Chapter 279. Another Riddle Wrapped in Dark

She did. And this time, he didn’t chirp. He managed something far worse: a very soft, very dignified whimper that slipped out against his will.

Linyue gave him a long look that was equal parts fond and exasperated. “Let’s stop here.”

Shu Mingye blinked at her, still catching his breath. “No, I’m fine, Pie. Let’s continue. I’m ready… mentally, physically, spiritually.”

She shook her head. “But I’m not fine. I’m tired.”

That changed everything. Before she could even blink again, he had already scooped her up into his arms and started walking back toward the chamber. His grip was firm, his voice tight with worry. “I’m sorry, Pie. Are you okay? Does it still hurt a lot?”

The white dog followed behind with a soft huff, tail flicking like it had seen this melodrama a hundred times already.

Linyue rested her head against his chest, her voice soft. “I’m kind of used to it now.”

Shu Mingye’s jaw clenched. “You shouldn’t be used to that kind of thing,” he muttered.

She tilted her face up at him, her eyes faintly amused despite her pale cheeks. “I want meat and vegetable pancakes.”

He didn’t even pause. The door flew open with one sharp kick, and he set her down carefully on their soft, wide bed. Then, leaning close, he reached out and pinched her nose lightly. “Don’t try to change the subject.”

Linyue smiled sweetly, her voice light. “Can’t I have the pancake?”

Shu Mingye stared at her for one long moment, then exhaled in surrender. His hand brushed gently through her hair, the tension in his shoulders finally easing. “Anything for my Pie.”

The white dog hopped onto the bed, claimed the corner, and curled up with self-satisfied look.

And in that quiet room, with one pancake-craving bride, one smitten husband with sore meridians, and one spirit beast pretending to be a foot warmer, their chaotic love story went on.

The next few days became a strange routine of lightning pokes and quiet suffering. Every morning, Linyue sat cross-legged across from Shu Mingye in the quiet garden behind his chamber. The air was soft and peaceful. Birds chirped somewhere in the distance. The white dog dozed off in the shade.

Linyue’s expression stayed calm and focused. Shu Mingye’s expression was… less so. His jaw was tight, his shoulders a little too straight, and his eyes suspiciously wide. But he didn’t say a word.

She refined his fire spiritual energy carefully, letting her lightning poke, coil, and temper it. Sometimes a spark jumped, sharp enough to make the lanterns flicker. Shu Mingye didn’t make any more odd noises. No yelps. No goose squawks. No whimpers. He had sworn dignity would be preserved.

Still, Linyue could see right through him. His fingers curled into his sleeves whenever her lightning brushed a sensitive meridian. His back stiffened. His breath caught. He endured every single spark in complete silence, as if by sheer willpower he could trick her into believing he was unshakable. But she knew. The only reason he put himself through it was simple. Because he wanted to help her. Because he wanted her well again. Because Shu Mingye would rather swallow lightning with a straight face than let her think he was weak.

Inside her, the storm was still raging. The spiritual energy trapped in her meridians felt like it had been compressed forever. It pressed against her from within, heavy and sharp, like it might break through at any moment. The protective arrays her master had placed were glowing faintly along her meridians and deep in her heart. They were the only reason she hadn’t fallen apart yet. The arrays kept the lightning moving in endless loops, stopping it from tearing her apart.

Sometimes she wondered, if those arrays weren’t there, would she even still be alive? Even with them, she knew they wouldn’t last forever. If she ever used that energy again like last time… would her body survive it?

Maybe Shu Mingye was right. Maybe dual cultivation really was the only way to stabilize it. To share the unbearable weight before it consumed her entirely.

She opened her eyes. Shu Mingye sat across from her, his forehead shining with sweat, his jaw tight with effort. And yet, when his gaze lifted to meet hers, it was steady. Unwavering. It carried the same reckless, stubborn affection he always had for her. The kind that said, “I’d-die-for-you-and-make-you-dumplings-while-I’m-at-it.” A small smile tugged at her lips despite the heaviness in her chest.

Shu Mingye frowned, sweat still dripping down his temple. “What are you smiling at, Pie? Did I explode?”

“No,” she said softly. “Just thinking.”

“Thinking about how amazing I am for not screaming this time?” he asked, completely serious.

“…Something like that.”

Near the gardenia bushes, the white dog was curled in the grass, one ear twitching now and then. It looked thoroughly unimpressed, clearly used to the daily routine of sparks, sizzling, and occasional human dramatics.

And so the days passed. Silent sparks, unspoken pain, shared strength, and the occasional burned leaf. Healing wasn’t fast, but it had begun.

What made Linyue feel even better, besides not randomly exploding from lightning overload, was the fact that her chaos family was also in Shulin. They visited often. Too often, according to Shu Mingye.

That was why today, while Song Meiyu cheerfully chattered beside Linyue’s bed, Shu Mingye was nowhere to be found. He had retreated into his study, which now had a side door that connected directly to their chamber. That door was part of his most recent project, the “I married the love of my life and remodeled everything” project. He had really planned it all too well.

Song Meiyu leaned across the bed with a conspiratorial grin. “Sister Linyue, you will not believe what I saw in the kitchen the other day.”

Linyue, half-sitting against the pillows, raised an eyebrow. “Did something explode?”

“No!” Song Meiyu flung her hands dramatically. “It’s your husband. The Demon King of Shulin. The one people whisper about in horror stories. He was…” She dropped her voice to a scandalized whisper. “…kneading dough.”

Linyue blinked. “…Did the dough explode?”

“No. But it wanted to,” Song Meiyu insisted. “He kneaded it with murder in his eyes. He muttered something about pancakes and eternal devotion. Then—then he punched it.”

At that exact moment, a muffled thump came from behind the side door that connected the chamber to Shu Mingye’s study.

Linyue’s lips curved faintly. “…I think he heard you.”

Song Meiyu gasped, delighted. “He remodeled his study just so he could eavesdrop on us, didn’t he? How romantic. How terrifying. I love it.”

The white dog snorted from its corner, curling its tail over its nose, clearly agreeing more with the terrifying part than the romantic.

Song Meiyu poked at Linyue’s blanket-covered foot. “Anyway, I’ve been training my spiritual sense every day. I think I’ll be a real royal physician soon!”

Linyue tilted her head. “You want to be royal physician?”

Song Meiyu puffed up with pride. “Well, I talked with Master Yin Xue before we left Xuanyi Pavilion. She said I don’t have to stay there. Actually, she already told me that years ago. I just didn’t listen. I didn’t have objectives or destinations back then.”

Linyue smiled faintly. That sounded like Song Meiyu.

“But now I have an actual plan!” Song Meiyu said, sitting taller as if she were announcing something important.

“To become royal physician?” Linyue guessed.

“Not exactly,” Song Meiyu grinned wider. “I want to open my own clinic! Maybe even a second Xuanyi Pavilion! We’ll treat patients and gossip at the same time!”

Linyue raised an eyebrow. “Is that even legal?”

“I’ll whisper the gossip,” Song Meiyu promised with a straight face. “Professional whispering.”

At that moment, He Yuying wandered in with a teacup in one hand and an entire box of pastries in the other. He flopped onto a chair. “She’s been saying the same thing all morning,” he muttered. “I think she’s practicing her speech for the royal funding application.”

“I’m manifesting my dream,” Song Meiyu said with a dignified sniff.

He Yuying offered Linyue a mooncake. “Want one? I stole them from the kitchen.”

“You’re banned from the kitchen,” Song Meiyu reminded him.

“And yet,” he said, taking a big bite, “I return triumphantly.”

Shen Zhenyu walked in next, scrolls tucked neatly under one arm. “I just talked to Shu Mingye.”

“Talk? Or are you just escaping from all this?” He Yuying waved a hand at the general chaos around Linyue’s bed.

“Partly,” Shen Zhenyu admitted.

Linyue leaned back against her pillows. The blanket was warm. The chatter was loud. The room smelled faintly of mooncakes. From the corner of the bed, the dog let out a little snuffle.

Chaos. Comfort. Home. For once, everything felt right.

She turned her head to Shen Zhenyu and asked, “So, what did you talk about with him?”

Shen Zhenyu, who had just taken a sip of tea, set the cup down. “Angry cabbages,” he said simply.

Song Meiyu perked up immediately. “Still? What now?”