The journey began under a sky too blue and too peaceful for the kind of people currently galloping beneath it. Shu Mingye led the group like a shadow in daylight. Sharp, silent, and exuding just enough menace to keep small animals and larger men equally nervous. Behind him, the most peculiar princess the empire had ever accidentally acquired trotted along on horseback as if she were out for a picnic.
The road was long, winding through green hills and stone-paved passes, but remarkably smooth. There were no bandits, no unexpected ambushes, no monstrous beasts lurking in the forest, not even an overly curious squirrel. Shu Mingye was beginning to suspect the heavens were saving all the chaos for later.
When night finally fell, he did something no one expected.
He stopped.
Even more shockingly, he actually paid—with real money—for rooms at a quiet inn nestled by a sleepy river village. The guards looked mildly traumatized. Song Meiyu almost applauded. He Yuying blinked five times in silent disbelief.
Whether this act of thoughtfulness was intentional or simply for the sake of preserving his guards' legs, no one knew. Either way, no one questioned it. The strange little traveling party were too busy enjoying warm food, clean beds, and a roof that didn't leak.
By the second morning, they were moving again.
Shu Mingye rode at the front as usual, cold as ever. But every now and then, just briefly, he would glance back over his shoulder. And every time, his sharp, calculating eyes landed on her.
Princess Fu Yuxin, dressed simply, sitting straight in her saddle with the kind of calm only acquired through training, stubborn pride, or extreme spite. Not a single complaint. No whining. No slouching. No royal complaints about sore legs, unfluffed pillows, or the tragic lack of peach wine. Her expression remained unchanged, calm and slightly amused, like someone who had just remembered a joke but chose not to share it. If she were truly suffering, she hid it better than any spy he'd known.
Not bad, Shu Mingye thought with a faint snort. He had expected—hoped, even—for at least one tantrum. He had expected tears or at least the occasional pitiful glance at the nonexistent carriage. But she was actually looking around, admiring the scenery. The trees, the hills, the birds, the sky. He swore at one point she even waved at a passing farmer.
Was she… enjoying this? Was she really this carefree? Or was this some kind of act? Was she secretly crying on the inside and bluffing her way through with silent princess pride?
Shu Mingye narrowed his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching with the faintest hint of challenge.
Well, he thought, settling back in his saddle, the road is still long. The weather's warm. Let's see how long that mask stays on.
Linyue, for her part, remained utterly oblivious to the internal drama going on in the demon's mind up ahead. She was too busy admiring the view, head tilted slightly.
"Mmm," she murmured, more to the mountains than anyone in particular, "I like this route."
Peaceful trees. Chirping birds. A breeze that actually smelled nice. It was dangerously close to relaxing.
Song Meiyu, riding beside her with He Yuying, was less poetic. "You realize we're still technically being marched to the imperial slaughterhouse, right?"
"Mhm," Linyue hummed, unbothered. "But look at that ridge… it's shaped like a sleeping dog."
Song Meiyu stared at the ridge.
It did, in fact, look vaguely like a dog taking a nap.
"That's adorable," she muttered. "Still not worth getting poisoned by your fake dad, though."
Meanwhile, the carriage—a grand, polished piece of craftsmanship complete with silk cushions, embroidery, and enough space to host a small tea party—continued to roll along politely in the distance, wheels rattling just enough to say: I'm here if anyone wants to stop pretending they're made of steel.
Linyue hadn't even glanced at it. Not even a casual glance. Not even accidental eye contact.
She had no idea Shu Mingye had been checking every few minutes to see if she would crack, break posture, or perhaps gasp admit to fatigue like a normal person.
The mask of serenity held strong.
Which meant, for the first time possibly ever, the Demon King of Shulin was being out-mysterious. Out-stoic. Out-bluffing.
And the day was still young.
Four days passed just like that.
Like a breeze through the mountains—quiet, easy, and shockingly peaceful. So peaceful, in fact, the guards began to look over their shoulders suspiciously. Was the danger… delayed? Lost? Canceled due to scheduling conflicts?
Still not a single bandit. Not a single cursed frog leaping out of nowhere to trip a horse and cause mild chaos. Not even a dramatic thunderstorm to set the mood. The most exciting thing to happen was when He Yuying sneezed and Song Meiyu nearly fell off the horse in surprise.
But now, on the evening of the fourth day, the silhouette of the imperial capital loomed ahead. Grand. Gleaming. Glorious.
Tomorrow, they would step into the lion's mouth.
But tonight, was their last night of freedom.
Linyue sat tall in her saddle, calm and proud. There was a quiet satisfaction in her posture. The kind that came from making the right decision and being too humble to brag about it. (But not too humble to silently enjoy how right she was.)
Riding had been far more convenient than being rattled around inside a fancy wooden box on wheels—fresh air, scenic views, and zero chance of getting motion sickness from a bumpy cart. She glanced up at the clear sky. Unless a meteor decided to land on them or a wild goose decided to start a fight, they should reach the palace by tomorrow without issue.
At sunset, Shu Mingye—still silent, still broody, still vaguely judging humanity as a concept—paid for rooms at a reputable inn near the city gate. He said nothing, as always, but his actions spoke: Don't die before the emperor sees you. It would be inconvenient.
Song Meiyu, however, had absolutely no interest in sleeping or behaving. She was practically vibrating with excitement. Her eyes sparkled at the bustling street just outside the inn. Lanterns swung from storefronts, vendors called out their wares, and the street performers spun and flipped like they'd been summoned by her enthusiasm alone.
"Princess!" she whispered (loudly), "Let's go look around the market! Maybe we'll find something cursed—I mean, interesting!"
Linyue blinked slowly at her. Just five seconds earlier, she had been imagining a hot bath and maybe some stolen snacks. But Song Meiyu's face was so bright it could've powered a small village. She was no longer surprised by this energy. Resistance was futile. Without lifting her head too much, she gave a lazy nod. Up and down. The kind that said: fine,let's go cause minor chaos.
And so began their night adventure, their last evening of relative peace before court politics came knocking.
Naturally, He Yuying and Shen Zhenyu followed without a word, not because they were asked, but because they knew. You simply did not leave Linyue and Song Meiyu unattended in a public space. Not unless you wanted property damage, rumors, or spontaneous poultry duels.
The four of them slipped into the lively streets, blending in with merchants, travelers, street performers, and pickpockets who were quickly discouraged by Shen Zhenyu's death glare.
The market of the capital was not just a place of trade. It was loud, it was bright, and it smelled like fifteen different spices arguing over who was the strongest. Lanterns bobbed overhead like confused fireflies. Musicians clanged away on drums, someone juggled knives near a meat skewer stall, and somewhere in the distance, a chicken screamed.
Into this madness strolled Linyue, dressed in her usual white robes with the air of someone calmly browsing the apocalypse.
Song Meiyu was practically vibrating, poking at anything remotely shiny or suspiciously odd.
Shen Zhenyu walked like a bodyguard in a historical tragedy. His glare alone bought them space. People moved. Stalls parted. Chickens made respectful noises.
He Yuying brought up the rear, hands tucked in his sleeves. He had already given up on stopping chaos and was simply there to log the damage for later paperwork.
None of them knew what tomorrow would bring.
An imperial decree. A polite assassination attempt. Or worse…
A formal banquet with seven different spoons and too many chopsticks.
But for now?
They were just four strange people browsing the night market. One overly excited botanist, one brooding death-glare bodyguard, one exhausted chaperone with a soul full of sighs, and one disguised princess who had definitely read at least three books on how to cause chaos with a straight face.