Linyue froze. Her lips parted, but no words came out.
The horse kept moving, steady beneath them, but her heart suddenly wasn't so steady at all.
Shu Mingye turned his gaze back to the road ahead. His voice was quieter this time. "...But I still held your hand," he said. "Even when I didn't understand anything. Even when it felt like I was burning from the inside out."
Linyue's fingers moved slowly, reaching for his. She wrapped her hand around his again, holding tight. She knew she had kept many things from him. Pieces of herself, memories she thought she could lock away forever. But now, as the palace gates came into view, she made up her mind. She would tell him.
When they stopped, Shu Mingye helped her down from the horse. His hand stayed on hers like it always did. He didn't say anything. He didn't press for answers. But in that quiet grip, Linyue felt it again—his presence, his patience, his unspoken promise that he would stay no matter what. Together they walked toward his chamber. Her heart pounded with every step, but she didn't let go. Every gentle gesture he had given her before, every time he waited without questions, had led her here. And now, she was ready to give him the truth.
When they reached the door, Shu Mingye stopped and turned to face her. His eyes searched hers for a moment.
Linyue took a deep breath. She squeezed his hand again. The memories she carried were still sharp and heavy, but somehow, they felt a little lighter now. She was ready to share them.
Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Shu Mingye said, "Pie, why don't you take a bath and change your clothes first?"
"…Huh?"
"Just go," he said, already giving her a gentle push toward the door. "You're covered in dust, sparks, and questionable battle smoke. It's distracting."
She tilted her head, clearly confused. "Alright," she said slowly.
"And wait in the chamber after. Don't wander off."
Linyue nodded, though she was still confused.
He leaned down, kissed her forehead softly, then straightened and walked away in a hurry.
Linyue watched him leave. "I thought he had questions," she muttered. "Did he forget?"
Still, she made her way to the pool beside his chamber. Slipping into the warm water, she let out a quiet sigh. The steam rose gently around her, and the tension in her body began to ease. She rested her arms on the edge, her chin on her hands, and closed her eyes for a moment.
Maybe he went to see the palace physician. Or maybe there was something urgent to handle. After all, Shu Mingye was technically a king, even if he acted more like a full-time bodyguard and part-time flirt.
Linyue stayed in the water a little longer before finally stepping out. She dried off and looked at the nearby shelf. Shu Mingye had somehow filled half his chamber with her things without her noticing. Hairpins, silk robes, even all kind of soaps she had never used herself. It was a little suspicious how prepared he was.
She picked a soft blue robe and slipped it on, the smooth fabric settling comfortably over her skin. After changing, Linyue wandered to the bed and threw herself onto it. The mattress bounced lightly under her weight. She stared at the ceiling for a while, then rolled onto her side.
"Where is he?" she muttered, poking at the pillow. "Did he get lost in his own palace again?"
Her eyes drifted to the table nearby. It was stacked with books and scrolls. A pitiful reminder of all the reading she had promised to finish "sometime later." Apparently, later had arrived. She groaned, rolled off the bed, and grabbed a few of the thickest books and few scrolls. Then she dragged herself and her new workload back onto the bed, flopping into what could generously be called a reading position. Mostly, it was her lying flat with a scroll resting awkwardly on her chest.
The reading began. She flipped lazily through pages, eyes half-focused. One chapter passed. Then another. At some point she found herself rereading the same sentence five times without sticking it in her brain.
She lifted her head just enough to glance out the window. The sky had turned dusky blue, the edges smudged with orange and purple. Evening had arrived. Shu Mingye had not.
Linyue yawned. Her eyelids felt heavier with every blink. The book tilted sideways in her hand, dangerously close to sliding off the bed.
She rubbed her eyes. "Just a quick nap," she whispered.
There would be plenty of time for questions later. She let the book slip onto the bed beside her and curled under the blankets. One arm wrapped around a scroll like it was a stuffed rabbit. The blanket was warm. The bed carried the faint scent of him.
With one last quiet yawn, Linyue drifted into sleep.
*****
Shu Mingye sat alone in his study, the soft candlelight spilling across the desk and lighting up the scroll in his hands. He had already bathed in another chamber and changed into clean black robes. His hair was still damp at the ends. His skin stung faintly from the lightning earlier, but he ignored it. There was something more important.
Before he returned to his chamber, before his Pie inevitably asked about the scroll the masked man had handed over, he needed to make sure it wasn't cursed, poisoned, or some hidden demonic trap.
He set the scroll carefully on the table and studied it. It looked old, the paper tinted softly with yellow and brown. But it wasn't dusty or fragile. If anything, it seemed well preserved, almost suspiciously so.
"Too clean," he muttered.
He tapped a finger against the edge once, then unrolled it slowly. Nothing hissed. Nothing burst into flames. No ancient demon clawed its way out of the paper. That was already a better start than he expected.
The handwriting was neat and refined. Not just functional calligraphy, it had rhythm. His gaze slowly moved down the page. And then his brow furrowed. His eyes sharpened. He sat straighter, one hand tightening around the edge of the scroll.
This… wasn't what he expected. Not at all.
The scroll wasn't some secret message or threat. It was a record. A detailed explanation of a forbidden technique—the Self-Sealing Array.
Shu Mingye's brows drew tighter the more he read. His finger hovered over the paper, tracing the elegant strokes of the handwriting. The deeper he went into the text, the colder he felt.
The Self-Sealing Array had been created long ago as a way to turn cultivators into elite soldiers. Soldiers who were emotionless, obedient, terrifyingly strong and almost impossible to stop. But power like that came at a price. The technique was too dangerous, too cruel. And so, it was buried, forbidden.
The array wasn't drawn on the skin or carved on the surface. It was etched deep into bones, veins and meridians. The body became a living prison. It worked by hiding the cultivator's spiritual energy inside their own body. Not just hiding—it imprisoned it.
The scroll described it step by step. The energy didn't disappear. It stayed locked inside, trapped and pressed tight into the cultivator's own meridians. It grew denser over time, drop by drop, hardening like ice that never melted. The more energy built up, the colder the body became. So cold that in sleep, some were mistaken for corpses. But the worst part wasn't the cold.
Spiritual energy was tied to the soul. When the soul was locked away, emotions followed. At first it felt like peace, a quiet mind free of distraction. But the longer the array remained, the more the cultivator lost their emotion. Joy. Sorrow. Anger. Love. One by one, every feeling faded until all that was left was silence. They became a hollow vessel for power. Their old self disappeared, replaced by array's cold, ruthless logic.
Shu Mingye clenched his jaw. His hand tightened on the scroll. His chest felt tight, each word twisting deeper. He hated reading it. But he couldn't stop. Because now a dark suspicion was growing inside him. One that made his stomach turn.
The scroll said that when needed, the trapped energy could be released—destroying both the cultivator's body and their enemies. In other words, it was self-destruction. And if the array broke, whether by accident or force, all that condensed energy would also explode outward. The cultivator's body would not survive it.