Shu Mingye sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes fixed on Linyue’s face. She y there as if the world outside had nothing to do with her, breathing slow and steady, lips rexed in peaceful sleep.

  It had been four days. Four. Days. And still not a flicker of movement from her, not even the twitch of an eyesh. He had already dragged the physician in more times than he could count. The verdict was always the same. No injury. No illness. Nothing wrong. Perfectly healthy. Just… asleep.

  Was it normal to sleep for this long? What could she possibly be dreaming about that was worth sleeping for four whole days?

  He let out a long sigh. From somewhere behind him, faint whispers reached his ears. The others were at it again.

  “How long does the Demon King pn to stay here?” Song Meiyu’s voice was full of suspicion.

  “As he said, this is his pace,” He Yuying replied zily. “He should be asking how long we pn to stay here.”

  “Well, that’s true,” Song Meiyu admitted. “But isn’t it suspicious? He keeps staring at Sister Linyue’s face for hours.”

  “I think he’s just staring at her face until she wakes up from the sheer awkwardness,” He Yuying said in that zy, matter-of-fact tone that always made Shu Mingye want to throw something heavy at him.

  “What if he is secretly casting a spell to make her fall in love with him?” Song Meiyu whispered, her voice dripping with suspicion.

  “That would be creepy. Is that even possible?” He Yuying asked.

  Shu Mingye’s jaw tightened. If only that were possible, he would have done it ages ago. And if they kept talking, the spell he would cast next might involve both of them being quietly relocated somewhere outside the second wall.

  “I read about it once in a cultivation manual,” Song Meiyu continued cheerfully. “Well… it might have been a romance storybook. But still.”

  “It must be a storybook,” Shen Zhenyu’s calm voice cut in from somewhere in the corner.

  “If it’s not possible, then why is he staring so hard?” Song Meiyu pressed.

  “I told you,” He Yuying said without missing a beat, “he is perverted.”

  Song Meiyu leaned closer to He Yuying, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that was absolutely not quiet enough. “Or maybe he’s memorizing every detail of her face so he can carve it into a jade pendant and wear it around his neck.”

  He Yuying gave a thoughtful nod. “Yes, so he can stare at it when she’s not around. Very devoted. Also very concerning.”

  Shu Mingye’s fingers twitched. The image of unching the nearest chair at their heads was starting to look more and more tempting.

  “Or maybe,” Song Meiyu went on, her tone growing more dramatic, “he’s watching her sleep so he can paint her portrait. Then he’ll hang it in a hidden room in his pace. A shrine to his eternal affection.”

  “That expins a lot,” He Yuying said seriously. “I bet he already has a collection. Different angles. Different lighting. Maybe even one with her eating dumplings.”

  Shu Mingye’s jaw tightened so much it was a miracle his teeth didn’t crack.

  Song Meiyu pressed her hands together and sighed dreamily. “Oh, wouldn’t it be romantic if he secretly wrote love poems while watching her sleep?”

  He Yuying raised an eyebrow. “Romantic is one word. Obsessive is another. Personally, I’d still go with perverted.”

  That was the moment Shu Mingye started counting slowly in his head. One. Two. Three. By the time he reached seven, the fantasy of relocating them both to the farthest, most demon-infested pce in the realm was starting to sound like an entirely reasonable pn.

  He muttered under his breath. “If one more person calls me perverted, I’m definitely feeding them to the demons.”

  Song Meiyu narrowed her eyes at him, suspicion written all over her face. “Did you just… say something?”

  Without looking at her, Shu Mingye replied, “No.”

  “Really? I saw your lips move.”

  From his seat, He Yuying spoke in a calm, unbothered tone. “Maybe he’s casting that spell thingy.”

  Shu Mingye closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, as if trying to release his growing urge to commit a minor massacre.

  Shen Zhenyu, who had been watching the nonsense quietly, finally spoke. “That’s enough. Shouldn’t you two go train or cultivate? Weeping Moon is approaching.”

  Song Meiyu and He Yuying groaned in unison.