Shu Mingye cleared his throat and looked away, his dignity barely hanging on by a thread. "No."
He clearly wanted to say yes. He wanted to say yes so badly. But the others were watching. He was a king. He had dignity to keep. So without thinking, he picked up one of the misshapen dumplings and shoved the whole thing into his mouth. He chewed, and immediately regretted it. His eyes widened. His hand shot up to cover his mouth as he coughed violently, trying not to die on the spot.
He Yuying raised an eyebrow and asked in his usual flat tone, "Sister Meiyu, did you put poison on his dumpling? Or maybe on the chopsticks?"
Song Meiyu's hands flew to her hips. "No way! He shoved that whole dumpling into his mouth. Maybe he's just choking."
Linyue smiled wickedly as she watched Shu Mingye's pride fall apart. "Right," she said smoothly. "You should eat slowly."
Shu Mingye was still coughing. His eyes were red, tears dangerously close to falling. Desperate for relief, he grabbed a moon dumpling and shoved it into his mouth. He chewed slowly, letting the soft lotus paste fill his mouth. Sweet. Blessedly sweet. But it wasn't enough. His poor tongue was still numb. Numb from the garlic. So much garlic.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low and strained, caught somewhere between anger and garlic-induced suffering. "Did you… rob an entire garlic farm to make this?"
He Yuying immediately choked on air. Shen Zhenyu turned away and coughed into his sleeve, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. He was absolutely laughing inside.
Song Meiyu blinked at them all, looking genuinely confused. "I might've… gotten excited and added a bit more garlic by accident," she admitted sheepishly.
Linyue raised her chopsticks with great restraint. "You put… two hundred garlic bulbs by accident?" Then she added, "It tastes exactly like… garlicky garlic dumpling garlic. With extra garlic."
He Yuying broke completely. He slapped the table and laughed so hard his shoulders shook. Shen Zhenyu cleared his throat, still pretending to be serious. Meanwhile, Shu Mingye sat there silently, still chewing the moon dumpling.
Song Meiyu squinted suspiciously at all of them. Then with a little "hmph," she scooped up one of her own dumplings and popped it into her mouth in a single heroic bite.
Everyone froze. Watching. Waiting.
She chewed once. Twice.
Then she coughed.
Then she cried.
"This…" Song Meiyu wheezed, her voice high and ghostly, before doubling over in a violent storm of hacking coughs. A visible puff of garlic fog escaped her mouth. She slapped the table repeatedly with one hand, while the other clutched at her mouth. Tears streamed down her cheeks like waterfalls.
Linyue immediately reached out and plucked a moon dumpling from the plate. Then she stuffed it straight into Song Meiyu's open mouth.
Song Meiyu bit into the sweet dumpling and let out a dramatic moan of relief. "I… I'm alive," she gasped, garlic fumes still radiating off her in visible waves.
He Yuying nodded gravely, face dead serious. "You've seen the abyss and returned."
Shen Zhenyu didn't say a word. He simply crossed his arms, watching her with unreadable expression.
Shu Mingye, who had almost recovered from his own near-death experience, spoke up with a kingly air. "We should save the leftovers for battlefield use. One dumpling per enemy camp."
Linyue nodded in agreement. "Effective. Silent. No survivors."
Song Meiyu, finally breathing properly again, flopped dramatically across the table. "None of you are allowed to complain when I'm famous for starting a new cuisine!" she declared.
"No, Sister Meiyu," Linyue said flatly. "You'll be famous for starting a war."
Everyone burst into laughter. Even Shen Zhenyu let out a soft chuckle. The chamber filled with warmth, garlic, and pure chaos-fueled joy.
Linyue looked around at them and felt something rare settle in her chest.
Happiness.
Of course, it lasted exactly seven seconds. The door swung open again with enough force to rattle the hinges.
Boyi stood there, breathless and pale. He gave a sharp bow, his voice urgent. "Lord, there's an emergency," he said quickly.
The laughter vanished like smoke. The warm air turned cold.
Shu Mingye's jaw tightened. He exhaled in a very "not this again" way and rose smoothly from his chair. Before leaving, he glanced at Linyue, his expression softening slightly.
"You can continue eating," he said with a smirk, and even had the nerve to gesture at the pot of garlic dumpling noodles.
Linyue gave him a cold glare that promised violence.
He grinned anyway and left with Boyi, his robe fluttering behind him.
Song Meiyu immediately went to full gossip mode without even sitting up properly. "Do you think something happened?" she whispered, still half-lying across the table.
Shen Zhenyu leaned back in his chair, perfectly calm as always. "Anything can happen," he said evenly. "But the Weeping Moon just passed. It shouldn't be demons."
Linyue nodded, her eyes lingering on the door where Shu Mingye had disappeared. Her fingers tapped lightly against her bowl, thoughtful but tense. And beside her, the pot of garlic dumpling noodles continued to steam ominously. As if ready to take over if the real danger didn't show up soon.
He Yuying stared at his bowl. His eyes screamed, "please let me escape too," but sadly, no rescue party arrived. Not even Shen Zhenyu, who was usually reliable in situations involving life and death, or questionable cuisine.
Trying to save the mood (and most likely himself from the garlic dumpling), Shen Zhenyu cleared his throat and spoke lightly. "Why don't we take a stroll around the market? We have nothing else to do. Let's relax."
Linyue's head snapped up instantly, her face lighting up. "Yes. We can try wontons, meat pancakes, steamed rice rolls, hot soy milk on the way." Her voice grew more hopeful with each food name.
He Yuying didn't even wait for further discussion. He pushed his bowl away and stood up. "If we do not leave immediately, the garlic will seep into my soul. I can already feel my ancestors complaining."
Song Meiyu, still recovering from her heroic encounter with her own cooking, nodded. She shot one last hateful look at the steaming pot of noodles and muttered, "Let's never speak of this again."
And so, four cultivators—demon slayers, haunted cave explorers, cursed doll store survivors—gathered their robes and set off on their bravest mission yet.
Finding edible breakfast.
They strolled out through the palace gates. Robes fluttered. Sunlight glinted off Shen Zhenyu's calm face, He Yuying's excited grin, Song Meiyu's recovering pout, and Linyue's determined eyes.
The weather was perfect: golden sunshine, soft breeze, a sky so blue it looked hand-painted. It was the kind of morning that should've brought everyone outside. The market streets should've been alive with children running, vendors shouting prices, someone inevitably burning something on a skewer. But instead… it was quiet.
Shen Zhenyu's eyes narrowed. He was trained to notice strange things. And right now, the strangest thing was the lack of noise.
Song Meiyu looked around and whispered, trying to sound cheerful, "Do you think we came too early? Maybe the vendors are still setting up?"
He Yuying frowned. "Or… we're too late. Maybe everyone already ate and went home?" He sounded hopeful. But even he didn't believe it.
"I doubt it," Shen Zhenyu said, eyes scanning the street. "Let's take a look around first."
Linyue said nothing. She simply looked around. Her eyes moved from shop to shop. Most had their doors half-closed. A noodle cart stood alone in the corner. One dumpling stand had no steam rising. Suspicious. Then she spotted it. A small tofu puff stall tucked at the end of the street. Golden cubes of fried tofu glistened in the morning sun.
She started walking toward it. The others quickly followed, drawn by habit, hunger, or just the scent of fried oil.
The old vendor behind the stall straightened when he saw them, his lined face lighting up. "Welcome, welcome, customers! How many would you like to buy?" His voice was too cheerful for a man standing in an empty market.
Song Meiyu's eyes were already sparkling. "Four, please! Extra crispy!"
As they waited, Linyue glanced around again. The tofu smelled wonderful, but her instincts whispered warnings she couldn't name.
He Yuying leaned closer. "Why is no one else buying food? Did the tofu scare them away?"
Without a word, Linyue reached out, took Shen Zhenyu's money pouch, and handed the vendor a few coins. "Why is it so quiet today?" she asked casually. "Did we miss a national holiday? Or maybe a festival?"
The vendor chuckled dryly. It wasn't a happy sound. He darted a nervous glance at the empty street, then lowered his voice. "Ah… not a holiday, miss," he said, his tone tight. "I'm not sure myself, but… I heard people have been getting sick. Some kind of strange sickness."
The four of them froze.
"Sick?" they said in unison, their voices tight.