Song Meiyu began, her eyes wide, her tone grave and full of mystery. “First, the room was full of smoke like someone tried to steam dumplings using the entire chamber. Then bam! The window flew open and the Demon King appeared out of nowhere.” She paused for dramatic effect, then added, “Oh, and I got a call from Master Yin Xue. Brace yourselves. She said the disease might be caused by a pnt that’s trying to turn people’s lungs into a garden. A very bad garden.”

  He Yuying stared at her. “That escated fast.”

  Song Meiyu leaned forward, lowering her voice. “And then Shu Mingye told us to rest. So obviously, we’ll do the opposite.”

  He Yuying sighed, already fishing out a snack from his sleeve. “Of course. Why wouldn’t we.”

  Shen Zhenyu, quiet as always, gave a small nod. Whether it was approval, mild agreement, or just surrendering to the madness, no one could tell. Probably all three.

  And just like that, chaos took over again.

  What followed could not really be called a “briefing.” It was closer to a dramatic storytelling performance—complete with snack breaks, exaggerated reenactments, and a heated argument over whether the haunted well was truly haunted or just a very shy, socially distant well. By the time they were halfway through the “briefing,” He Yuying was lying upside down on his chair, Song Meiyu was gesturing wildly like a traveling storyteller, and Shen Zhenyu looked like he was silently meditating just to survive the noise.

  After thirty long minutes of everything except the important stuff, Song Meiyu finally waved her hands like she had just remembered the point. “Oh! The cause of the disease. It’s a creepy little pnt from outside the wall. Crimson Bloodroot.”

  Shen Zhenyu, who had endured the nonsense with saint-like patience, finally opened his mouth. His voice was tired, almost resigned. “So it’s a pnt from outside the wall.”

  “Exactly,” Song Meiyu said proudly. “Crimson Bloodroot. Likes lungs. Terrible interior decorator.”

  He Yuying popped another dried plum into his mouth and chewed slowly. “Mmm. Murder pnt. Got it.”

  The conversation immediately went off-track again, this time about whether Crimson Bloodroot would make a good housepnt if it didn’t try to kill people. Song Meiyu argued no, saying anything that wanted to turn lungs into gardens had no pce on a windowsill. He Yuying argued yes, ciming it might look nice in a pot, especially if it glowed at night.

  Linyue, who had been sipping her tea quietly, finally spoke. “I prefer naps and pastries over murder pnts.”

  Finally, Shen Zhenyu cut through the chatter with a serious tone, trying to steer back the conversation. “So the cure has not been found.”

  The lighthearted mood evaporated. The reminder brought them all back to the weight of the situation.

  Linyue set her teacup down, her sleeves falling perfectly into pce. Despite the faint smell of smoke still clinging to her chamber, she looked untouched by the earlier chaos. “Did the scroll describe the appearance of the pnt?”

  “Oh! Yes!” Song Meiyu’s eyes lit up. “Master Yin Xue told me everything. The pnt is small, about the size of an adult woman’s palm. Which is oddly specific, but I didn’t ask.”

  The others nodded. They had long accepted Master Yin Xue’s strange units of measurement without question. Last time, she had described a medicinal root as “about the length of a grumpy cat’s tail.” Everyone had nodded like that was perfectly reasonable, because no one wanted to be the person who asked her to crify.

  He Yuying crunched on another dried plum, looking completely unbothered. “So, a murder pnt small enough to hide in a shoe.”

  Song Meiyu tilted her head thoughtfully. “Actually, yes. Or a teapot.” Her eyes widened slightly. “Which is much scarier.”

  Shen Zhenyu let out a slow sigh. Before the conversation could spiral into a discussion about haunted teapots, he brought them back to the point. “What about the leaves? Does it have flowers?”

  “The leaves,” Song Meiyu said, suddenly serious, “are greenish-bck. With jagged edges. And red veins running through them like angry little lightning bolts.”

  He Yuying raised one eyebrow, still chewing zily. “Sounds fashionable. Would make a great haunted tea.”

  Song Meiyu shot him a look and continued. “And yes, it has flowers. Crimson ones. Small, heart-shaped bundles.”

  “Heart-shaped?” He Yuying asked. “So it’s romantic and deadly.”

  “Not romantic,” Song Meiyu snapped. “Evil. Evil flowers pretending to be cute.”

  “And the roots?” Linyue asked quietly, already filing the details away in her mind.

  “Thick. Crimson. When you pull them out, they stain the soil red. Master Yin Xue said it looks like someone spilled paint or…” She dropped her voice for dramatic effect. “…murder.”

  “Wonderful,” He Yuying said dryly around a mouthful of dried plum. “Deadly and dramatic. Just the kind of pnt this story needed.”

  “Right?” Song Meiyu said brightly, pleased that someone understood.

  Shen Zhenyu gave his usual quiet nod, which could have meant agreement or simply that he was too tired to argue.

  Linyue’s gaze was thoughtful. “Master Yin Xue is probably trying to find the cure now.”

  “Of course!” Song Meiyu puffed up with pride. “After finding out the disease matched that suspicious vial of liquid, she’s already been testing all kinds of things to cure it. She said she’ll let us know once she finds something useful.”

  Shen Zhenyu folded his arms. “Shu Mingye must’ve also ordered his people to look into it.”

  “He would,” Song Meiyu agreed quickly. “He has the scary look of someone who works his subordinates to death.”

  “Not wrong,” He Yuying muttered, pulling yet another snack from the mysterious depths of his sleeve.

  Song Meiyu leaned in, eyes sparkling with mischief. “So, what do we do now?”

  Linyue tapped her knee softly, her voice quiet but steady. “We still don’t know who’s behind this.”

  Song Meiyu blinked in surprise. “Wasn’t it the emperor? He gave you that suspicious liquid and told you to use it on the Demon King, didn’t he?”

  “Right,” He Yuying added zily, chewing slowly. “After we faked Princess Fu Yuxin’s death, he probably needed a new pn.”

  “But the emperor wouldn’t get his hands dirty directly,” Shen Zhenyu said. “Someone else must’ve helped him.”

  Song Meiyu shrugged. “He could’ve asked his guards. Or his spies. Or anyone in the pace, really.”

  Shen Zhenyu gave Song Meiyu a sharp look, his eyes serious. “And risk it being traced back to him? Pace politics aren’t that simple, Meiyu. If one of his own people got caught, sure, he could deny it. But it would still pnt doubt in everyone’s mind.”

  Song Meiyu nodded slowly, her eyes thoughtful. “I see…”

  He kept going, his voice calm and steady. “Especially after the Queen Shu scandal. He wouldn’t be that careless again.”

  “Wow,” Song Meiyu muttered, shaking her head. “Being evil sounds exhausting.”

  He Yuying, still chewing on his snack, added without much interest, “Surprisingly complicated. That’s why I stick to snacks. Less drama.”

  Linyue turned her gaze to Shen Zhenyu. “Brother Zhenyu,” she said gently, “are you close with Crown Prince Shen? Or… now the current King Shen?”

  Shen Zhenyu met her eyes. Linyue never asked anything without a reason. He took a slow breath. “We used to be. But since I moved to Xuanyi Pavilion thirteen years ago, not anymore. I don’t really know what he’s like now. Back then, he was obedient. Quiet. He was only seven when I left.”

  Song Meiyu gasped loudly enough to make He Yuying flinch. “Sister Linyue, do you think… do you think there’s a chance he did it?”

  Linyue shook her head. “I don’t know. We have no evidence. No clue.”

  Which, of course, meant she was already suspicious.

  Song Meiyu leaned closer to He Yuying, her hand cupped around her mouth. “That means she’s thinking yes, right?” she whispered.

  He Yuying didn’t even look up from his snack. “That’s Linyue-speak for definitely maybe.”

  Song Meiyu’s gasp somehow got even louder. “But what makes you think he did it?”

  Linyue sat a little straighter. “Do you really think he didn’t know what Queen Shen did? That wasn’t a small crime. Hundreds, maybe thousands of people died. Do you think a Crown Prince, living in the same pace, didn’t notice anything strange?”

  Song Meiyu’s eyes widened. Her voice dropped to a scandalized whisper. “So you’re saying… he’s continuing his mother’s crime legacy?”

  Shen Zhenyu finally spoke, his tone low. “Or he could have been threatened. By the emperor.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Song Meiyu said, throwing her hands up. “You mean the emperor helped him cover up his part in Queen Shen’s crime… and in return, he had to do something for the emperor? Like, oh, I don’t know, spread a terrifying mystery disease in Shulin?”

  Linyue replied casually. “It’s just a possibility.”

  Which, of course, in Linyue-nguage meant: there’s probably a list of twenty reasons in my brain right now, sorted alphabetically.

  Shen Zhenyu nodded. “It happened near the border between Shulin and Shenlin. The timing was perfect too. Weeping Moon meant security inside was weaker. Easy to move without being noticed.”

  Song Meiyu crossed her arms, frowning. “It’s true. But how do we find proof? If someone just poured the liquid into a well, wouldn’t it all be gone by now?”

  “Exactly,” Shen Zhenyu said with a small shrug. “That’s why it was done that way. No trace left behind.” He leaned back, looking calm. “But that’s not our problem. Shu Mingye’s the one in charge. Let him deal with it.”

  Linyue nodded once, her face still calm. Then she shifted the topic like it was no big deal. “Actually, there’s something I want to try.”

  Song Meiyu leaned forward, eyes bright with excitement. “What is it? Another pn? Something dangerous? Tell me everything!”