The Weeping Moon: The Moon That Sheds Vermilion Tears

Clear skin. Elegant features. Eyes still sleepy but absurdly unfair in structure. Even her bed hair had the audacity to fall in an artful wave. It held a kind of effortless, terrifying beauty. A beauty that could inspire wars.

Song Meiyu staggered back half a step and whispered, reverent and horrified all at once, "By the heavens… you look evilly enchanting."

Linyue cracked one eye open and raised an unimpressed brow. "Do you want me to put the moss back on?"

"Yes. No. I don't know!" Song Meiyu flailed. "But at least smear something on. Anything. Dirt. Charcoal. A touch of regret."

It wasn't like Song Meiyu didn't know her junior sister was beautiful. Of course she did. Everyone in Xuanyi Pavilion did. But Linyue always hid it with that faint shimmer of jade dust powder, turning her features plain and forgettable on purpose. A necessity, really—letting her real face be seen in public? That was a national risk. Unconfirmed, but highly probable. It would probably cause civil unrest, or a few regrettable duels over who caught her gaze first.

Inside Xuanyi Pavilion, they understood the unspoken rule: Linyue's face is a national threat. Handle with discretion. Avoid eye contact when possible.

But now, under the morning light, no jade dust powder, no pretense—just raw, weaponized beauty half-buried in drowsiness—Song Meiyu had to admit it. If they ever needed to wage psychological warfare in the south, all they had to do was shove Linyue into a crowd. The enemy wouldn't know whether to bow, duel, or write her a love poem.

Linyue yawned and rubbed her eyes. "Sister Meiyu, brush my hair or let me go back to bed."

"Yes, yes, brushing!" Song Meiyu snapped out of it and grabbed the brush.

She grinned to herself as she began working through Linyue's gentle waves. After all, she'd just gotten a full dose of absurd morning beauty, a little drama, and the comforting knowledge that even bedhead couldn't defeat her junior sister's ridiculous face.

Maybe today wouldn't be too bad after all.

They had assumed—naively, perhaps—that their secluded courtyard at the very edge of the Demon of Shulin's vast palace grounds would be a tranquil, undisturbed haven. A forgotten corner. A peaceful exile. Certainly not the kind of place someone as ominously titled as the Demon of Shulin, Shu Mingye, would ever bother to approach.

In other words: bliss.

And so, fully confident in their mistake, Song Meiyu hummed a cheerful tune that had no business being so perky at this hour. She sat behind Linyue, carefully brushing her long, dark hair. The strokes were slow, elegant. The faint scent of peach blossom oil floated in the air. Honestly, it was a whole vibe.

"Now that you're a princess," Song Meiyu declared, "you should at least look the part. Even if we're living at the edge of the demon's glorified tool shed."

Linyue, who had only just achieved consciousness and deeply regretted it, made a sound that might've been a grunt. Or a sigh. Or a whispered plea to be left alone forever. Hard to say.

But Song Meiyu paid her no mind. She was in The Zone now—fully committed to her sacred mission. Her hands moved fast as she opened the wooden box Master Yin Xue had packed for "emergency grooming purposes." Inside was a glittering treasure hoard of fine hairpins, silk ribbons, and ornaments more dazzling than imperial treasures that screamed too expensive to actually wear, but let's do it anyway.

It would be a crime—a crime!—not to use them.

Song Meiyu gasped dramatically. "Oh, these are dangerously pretty. Look at this phoenix pin! It's got tiny rubies in the eyes. That's not necessary. That's just rich."

Linyue groaned softly. "Can't you just use the plain one?"

"The plain one?" Song Meiyu looked horrified, clutching a pearl-studded comb to her chest. "Excuse me, we are living in a palace now. You are a tragic, exiled Second Princess who happens to be engaged to a Demon King with highly questionable hobbies. You don't get to be plain."

Linyue blinked slowly. "... I'm going back to sleep."

But Song Meiyu was already lost in her own glittering world, digging through the treasure box. "Oooh, this one," Song Meiyu cooed, selecting a hairpin shaped like a peach blossom carved from translucent coral. Ignoring Linyue completely. "And this one. And this! Oh, you'll look like the noblest flower in all the gardens of the south."

Linyue tilted her head slightly, expression unreadable. "You're enjoying this too much."

"I am," Song Meiyu admitted proudly, not even pausing. "When else will I get to dress up the Second Princess who also just crawled out of a swamp yesterday?"

Linyue pressed her lips together. "I thought we weren't supposed to attract attention."

"Oh, please," Song Meiyu scoffed. "We live in the Demon of Shulin's palace. Attention is already here, knocking politely, probably holding a basket of poisoned fruit."

After a moment of ceremonial sighing, Linyue finally stood. Song Meiyu beamed and lifted the dress she had picked for the occasion—a flowing masterpiece of peach-colored silk, embroidered with delicate clouds and cranes. Elegant, imperial, dignified… entirely unsuitable for someone who once tried to duel a pig barefoot in a field.

Linyue stared at the dress and sighed again.

But she dressed anyway. Layer by layer, the elegant peach silk was wrapped around her, each fold screaming nobility and "please trip over me."

And lastly, she sat before the mirror, dipped her fingers into the small jade box, and began applying the faint shimmer of jade dust powder. The luminous sheen dulled her sharp features, blurring her beauty into something softer, plainer, more forgettable.

By the time she finished, the dangerous enchantress from earlier was gone—replaced by someone who could politely fade into the background. A face designed not to start wars.

"There," Linyue said, dabbing the last bit beneath her eyes. "Now I can walk around without causing a scandal."

Song Meiyu crossed her arms, unimpressed. "It's a scandal to hide that face."

"But a survivable one," Linyue replied dryly.

They both laughed, thinking that today, at least, they would be left alone.

They had no idea how wrong they were. So very, very wrong.

Footsteps echoed crisply outside the courtyard, like the ticking of fate itself drawing nearer.

A polite knock—too polite—landed on the wooden door. Before either could answer, a maidservant's calm voice drifted through the air, delivering what may as well have been a royal execution order:

"Lord Shu has requested Princess Fu Yuxin's attendance in the main palace".

Request.

Such a lovely word. So soft. So civilized. So absolutely filled with threat.

It had the exact same energy as a tiger bowing politely and saying, Excuse me, would you mind stepping into my mouth for just a moment?

Inside the little room that smelled faintly of peach blossom oil and impending doom, Linyue and Song Meiyu froze at the sound of the maidservant's voice. A perfectly peaceful, swamp-recovery day had just been shattered.

And then, very softly, Song Meiyu leaned toward Linyue and whispered, "Well. At least your hair looks good."

And so, like reluctant nobles marching toward their own royal beheading—they rose from their seats. Every movement was full of dread. With every step, the delicate hair ornaments jingled like funeral bells. The peach-colored silk rustled ominously as if whispering a final farewell to safety. The embroidered clouds and cranes practically sighing, farewell, sweet freedom. The dress had never wanted this. The dress had dreams.

There were no swords at their sides, no hidden weapons in their sleeves. Just an overdressed princess in disguise, an overly enthusiastic maid and the haunting knowledge that they were heading directly into the lair of the Demon of Shulin…

… armed only with hairpins, sarcasm, and the brittle hope that Shu Mingye wouldn't feel like murdering anyone before breakfast.

Because, they hadn't even had tea yet.