"Why would I come with you?"
She didn't even hesitate. "I don't know the way."
He stared at her.
Really? That was her excuse?
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Of all the things she could've said—orders, duty, fate—she went with directions. And somehow, it worked.
He sighed. Fine. Let's entertain her. This could be the last time, after all. The last time they walked side by side, not as an enemy. Because if the emperor had truly sent her on a mission, and if she chose the wrong side, if she acted with malice or foolishness then Shu Mingye would not hesitate.
He hoped it wouldn't come to that. He really did. But if she crossed the line… she'd regret ever being born. And that, too, was a promise.
"Fine. Wait here," Shu Mingye said with a sigh.
He turned around and went back into his chamber. A minute later, he stepped back out in proper robes. Still dark, still sharp, but at least now he looked less like someone about to rob the palace and more like someone mildly important. No one would mistake him for a thief, or an assassin, at least not right away.
Without saying anything, he held out his hand to her again. It could be the last time, he mused. The last time he'd hold this icy little snowball of a hand, cold enough to preserve fish, stubborn enough to slap an assassin.
Linyue took his hand without hesitation. Her hand fit too naturally in his. She didn't hate it. In fact, she found it… comfortable. Too comfortable for her own liking. Her frozen fingers thawed a little around his warm palm. It started to feel scary. She even had the sudden urge to tuck his arm closer just to steal a bit more warmth. But of course, she resisted.
Dangerous. This could turn into a habit.
They walked side by side, neither saying much. Song Meiyu trailed behind them like a shadow, keeping a respectful distance but definitely close enough to eavesdrop.
The path to the ancestral hall led them through quieter parts of the palace. No music, no loud ministers, no one yelling about court matters or missing snacks.
On the way, Shu Mingye glanced at her. She walked like nothing in the world could bother her. Calm and steady like a perfect lady she pretended to be.
"So," he said, voice casual, a little mischievous, "what did you talk about with the emperor?"
She didn't even bother to look at him. "A lot. His ancestors… gardening tips… steamed buns… sock preferences… how many times he sneezed last winter… then I almost dozed off."
He chuckled, low and skeptical, "That's it?"
What kind of answer was that? Was she being serious? Probably not. It was her usual style. Say something so ridiculous that his brain tripped over it before realizing she hadn't actually lied.
She paused, as if weighing her next absurdity. "No. He also mentioned his favorite cloud shapes… the perfect angle to stare at the ceiling… the history of ancient slippers… do you really want to hear them?"
Shu Mingye burst out laughing—loud, incredulous, almost hateful. Who would believe that? Her answered were getting more and more absurd. Talking nonsense seemed to be her specialty, and somehow, it suited her perfectly.
By the time they reached the ancestral hall entrance, his laughter had vanished completely. The building loomed tall in front of them with doors open wide.
Standing just outside were the emperor, the empress, the first concubine, and the shining example of royal perfection, the first princess. All lined up, as if this was a painting titled Royal Family Pretending to Get Along.
Shu Mingye stared at the ancestral hall. He had never stepped foot in it before. Why would he? Why come pray to the same ancestors who had blessed the people who murdered his parents?
It was clearly the emperor's idea to make him come. Dragging him here like some twisted joke. And because this ridiculous fake princess asked him, he came. Let's see what kind of mess this was going to be.
The emperor's voice rang out, smooth and full of importance. "You've come. Let's go inside."
Linyue didn't bother to reply. She didn't bow. She didn't smile. She simply stepped forward, calm and quiet, with Shu Mingye right beside her.
The moment she stepped through the doors, a thick wave of sandalwood incense assaulted her nose. Her nose twitched. Her eyes watered slightly. Wonderful. Now her robe, her sleeves, and probably her teeth would all smell like "haunted temple" for at least three days.
While Song Meiyu waited just outside the ancestral hall—blessed by fate, spared by duty, and definitely breathing better air—lucky her.
Linyue stepped deeper inside, already regretting everything.
Inside, tall black pillars reached up into the high ceiling like ancient arms holding up the sky. In the middle stood a long, polished table lined with offerings. There were fruits that looked too waxy to be real, buns stacked into perfect pyramids, and something that was probably chicken in a past life but now looked confused about its own identity.
Linyue's eyes moved past the food to the rows of stone tablets lined neatly in the back. Names were carved on each of them, formal and fancy. She didn't recognize a single one. They were probably important once. Heroes. Generals. Ministers who gave long speeches and made everyone fall asleep standing. Or maybe just people with really long titles.
Heavy silk curtains draped the walls, once majestic, now just fancy dust collectors. A passing breeze stirred them slightly, and the shifting light made it feel like the ancestors themselves were frowning in disapproval.
Beside her, Shu Mingye didn't move. He just stood there, arms at his sides, doing absolutely nothing suspicious which, for him, was suspicious. His face was unreadable, but the air around him felt sharp.
Then the emperor spoke again, this time louder. "Yuxin, you've never come to pay respect to ancestors before. Today, this father brought you here to pray."
Linyue remained quiet. No nod, no smile.
The emperor, undeterred, gestured grandly toward the tablets. "All the names written here are your family and this father's loyal subordinate. This one here, Shu Wenxu, he was the former King of Shulin. He helped this father a lot. He was loyal. A great man. He died so... unfortunately. Tsk. Didn't even get a proper burial in his homeland. So tragic."
Ah. There it was.
Linyue understood immediately. So that's why Shu Mingye had been invited. The emperor wanted to poke the tiger and see if it would maul him.
Linyue glanced at Shu Mingye. His expression was impressively murderous. Brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes like two daggers waiting for permission to fly. But he didn't move. Didn't speak. No flipped tables. No smashed tablets. Impressive.
Then the emperor clapped his hands together. "Yuxin, why don't you offer the incense and pray first?"
Her rebellious little heart practically did a somersault. Oh, the urge to make the emperor cough up blood in front of all his dead relatives. Such a sacred place… such a prime stage for chaos.
She turned, eyes innocent, voice casual. "Aren't you going to pray?" she asked Shu Mingye, like she didn't know exactly what she was doing.
His frown deepened like she'd just asked if he wanted to kiss Shu Wenxu's portrait.
"What do you think?" he snapped.
Oh yes, his aura had changed. Linyue could feel it, cold and heavy. If killing intent had a smell, it would probably reek of sandalwood and suppressed trauma. Most people would've backed away slowly. But Linyue? Absolutely not.
She tilted her head, pretended nothing was wrong. "Are you sure?" she said sweetly. "There are many kinds of prayers, you know." She sounded helpful. Almost scholarly.
Shu Mingye didn't say a word. He just stared at her with the kind of look that said, "Touch me and I will end you." She caught it in his eyes. He was holding himself back, tightly, like one more word from her might send him straight into tablet-smashing mode.
So, she backed off.
His gaze burned holes into her back as she calmly stepped forward, lit a stick of incense, and bowed. Not just any bow, either. It was the full "I respect my ancestors, my teachers, and my nation" kind of bow. The kind that could win awards. If someone walked in right then, they'd assume she was the poster child for traditional values. A true gem of the imperial family.
Shu Mingye almost growled. She knew, didn't she? Knew this whole farce was the emperor's way of rubbing salt in his wounds. Everyone knew it. He was the one who killed Shu Wenxu, the great 'patriotic' uncle. The emperor had dragged him here to stand in front of the memorial tablet of the man he'd killed—Shu Wenxu, beloved uncle, loyal hero, decorated patriot. What a joke.
And she? She bowed, she prayed, she looked so sincere it made his teeth grind.
It was unbearable. Why did he even come? How pathetic.
He hated this.
He hated all of it.
And most of all, he hated that somewhere, deep down, he'd actually hoped she wouldn't.
Then came the voice of Princess Fu Qingya, floating through the air like an annoying songbird who couldn't read the room.
"Sister," she chirped, smile sweetly and fake enough to rot teeth, "you prayed so earnestly just now. What did you ask for? Ancestral blessings for your marriage?"