Boyi looked far too pleased with himself. "For you. She said she made it especially for her future daughter-in-law to give to her son. Very touching."
Shu Mingye stared at him.
Boyi continued, clearly enjoying every second of this, "When the princess was six, Queen Shu asked if she wanted to marry you in the future."
Shu Mingye froze, his brows twitching. "And?"
"She said yes."
There was a long pause.
"…Just like that?" Shu Mingye asked slowly, voice dangerously calm.
Boyi coughed into his fist. "Well… Queen Shu might've promised her unlimited lotus seed pie if she did."
Shu Mingye rubbed his forehead with a long, deep sigh. "So… I was exchanged for a plate of pie."
"Not just one plate. Unlimited pie, Lord. A very compelling offer for a six-year-old."
Shu Mingye gave him a flat, withering stare that screamed you're making it worse.
"Oh! And Queen Shu gave the princess her favorite gardenia jade hairpin," Boyi added quickly, trying to save himself from certain death. "The princess didn't want to accept it at first. But Queen Shu told her it was only temporary. She said the princess was just borrowing it… until she was old enough to bring it back to Shulin herself."
"So basically, she guilt-tripped her into a future visit."
"Exactly," Boyi said proudly. "Everyone knew Queen Shu just wanted to lure her back."
Shu Mingye let out a small laugh, shaking his head. "Mother did tell me once she found me a lovely, beautiful bride. I thought she was joking. I was only ten back then."
"Ah," Boyi said with a knowing nod. "But Queen Shu was never joking about her plans." Then Boyi's voice dropped lower. "But, you know what happened thirteen years ago. So…"
So everything changed. The cheerful, worm-embroidering, pie-bargaining, library-invading little princess was gone. The palace stopped speaking of her. Until now.
The room was quiet. Even the candles seemed to flicker nervously.
Shu Mingye finally said, "You can leave."
Boyi didn't need to be told twice. He stood, bowed so fast it was almost a blur, and slipped out. The door clicked shut behind him and silence returned.
Shu Mingye leaned back in his chair, staring at nothing. But his mind wasn't here. It was thirteen years ago, in a palace courtyard, where a little girl in messy buns and a lavender robe ruled like a pint-sized general. Kidnapping her brother, demanding snacks, invading libraries without a shred of guilt.
He smiled faintly. It must've been adorable. And maddening. Very her. But then came the thought that instantly soured his small smile.
Fu Jingtao. The man who ruined everything.
Linyue had once told him that there was no place for her inside the wall. Back then, he hadn't understood. But now… now he did.
He rubbed the spot between his brows, sighing deeply. Thinking about what kind of life she must've lived after that made his chest ache in a way he didn't like. Thirteen years ago, he lost everything too. His family. His home. But at least he still knew who he was. She hadn't even been allowed that. She had to erase herself just to survive.
His eyes drifted to the desk drawer. Slowly, he reached out and opened it.
Inside, sat a small wooden box. The same one she had shoved at him that day in the secret passage. "It's precious," she had said. Yet she never asked for it back after. Almost like she had forgotten about it. But after hearing Boyi's story, maybe she hadn't forgotten at all. Maybe she had given it to him on purpose.
Carefully, Shu Mingye lifted the lid.
Inside were only two things.
The first was black robes, neatly folded. He unfolded them with cautious fingers and froze. Golden thread caught the light. The embroidery shimmered along the collar, sleeves, and edges in what was clearly meant to be a majestic design. Except… it wasn't.
It was a lizard. A golden lizard, striking a heroic pose while chasing what might have been flies or possibly panicked dots around the hem. The entire thing looked like it belonged in a children's storybook, not on formal clothing. He stared at it in silence for a long moment. Then he burst out laughing. It was the exact kind of chaos he imagined his mother and that little troublemaking princess would proudly present as fine embroidery.
Then his eyes fell on the second item.
A hairpin. Milky white jade, smooth and soft to the touch, with a single gardenia blossom carved at the tip. Simple. Beautiful. Familiar. He held it carefully in his palm. This was his mother's favorite. She used to wear it every time she visited the imperial palace. The sight of it brought back memories of summer mornings. Her gentle voice, the light scent of flowers clinging to her robes, the way she always hummed when brushing his hair. He hadn't seen this hairpin in over a decade.
Now he understood. The reason Linyue had come to Shulin. It wasn't for power. Not for spying. Not even to kill him, despite how often she gave him looks sharp enough to suggest otherwise. She came to fulfill a promise. A promise to his mother. To return the gardenia hairpin. To hand over the ridiculous, legendary Commander Wiggle robes.
He wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh again or bury his face in his hands. She had really done it. After all these years, she had come back. She had snuck into the imperial palace just to retrieve these two things. And then she shoved them at him like they were nothing. Like it wasn't a big deal. Just… thirteen years of loyalty packed neatly into a wooden box.
He set the robes down and looked at the hairpin again.
"Ridiculous woman," he muttered softly.
His mother really did know him too well. So well that she tied him to a tiny, dirt-smudged, little troublemaker when she was barely old enough to hold a chopstick properly. And somehow, it worked. She had actually come back. Thirteen years later. With Commander Wiggle robes. A gardenia hairpin. And not a single word about any of it.
Shu Mingye stared at the box. "When she comes back," he muttered, "I'll definitely ask her."
About the marriage. The one she accepted from his mother. Probably for pie. Lotus seed pie, of all things.
He leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. His expression was calm. Serious. Almost kingly. Except for the small, traitorous smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. First, he'd ask. Maybe after the yelling. Because she absolutely deserved some yelling. Or maybe the marriage talk first. It was clearly more important. Or… whichever came first.
Yelling. Marriage.
Both sounded nice.