators were still weaving through holes, rocks, and an increasingly suspicious cave system. They were on a serious mission: find the legendary judgmental cabbage. Or at least something close enough to call a cabbage. At this point, they were starting to wonder if the cabbage was real, or if Song Meiyu had just made it up to keep things interesting. Still, they pushed forward.
The tunnel had squeezed tight, forcing them into a single file line. It felt like the cave was testing their teamwork and friendship, or maybe just their patience and their flexibility.
Song Meiyu bounced ahead, cheerful as ever, practically skipping. Behind her, the rest followed at a much more reasonable speed, their footsteps heavy and full of regret.
"Are we sure this isn't just a very elaborate prank?" He Yuying muttered, tripping over a suspiciously smooth rock.
"Shh!" Song Meiyu spun around, eyes wide with horror. "The cabbage can sense doubt!"
All three of them groaned in perfect unison.
Linyue quietly muttered, "If this cabbage is so powerful, why can't it come to us?"
"Yeah," He Yuying added. "Maybe send a note. Dear Cultivators, I am judging you from Cave Number Four. Please bring snacks."
Instead, they were here. Crawling through the world's most dramatic cave, bumping into walls, slipping on rocks, and following an herb-obsessed guide who was cheerfully skipping. All in hopes of discovering a vegetable with strong opinions.
After ducking under too many low rocks and squeezing through too many gaps (with at least twelve complaints, mostly from He Yuying), they finally stumbled into another large chamber. It looked… exactly the same as all the others. Twisty paths. Creepy shadows. An unreasonable amount of rock. And not a single cabbage in sight.
He Yuying sighed. "Are we going to live here now? Should we build a house?"
Song Meiyu clapped her hands, still full of hope. "No, no! This place is different! I can feel it."
Linyue took a slow look around. It did feel different—same look, yes, but the air here was thicker, heavier. Not in a friendly way. Not that Linyue was afraid of ghosts. Or demons. Or dying horribly, really. She just preferred not to do any of those things in a cabbage cave.
She walked over to a split in the cave. One path curved to the right, the other to the left. Her gaze lingered on the left wall. There were marks on the wall. Deep scratches. Like something with claws had been dragged or had gone wild slashing at the stone. She took a step toward it.
Linyue called back, her voice still calm. "Sister Meiyu, do cabbages usually come with claws?"
Song Meiyu hurried over, nearly skipping. She leaned in, wide-eyed, and gasped. "What's that? Someone was here before us?"
He Yuying, no longer interested in cave-based housing, immediately reached for the hilt of his sword. His usual lazy eyes sharpening into focus.
Shen Zhenyu, who had been the quiet, brooding background character for the last twenty minutes, suddenly stepped forward. He caught Linyue's hand, gently but firmly, stopping her from stepping closer. His voice was low and calm, but serious. "I'll go first."
Linyue raised an eyebrow at him, but didn't argue. She released his hand and stepped aside, letting him take the lead. The others followed, their footsteps quieter now, tiptoeing down the left tunnel. The claw marks stretched deeper inside, twisting along the stone as though guiding them forward. They ducked under sagging vines and sidestepped loose rubble until the tunnel opened wider. And there they saw them.
Skeletons.
Not one or two. Dozens. Maybe more. Piled against the walls, scattered across the floor, tangled together in frozen, miserable shapes. Bones yellowed with age, ribs jutting out. Some lay sprawled as if they had collapsed mid-run. Others curled in on themselves, fingers gripping their skulls, as though they had tried to hide from something.
The air was thick with dust, old decay, and something heavier. Sorrow, maybe. A child's tiny bones lay curled beside what must have been a parent's frame, small ribs pressed close as if seeking protection even in death.
Song Meiyu's whisper broke the silence. "...Do you think they were also looking for the judgmental cabbage?"
He Yuying turned his head slowly, giving her a flat stare. "I think the cabbage judged them."
They moved forward, each step cautious, their eyes glued to the piles of bones. The silence of the chamber pressed against their ears, so heavy it felt wrong.
He Yuying's hand tightened on his sword. His voice dropped low. "Will they suddenly get up and jump at us?"
No one answered.
Then the ground trembled.
All four froze at once, eyes darting to the walls, the ceiling, the skeletons.
"…Not again," He Yuying muttered grimly.
Before anyone could even panic properly, the ground gave up on existing. It cracked, groaned, and crumbled beneath their feet.
Shen Zhenyu reacted fast. He pulled Linyue into his arms the instant the floor disappeared, wrapping around her protectively and shielding her head from falling debris. Behind them, He Yuying made a noise that was equal parts rage and despair as he grabbed Song Meiyu by the waist.
None of them knew how far they were falling. It felt endless. Their hair whipped around, sleeves flapped, and legs flailed uselessly in the air. Linyue squeezed her eyes shut. Shen Zhenyu was already composing a formal funeral speech in his head. He Yuying was silently cursing the cabbage.
Mid-fall, Song Meiyu—bless her panicked but still functional brain—snapped her palms together. A massive sphere of shimmering water whooshed into existence below them, glowing faintly in the dark.
WHUMP—SPLASH!
They slammed into the waterball, bounced slightly, and finally plopped into a vast underground pool. For a few long moments, there was only chaos. Splashes. Choking coughs. Dripping sleeves. Someone's elbow. Someone else's foot. A whole lot of very undignified wiggling.
Shen Zhenyu resurfaced first, gasping for air as water streamed down his face. He was still holding Linyue tightly, one arm around her back, the other keeping her above water. The pool reached his chin.
Linyue, much shorter and much less buoyant, was doing a surprisingly accurate impression of a seaweed monster. Again. Arms limp, expression blank, hair glued to her cheek. She blinked slowly and coughed once.
Shen Zhenyu quickly lifted her higher.
She inhaled, water dripping from her chin, and looked around.
Everything was… red.
The water wasn't clear. It was dark crimson, thick-looking, and unsettling. Like a pool of old, congeal blood. It clung to their clothes, their skin, their souls. It shimmered slightly in the cave light, which somehow made it worse.
Across from them, Song Meiyu burst out of the water, flailing, her bun unraveling and hair sticking to her face. Definitely seaweed monster No. 2.
She looked down, then let out a scream that could probably wake the dead (if they weren't already lying upstairs as skeletons).
"WHAT IS THIS?! IS THIS BLOOD?! DID WE JUST FALL INTO POOL OF BLOOD?!"