Song Meiyu’s eyes lit up immediately. “Do you remember that suspicious little vial of weird liquid?”

  Linyue nodded. “Of course. Master Yin Xue said she was testing it on prisoners. Ethically questionable, but efficient.”

  Song Meiyu scooted closer and lowered her voice to a dramatic whisper, even though Shu Mingye was clearly listening and still glaring. “Well, she confirmed it. The liquid’s effects match the symptoms of the disease happening here.”

  That caught his attention. Shu Mingye straightened, setting aside his jealousy for now, and his voice sharpened. “What liquid?”

  Linyue finally turned to look at him. “The one the emperor gave me,” she said simply. “I asked Prince Lu to deliver it to Luyan before he left.”

  For a long moment, Shu Mingye only stared. Then very slowly, he crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. He remembered that little vial well. The emperor had handed it to her, supposedly for him. Of course she would not hand it over like an obedient fake daughter. Of course she would do the exact opposite.

  He let out a quiet, amused breath, though his expression stayed sharp. Typical Linyue behavior. She always looked calm, acted calm, and then casually tossed a royal plot into a flaming barrel before walking away. So she sent that vial to Luyan. And now, the sickness spreading across the state just happened to have the same symptoms as the effects of that very vial? Coincidence? Not in this lifetime.

  Given everything that had happened—General Zimo’s kidnapping, the fake Princess Fu Yuxin’s very fake death, and Queen Shen’s execution—the emperor was probably tearing his hair out by now. He hoped it was patchy. But there were more important things than royal tantrums.

  Shu Mingye’s voice was sharp again. “Did she say what it is? And if there’s a cure?”

  Song Meiyu straightened at once. “She searched through ancient books and scrolls in Xuanyi Pavilion. The dusty ones, the smelly ones, the dangerous ones and she even asked Prince Lu to help.”

  Linyue, standing to the side with her hands neatly folded, added quietly, “He will complain the whole time.”

  Song Meiyu nodded. “Loudly. But they did find something.”

  Shu Mingye raised an eyebrow but stayed silent. He had learned the hard way that interrupting Song Meiyu mid-story only made her talk louder. And longer.

  “You know Master Yin Xue,” Song Meiyu began with a dramatic sweep of her hands, “she collects weird books like other people collect fans. Or regrets. Herbs, poisons, ancient scrolls, half-burnt recipes written in blood… you name it. She probably owns it.”

  Linyue gave a small nod. “Of course she does.”

  “So one day,” Song Meiyu went on, “she runs into this suspicious old merchant with half his teeth and a cart that looked like it’s been on fire twice. Naturally, she bought everything he had.”

  Shu Mingye closed his eyes briefly. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear the rest, but it was too late now.

  “And tucked between weird tales and moldy maps,” Song Meiyu continued with a grin, “was a set of scrolls about plants that grow outside the wall.”

  Linyue’s brows lifted slightly. “Outside the wall?”

  “Yup!” Song Meiyu leaned in, her eyes gleaming. “The spooky, no-go zone where plants probably eat people and the air probably bites too.”

  Shu Mingye’s patience thinned. “And?”

  Song Meiyu beamed. “And she found this adorable little nightmare called Crimson Bloodroot. The symptoms of the current disease match the effects of this plant perfectly. It starts by growing inside the lungs. Then it burrows into the meridians, messes up the spiritual flow, causes coughing, blocked energy, and eventual organ shutdown. Basically, the plant is redecorating your insides.”

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Linyue tilted her head slightly. “So this plant is killing people from the inside… by building a garden in their lungs.”

  Song Meiyu snapped her fingers. “Exactly! Except no flowers. Just suffering.”

  “Is there a cure?” Linyue asked, already knowing the answer but hoping the universe would surprise her for once.

  Song Meiyu wilted a little. “The scroll only explained the effects. No mention of a cure. Not even a dramatic herbal tea suggestion.”

  Shu Mingye folded his arms. “So, no clue.”

  Linyue stayed calm, her gaze thoughtful behind a thin veil of lingering smoke. “But now we know the cause. If it’s a liquid, then the disease probably spreads through food or water.” She let the thought hang for a moment before adding, “And Sister Meiyu, didn’t you say there was one family of four who got sick except for the water cultivator?”

  Song Meiyu’s eyes went wide as realization struck. Then she smacked her palm against her forehead with a loud clap. “You’re right! He didn’t even get a cough. Of course, he wouldn’t. He doesn’t use water from the outside. He makes his own water with spiritual energy! Must be nice to casually avoid death like that.”

  Linyue gave a small nod. “Exactly. And remember that old well? The one you said was haunted and refused to go near because you thought a ghost would drag you in?”

  Song Meiyu shivered dramatically, clutching her own arms. “I still think of that. It looked at me the wrong way.”

  “That’s probably just moss,” Linyue said flatly. “But maybe the well should be checked. Most villagers could be using it as their water source. Richer families might use other clean sources—ones not potentially haunted by ghost-moss. Which could explain why they didn’t get sick.”

  Song Meiyu’s eyes widened with the thrill of discovery. “That makes sense! If someone poured the Crimson Bloodroot liquid into that creepy old well, it would explain why people started getting sick so fast!”

  Linyue nodded. “So, the first thing to do is confirm if the water in that well causes the disease or not.”

  Song Meiyu nodded faster. “Right. We have to stop more people from drinking haunted plant juice if it’s true.”

  The two women continued talking very seriously about ghost-haunted wells and plant-based lung infestations, their voices low but intense. They were so focused they didn’t notice anything else.

  A few steps away, Shu Mingye stood silently, arms crossed. Forgotten. Again. They chattered like he didn’t exist. Not a glance in his direction. Not a single pause. Just calm, logical planning of public health measures in the middle of magical smoke and burnt air.

  It never failed to surprise him. He was the King of Shulin. A man whose name made court officials tremble and generals sweat through their armor. Some called him ruthless, cunning, terrifying. And yet lately, all he seemed to do was follow these strange people around. Half the time, they were experimenting with things that could explode. The other half, they were uncovering political conspiracies, usually between lunch, tea, and gossips. He himself mostly just trailed behind. Occasionally catching on fire emotionally. Very dignified. Who had sent these people to him again?

  Oh. Right. They were following Pie. For reasons none of them seemed able to explain.

  Shu Mingye sighed softly. Maybe all the trouble they caused was actually worth it. He smoothed his robes with calm, careful hands.

  At last, he spoke. “Alright,” he said, stepping forward. “You did well. I’ll take it from here. Just rest.”

  Linyue and Song Meiyu blinked at him at the same time, like they suddenly remembered there was a real king standing in their smoky mess.

  Song Meiyu tilted her head. “Oh? Wow, are you sure?”

  Shu Mingye shot her a look that clearly said, "Did you just ask me if I’m sure about running my own state?"

  Linyue quickly nudged Song Meiyu, whispering. “Let him have this. We can cause another trouble later.”

  Shu Mingye paused, pretending not to hear that. Mostly. Then he turned sharply and left the chamber. The door shut behind him with a soft thud that sounded a lot like royal frustration. Almost on cue, Shen Zhenyu and He Yuying strolled into the chamber from the other side.

  He Yuying stopped just inside the doorway, his eyes scanning the smoky, half-chaotic room. “Did we miss something?” he asked flatly.

  Linyue shrugged casually. “Not much.”

  While Song Meiyu immediately spun toward the nearest chair and plopped down. “Sit,” she ordered.

  He Yuying and Shen Zhenyu sat without complaint. Shen Zhenyu even folded his hands politely. He Yuying, on the other hand, leaned back in his chair like he was bracing for whatever nonsense was about to unfold.