"My shoe," Linyue clarified patiently, as if he were the slow one. "It flew off and landed on someone's face. Then it rolled into the corpse pile. The corpse looked… pleased. I didn't have the heart to take it back."
Shu Mingye blinked, his lips twitching before a laugh burst out of him—ragged, cracked at the edges. It ended almost immediately in a fit of coughing, wet and sharp, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. He wiped it away with the back of his hand like it was nothing.
"So…" he rasped, voice low and shaking from both laughter and blood loss, "you let your shoe elope with a corpse?"
Linyue didn't miss a beat. "It seemed like a serious relationship."
That did it. He laughed again, harder this time, even though it made his chest feel like it was being stabbed all over again. "Are you…" he gasped between coughs, "…are you trying to make me laugh to death?"
Linyue tilted her head a little, but it was enough for her cheek to brush against his. It was a soft, fleeting touch, so casual she might not have even noticed. But he did. His breath caught. His heart jumped. It was such a light touch, yet it sent a shock down his spine. She didn't even glance his way. Just stood there, still burning puppets to ash like it was no big deal.
Shu Mingye closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. This is really bad, he thought grimly. This is worse than fighting puppet corpses. Worse than being stabbed in the chest.What was he supposed to do with her now?
Then her voice cut through his thoughts—calm, smooth, completely without concern. "If you're going to die," she said, "should I start preparing your funeral? Do you prefer burial or cremation?"
She might as well have been asking whether he wanted tea or soup. Burial or cremation? Pick one, hurry up, we've got things to do.
So calm. So steady. So completely and utterly unaffected. He didn't know whether to laugh again or drop dead just to spite her. Did she really not care? Not even a little?
He wanted to ask. Desperately. But he didn't. Because if she said no, if she really didn't care, he wasn't sure his heart (or what was left of it) could survive that.
Linyue glanced sideways.
Shu Mingye's eyes were closed now. His face was pale under the streaks of blood and soot. He didn't say anything. Her brows pulled together. Was he actually dying this time?
There was no time to dwell on it. Her eyes swept the courtyard, sharp and quick. The puppets—those twisted, crawling, half-living things—had all collapsed to the ground. Limp and lifeless. The courtyard was silent again, filled only with scattered bodies and the faint hiss of her dying blue flames. So they caught the puppeteer. It was finally over.
Linyue exhaled softly and drew back her fire. The courtyard dimmed, leaving behind the smell of ash, smoke, and blood.
Shu Mingye still didn't move. He hadn't noticed the silence, or the fact that the danger had passed. His arms were still around her waist, but only loosely now, barely holding on.
He must be hurt badly, she thought.
Without much thought, she reached down and wrapped her hand around his. Her skin was as cold as always, but he didn't flinch or pull away. He didn't react at all. He was leaning so close, so still, that his breath brushed faintly against her neck. Light, but present. She lifted her other hand and pressed it against his cheek. Her fingers, freezing as ever, should have startled him. Should have earned at least a grunt of protest. She pressed harder, not gentle, not rough. Just persistent, as if sheer stubbornness could drag him back.
Still no response.
Her lips thinned. Fine. If coaxing didn't work, annoyance would.
"You're heavy," she said flatly, voice carrying no trace of concern. "At least die standing properly."
Shu Mingye felt the cold press of her fingers against his cheek. He didn't open his eyes. He didn't want to. Not yet. Just a little longer, he thought. Let him feel that cold one more time. Let him pretend it meant something. But then, her words sank in.
"Die standing properly."
She had said it so casually. Like it didn't matter if he dropped dead right here and now. Like he was just an inconvenience. So she really didn't care. Of course, she didn't. Why would she?
Maybe that was for the best. He knew it. Knew it the way you knew a wound was too deep to stitch. People like him didn't deserve warmth. Not hers. Not anyone's. A laugh nearly clawed its way out of his throat, but what escaped was only a thin, ragged breath.
"Still cold…" he whispered.
He paused. Then, quieter:
"…still you."
That coldness, that sharp tongue, that strange calm voice talking about death like it was a minor annoyance. That was her. And she was here. He could fall apart later. Right now, he just wanted to stay in this moment, even if it was ridiculous, even if he was bleeding all over her.
Still cold. Still her.
And for now, that was enough to keep him breathing.
"The others already caught the puppeteer," she said. "I'll ask your guards to take you back first."
Shu Mingye didn't even hesitate. His voice came out low, rough, but urgent. "You take me back."
Before she could reply, fast footsteps thudded across the courtyard. Song Meiyu came sprinting toward them, her face bright with relief, until she saw the scene.
There was Shu Mingye, drenched in blood. His arms looped around Linyue's waist. His chin resting lightly on her shoulder. His whole posture radiating a very specific message: I almost died but found love instead.
Song Meiyu froze mid-step, her eyes going wide. Then they began to sparkle. "Did I… interrupt something?" she whispered, both hands flying to cover her mouth.
Behind her, Shen Zhenyu and He Yuying strolled in at a much slower pace, dragging the so-called puppeteer across the ruined courtyard. The woman's hands and feet were tied tight with something that looked suspiciously like He Yuying's belt.
Shen Zhenyu gave the pair a long, unreadable look before lifting one eyebrow. "Do you recognize her?"
Linyue stayed exactly where she was. Shu Mingye was still attached to her waist like a very injured, very stubborn koala. She only turned her head enough to glance at the woman lying in the dirt.
The woman's helmet and armor had been stripped off, revealing a familiar face—one Linyue had seen many times before.
It was her. The same woman who always seemed to be "coincidentally" loitering near the palace gates whenever they returned. The one who tried way too hard to look casual while sneakily watching a certain someone.
Linyue kept her thoughts to herself.
Song Meiyu, as usual, did not. She pointed a finger, eyes bright with recognition. "I told you she was the one waiting at the palace gate last time."
He Yuying squinted at the woman on the ground. "I don't remember. Does that make her the gate keeper? I thought the culprit would be a butcher or something like that."
"Maybe she is a butcher and a gate keeper," Linyue said calmly, as if it was a perfectly reasonable career combination.
Shen Zhenyu sighed. "Is that the point? Whether she is a butcher or not?"
"That would explain her obsession with organs," Song Meiyu offered helpfully.
"And whether the food we ate at the palace contained human parts," Linyue added without a hint of emotion.
He Yuying tilted his head. "Right. What did we eat this morning? Did we eat meat?"
Shen Zhenyu closed his eyes for a moment, then let out another long sigh. "I don't think she is a butcher or a palace worker."
Song Meiyu tapped her chin. "Then… maybe she is a chicken farmer who got bored of chickens."
Linyue gave a small nod. "And decided humans were easier to pluck."
He Yuying frowned. "Do humans have feathers?"
Shen Zhenyu closed his eyes again. "This is not the time for this."
Shu Mingye finally opened his eyes, clearly done with their nonsense. He looked at the woman lying on the dirt. His voice came out flat, tired, and edged with irritation.
"…Princess Han."