Shu Mingye stepped out of his chamber, dressed in formal robes fit for a king which, inconveniently, he actually was. His expression was cool, calm, and carefully unreadable. Classic king behavior.
He adjusted his sleeve elegantly, then froze.
The door beside his opened.
Out stepped the Princess. No, not the Princess. A walking chandelier.
For a moment, he thought the sun had risen again, but no—it was just her head. Dozens of shiny hairpins caught the light. He had to blink a few times to make sure he hadn't just gone blind. Was this part of some secret royal strategy? Blind your enemies with your hairstyle and then stab them with fashion?
He said nothing.
Mostly because he didn't trust himself not to laugh.
Instead, he walked up to her and offered his hand.
To his quiet relief, she didn't pull out candy this time. No surprise snacks. No sugar offerings. She placed her hand in his naturally. Maybe she finally learned her lesson.
The long corridor stretched ahead, all golden light and polished floors. Hand in hand, they started walking toward the palace hall together, like a picture-perfect royal couple. Or actors in a very awkward play.
Either way, they looked convincing.
Linyue, on the other hand, was dying inside.
Her dress was long, too long. She was pretty sure if she took one wrong step, she'd trip, tumble, and do a full somersault right across the shiny marble floor. And wouldn't that be a great first impression? "Greetings, Emperor. I'm the cartwheeling princess."
The hair ornaments jingled and sparkled with every step, and her poor neck was carrying the weight of an entire treasure vault. Her head felt like it might fall off and roll down the hallway if she tilted it even slightly.
She walked very carefully. Slowly.
To her surprise, Shu Mingye matched her pace. Whether out of genuine consideration or because he wanted a better view if she tripped and rolled into the banquet, she didn't know.
She clenched her jaw and kept walking.
Eventually, they arrived at the grand palace hall. It was exactly what one would expect from the imperial court. Wide, shiny floors, towering pillars, golden dragons glaring down from every corner, and a silence so tense it could snap.
Song Meiyu stood quietly with the other palace maids along the side wall, doing her very best impression of an invisible broom. Her posture was perfect, her eyes lowered, but if anyone looked close enough, they'd see she was whispering a prayer: Please don't let anything explode today.
At the far end of the hall, the emperor sat on his golden throne, flanked by the empress on one side and the smiling First Concubine on the other. Their expressions were all different flavors of curiosity, boredom, and mild suspicion.
Linyue stepped forward, lowered her head, and offered the briefest, driest royal greeting in fake princess history. "Fu Yuxin greets the emperor."
That was it. No warmth. No frilly titles. Just the bare minimum. If she could've gotten away with a simple "yo," she probably would've.
She wasn't trying to impress him. She wasn't even Princess Fu Yuxin. Honestly, if he got mad and started yelling, she might actually enjoy it. At least it would be entertaining.
Meanwhile, Shu Mingye was already gone.
While Linyue was still mid-bow, this man—this bold, disrespectful menace—had strolled right past her and sat himself down like the palace was his backyard. No greeting. No bow. Not even a polite "excuse me." Just seat acquired, mission complete.
The emperor didn't react at all, as if this happened every other day.
Linyue glanced sideways. She could've just followed him and avoided all the formality! Too late now.
Then the emperor spoke, his voice smooth and grand. "Rise, rise. Do not be so polite. You are my daughter that I haven't seen in sixteen years."
Linyue straightened slowly, carefully masking her reaction. Ah, so he's playing the loving father card today. Interesting choice. Let's see how long that lasts.
Linyue slowly lifted her head and looked up.
The first thing she noticed was the empress, draped in a golden dress so heavy it looked like it could sink a boat. Her crown was a towering structure of gems and gold, wobbling slightly with each subtle movement, as if she were balancing a sack of rice on her head. Her face was painted thick with makeup enough to hide wrinkles, age, and perhaps shame.
On the other side sat the first concubine. Her robes were so bright and mismatched they could probably blind a bird mid-flight and rivaled rainbow. It wasn't just pink or yellow. It was every color known to humankind and maybe a few not yet discovered. She shimmered so aggressively that Linyue felt the urge to shield her eyes. Was this a palace banquet… or a fashion showdown?
She stood there silently, still processing the bizarre sight, until the emperor finally spoke again, his tone gentle.
"It must be awkward for you," he said with what he believed was fatherly warmth. "This emperor hasn't been a good father to you. Today, I've prepared this banquet for you. It must be your first time attending something like this, right?"
"Yes," Linyue answered flatly.
The emperor gave a kind smile, clearly pleased with himself for being so thoughtful. "Alright, go sit and enjoy the banquet."
Linyue stood awkwardly, scanning the room like a lost guest at someone else's wedding. No one had told her where to sit. No helpful palace maid whispering directions. Not even helpful arrows pointing "Traitors Sit Here." Just rows of lavish tables and too many people pretending not to stare.
Then she spotted a seat beside Shu Mingye. Empty, inviting, and most importantly not across the room. Perfect. Without overthinking it, she walked over like she absolutely belonged there and sat down.
The air shifted almost instantly. She couldn't explain it, but she felt it. Like someone had just dropped an invisible plate. A wave of not-so-friendly stares rolled in her direction.
Shu Mingye, looking far too entertained for someone caught in royal drama, leaned slightly toward her and murmured, "You were supposed to sit over there." He nodded toward a lonely seat across the table.
Sitting right beside that seat was a girl who looked like she'd been training her entire life to not make eye contact with Shu Mingye. Linyue could almost hear the silent panic: Don't look. Don't stare. Just breathe. It was… kind of funny.
She wore a pale lavender silk dress embroidered with clouds, clearly trying to embody elegance and serenity. The sleeves were cut wide enough to catch the wind (or perhaps the sighs of admirers). Her skin was flawless like polished porcelain. Her hair—black as ink, gathered up in an artful half-ponytail with a jade hairpin shaped like a crane in flight. The rest cascaded down her back like waterfall with each strand so perfectly placed. Her lips were the soft pink of a spring blossom. She looked like she had just stepped out of a painting.
Yes. Very pretty. Undeniably beautiful.
Linyue gave her a glance, then looked away with a shrug. After seeing her own face in the mirror every day, she wasn't all that impressed.
Shu Mingye leaned closer and said casually, "That's Princess Fu Qingya, the first princess."
"Ah," Linyue nodded, finally remembering the name. Princess Fu Qingya, the emperor's prized jewel." A girl who'd been presented like a treasure to the highest bidder. Famous throughout the palace for her looks and grace. Many noble families had tried to propose marriage, but the emperor hadn't agreed to anything yet.
She was already seventeen, a year older than Princess Fu Yuxin. The emperor had carefully kept her on display, refusing every suitor, as if keeping her in pristine condition for something or someone special. Linyue could almost hear the emperor's internal monologue: Save the best for last.
Shu Mingye caught her expression and raised an eyebrow. "What are you thinking?" he asked, his voice betraying a hint of amusement, even though his expression remained cool and composed.
"I'm thinking… I'm more beautiful," Linyue replied without hesitation.