Shen Zhenyu stepped into the room with his usual calm, unreadable face. But the moment his eyes landed on the steaming pot sitting proudly in the middle of the table, his brows twitched. A flicker of suspicion passed through his eyes as he took slow, careful steps forward.
He Yuying, on the other hand, looked absolutely thrilled. He carried a tray stacked with bowls, spoons, and chopsticks, probably thinking he was about to eat something amazing.
"You finally came!" Song Meiyu beamed, hands on her hips. "My hands were full earlier, so I asked Brother Yuying to bring the tableware."
Shen Zhenyu sat down carefully, every move controlled and precise. His sharp eyes narrowed as he asked in a steady voice, "Meiyu… this pot. Where did it come from?"
"The palace kitchen, of course," Song Meiyu replied with a proud little giggle, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.
Shen Zhenyu let out a slow breath. His shoulders relaxed slightly. For a tiny, fragile moment, hope sparked in his eyes. But then—
"It's the garlic dumpling noodles we didn't get to eat in the capital," she added cheerfully. "So I made it myself!"
Silence.
Shen Zhenyu froze. Like a statue.
Across from him, He Yuying—who had been halfway to sitting down, his butt awkwardly hovering in midair—stopped completely. His hands trembled slightly. The tray in his grip gave a soft clink as the bowls rattled ominously.
Linyue, calm as ever but with eyes full of doom, slowly turned to Shu Mingye and whispered, "I told you."
Shu Mingye, now fully realizing the disaster heading their way, whispered back. "It's too late to run, isn't it?"
Linyue nodded gravely. "We're trapped."
Song Meiyu cheerfully handed out bowls. "Oh," she suddenly said, blinking at the tray, "we only have four bowls." Her gaze naturally landed on Shu Mingye.
Before he could speak, Linyue jumped in smoothly. "It's fine, he can eat from the pot."
Song Meiyu nodded like it was the smartest idea ever. "You're right. More efficient that way."
Shu Mingye slowly turned to Linyue, his eyes wide with silent royal betrayal. "I'm not hungry," he said quickly, his voice a little too loud. "Actually, I'm already full. I ate dumpling earlier, remember?" A sly grin tugged at his lips.
Linyue matched his grin, hers just as sly. "You just fought for days on Weeping Moon," she said sweetly. "You need to rest and eat. A lot."
Shu Mingye's grin faltered. "Wait—"
"She is right," Shen Zhenyu interrupted. "We need to replenish our energy. Meiyu cooked a lot. We can share."
Shu Mingye opened his mouth, ready to argue for his royal survival, but it was clear he was outnumbered.
He Yuying, who had been quietly watching, nodded furiously and stuffed an entire moon dumpling into his mouth. He chewed nervously, carefully avoiding eye contact with Song Meiyu. He wasn't about to say anything that might make her offer him the pot.
Meanwhile, Song Meiyu hummed happily, completely oblivious to the quiet suffering around her. She grabbed a ladle and began scooping generous portions of garlic dumpling noodles into each bowl.
"Here, eat before it gets cold," she said cheerfully.
Linyue stared at the bowl of garlic dumpling noodles in front of her. Steam curled lazily from the surface, carrying the sharp smell of garlic straight to her nose. It hit hard. Aggressive. Pungent. The kind of smell that announced itself five rooms away. The broth was warm and golden. The dumplings floated innocently on top.
After passing out the bowls, Song Meiyu proudly set the big pot right in front of Shu Mingye. "Here's yours," she said with a bright smile. She even laid out a spare pair of chopsticks, a spoon, and the ladle for him.
Shu Mingye just stared at the pot in silence.
Across the table, Shen Zhenyu had gone perfectly still. He Yuying gave his bowl a nervous glance. He poked a dumpling with his chopsticks, as if checking if it was alive and planning its next move.
"Try it first," Song Meiyu chirped again, full of confidence.
Shen Zhenyu spoke up right away, calm but with a hint of desperation in his eyes. "Linyue, why don't you try it first? I'll let my junior sister have this honor."
He Yuying nodded so fast it looked like his head might fall off. "Yes. Honor. Big honor."
Song Meiyu turned to Linyue, her eyes sparkling with hope and pride.
Linyue turned slowly to Shu Mingye. "We have our honorable King of Shulin here," she said. "He should try it first."
Then, like a wave, all heads snapped toward Shu Mingye.
His face said it all. Betrayal. Deep, soul-crushing betrayal.
"I will let the youngest have this honor," he said smoothly, a dignified and utterly fake smile plastered on his lips.
And then, as if choreographed by the gods of awkwardness, everyone turned back to Linyue.
Linyue looked around the table, suddenly suspicious. "Am I… the youngest here?" she asked, voice cracking just a little.
He Yuying quickly averted his eyes.
Shen Zhenyu looked deeply philosophical all of a sudden.
Shu Mingye leaned back and said smoothly, "A great honor for the youngest. We believe in you."
Linyue stared around the table. Trapped. Betrayed. Outnumbered.
This was it. Her garlic-scented battlefield.
She stared at the noodles again. The noodles seemed to stare right back. The smell of garlic grew stronger, thicker, almost alive. She swallowed hard and whispered under her breath, barely audible. "If I die… avenge me."
With trembling hands, she picked up her chopsticks and bravely lifted a single, wobbly strand of noodle from the bowl. It glistened ominously in the light. Just as she brought it closer to her lips—
"Try the dumpling first!" Song Meiyu said cheerfully.
With the heaviest sigh in history, Linyue dropped the noodle as dramatically as possible. Plop. The noodle fell back into the bowl, splashing broth like it was trying to escape too. Reluctantly, she turned her gaze to the dumpling. It didn't look like a dumpling. It looked like someone had tried to fold laundry with their feet, panicked halfway through, and hurled the result at the nearest wall. Then picked it up and declared, "Yes. Perfect. Edible."
With visible dread, she scooped up the misshapen creature with her spoon.
All eyes were on her.
Song Meiyu had her hands clasped in front of her chest, eyes shimmering with pure hope. He Yuying looked ready to leap forward with a medic kit. Shen Zhenyu had his arms crossed, his jaw tight, as if preparing for incoming damage. And Shu Mingye was grinning like a villain, clearly enjoying every second of her suffering.
Linyue took one last look at the dumpling, whispered a silent prayer to the heavens, and took the tiniest bite in the history of bites.
Song Meiyu gasped. She leaned so far forward she nearly fell into her own bowl. "How is it? How is it?"
Linyue chewed. And chewed. And kept chewing. Her entire soul tried to leave her body through her eyes. Her throat begged for mercy. Her vision blurred slightly. She blinked through tears—tears of pain, not joy—and forced her face into a calm mask. Slowly, she turned to Song Meiyu and smiled like the perfect liar she was.
"It's good," she said, her voice only cracking once.
Song Meiyu clapped her hands together in delight. "I knew it!"
Linyue, still smiling through internal suffering, turned her gaze to Shu Mingye. "You should try it too," she said sweetly. "It's really good."
She held her breath and added a little extra sparkle to her eyes. Dimples. Sweetness. A perfect picture of innocence.
Shu Mingye stared at her, disbelief written all over his face. That smile again. That dimples. Was she doing this on purpose? Was it actually good? Or was this a setup?
"What?" Linyue tilted her head, her voice dripping like honey. "Need me to feed you?"