Some staggered forward without heads, still swinging swords. Others sprinted with no arms. A few even crawled across the courtyard like worms, dragging half-broken bodies that left streaks of blood and dirt behind.

  Controlled puppets.

  Shu Mingye was in the middle of it, fighting off the puppet guards. Each swing roared with violent heat, lighting up the courtyard in fshes of red. Burnt limbs scattered. Bck smoke curled. Heads rolled and cracked. And still, the puppets kept coming.

  Apparently, the ones he blew up earlier weren’t the st twisted surprise Prince and Princess Han had left behind. More puppet guards poured in from every side, their numbers swelling like a tide that refused to break. There were too many now. Too stubborn. Too relentless. It was as though every broken body in the pace had crawled up from the floor just to face them. They didn’t stop unless they were reduced to ash, which devoured an obscene amount of spiritual energy, or until someone chopped them apart, limb by limb. Shu Mingye had already tried both methods. Repeatedly. It was getting exhausting.

  A headless puppet hurled itself at him. He split it down the middle, fmes bursting from his sword.

  “I swear,” Shu Mingye muttered, kicking aside another crawling torso, “if one more of you gets back up—”

  A half-melted puppet’s severed arm twitched near his boot. “—I said stay down!” he snapped, incinerating it with a flick of his fingers.

  Blood smeared his clothes. His leg had bite marks—actual, deep, uncomfortably human-like bite marks. His back was sshed, his arms scratched, and just moments ago, a dagger had found its way into his chest because he had been distracted by a hand that grabbed his ankle mid-swing. The dagger had sunk close to his heart.

  “Seriously,” he muttered, yanking the dagger out like it was a minor inconvenience. Blood spurted. He barely flinched. He kicked another puppet in the ribs, sending it flying. “How many of these things did they order?! Was there a discount? Buy one, get fifty free?!”

  The puppets didn’t care. They kept swarming, shuffling and cwing, leaping with broken limbs that cracked on nding. And the worst part? For every one he burned, three more staggered in from the shadows. The number wasn’t going down. It was climbing up.

  Linyue crouched low on the rooftop, her sharp eyes scanning the blood-soaked courtyard below. The stench of iron and smoke rose thick in the air. Beside her, Song Meiyu, He Yuying, and Shen Zhenyu pressed themselves against the tiles, keeping their heads down as much as possible. Shanjun had already leapt into the madness with a roar, leaving the four of them with the harder task—finding the one pulling the strings behind this cursed puppet show.

  Below, Shu Mingye was half-stumbling through the chaos, drenched in blood—his own and not his own—and still cutting everything in his path. They watched him rip a dagger straight from his chest and fling it aside like it was an annoying twig.

  Song Meiyu cpped both hands over her mouth. “This is horrible.” Her voice came out muffled, high-pitched.

  Shen Zhenyu’s eye twitched as another armless puppet scuttled beneath them on twitching legs. “This isn’t humane,” he muttered.

  He Yuying leaned forward just enough to peek again, his tone thoughtful. “It’s impressive though. He’s still standing. Bleeding like a fountain, but standing.”

  Song Meiyu peeked between her fingers, torn between awe and disgust. “He really looks like a Demon King with that appearance.”

  Linyue’s face stayed unreadable. Her gaze swept across the endless tide of broken bodies crawling, stumbling, lunging through the courtyard. “So that’s why there was only that big guy at the underground b,” she said quietly. “The others are here… causing trouble.”

  Shen Zhenyu gave a small nod, pausing just long enough for another bone-crunching snap to echo up to the rooftop. “Yes. We were lucky.” His tone remained calm, though his eyebrow twitched when half a torso flopped past Shu Mingye and tried to bite his ankle. “But someone down there got extremely unlucky.”

  Down in the courtyard, Shu Mingye wasn’t merely fighting. He was hacking his way through an ocean of broken puppets that refused to stay down. Headless ones swung blindly, armless ones headbutted like lunatics, and a few wormlike torsos dragged themselves forward by their teeth. His bde kept fshing, fire roaring with each strike, but even from the rooftop Linyue could see the crimson spreading wider across his chest where the dagger had struck.

  “This is getting ridiculous,” Song Meiyu whispered, clutching the edge of the roof. “Do you think he’s fine?”

  He Yuying, perfectly rexed, pulled a dried plum from the mysterious void of his sleeve and tossed it into his mouth. “Depends. If he runs out of blood before he runs out of enemies, then no.”

  “Stop joking!” Song Meiyu hissed. Her eyes went round as Shu Mingye turned, revealing the deep ssh across his back. “Look at that! And the bite mark on his arm! That is definitely not fine.”

  Linyue said casually. “Well… maybe it’s his aesthetic preference. Like a tattoo.”

  Song Meiyu slowly turned to stare at her. “A tattoo? Are you serious right now?!”

  “Could be,” Linyue replied without a hint of sarcasm.

  He Yuying gave an approving nod. “Makes sense. Blood’s cheaper than ink.”

  “Don’t encourage her!” Song Meiyu smacked his arm, but he only leaned farther back, looking smug as another armless puppet got punted across the courtyard by Shu Mingye.

  Down below, Shu Mingye stomped his boot into a crawling puppet’s chest hard enough to crack the stone beneath. “STOP WRIGGLING ALREADY!”

  Linyue tilted her head. “He still has enough energy to shout. He’s fine.”

  Song Meiyu groaned and buried her face in her hands. “Are we the vilins here?”

  A thunderous BOOM shook the courtyard, dust exploding into the air. The rooftop shuddered under their feet. Shen Zhenyu crouched lower, his sharp eyes scanning the chaos below. “Focus. The puppets are controlled by spiritual energy. We need to find the puppeteer and end this performance before he drops dead for real.”

  “Sounds simple,” Song Meiyu muttered darkly. “So where’s the creepy mastermind? Evil people love standing in high pces. Big cloak fpping, wind tousling their hair, dramatic lighting.” She paused, then blinked. “Oh wait—” She gnced around the roof, eyes wide. “We’re in the high pce.”

  He Yuying stared at her. “So technically, we’re the creepy masterminds?”

  “Don’t say that out loud!” Song Meiyu yelled, smacking him again.

  Linyue stayed focused. Her sharp eyes followed the unnatural movements of the puppets—how they swarmed toward Shu Mingye, ignoring nearly everything else. “From the movement of the puppets, it seems they’re prioritizing the Demon King over other soldiers. The puppeteer must have a vantage point… somewhere they can watch him clearly.”

  Shen Zhenyu nodded. “So we find the highest pce overlooking the courtyard other than this rooftop, and we’ll probably find our culprit.”

  Song Meiyu’s hand shot up. “Or we could just yell, HEY! CREEPY PUPPET MASTER! FIGHT US INSTEAD!”

  He Yuying didn’t even blink. “Yes. Perfect. Announce our location to the vilin who commands an army of immortal puppets. What could go wrong?”

  Song Meiyu scowled. “I was joking!”

  “Were you?” He Yuying asked, voice ft.

  Shen Zhenyu, the only serious one, let out a long, deep sigh. His sharp eyes swept across the rooftops and broken walls, tracing every line of shadow. But the courtyard was remote, a forgotten corner far from the main pace walls. No balconies. No watchtowers. Just colpsing stone, crooked trees, and the battlefield below where limbs and blood littered the ground.

  “Strange…” Shen Zhenyu murmured. “The other high pces are too far. A puppeteer controlling this many at once would need to see clearly. But where would they hide in a pce like this?”

  Linyue’s gaze followed his, methodically scanning the rooftops, trees, crumbling walls, even the bushes clinging to the edges of the courtyard. Nothing suspicious. Nothing but soldiers screaming and puppets tearing each other apart.

  “Maybe they’re invisible,” Song Meiyu whispered, her eyes darting nervously. “Or worse… disguised as a bush?”

  He Yuying popped another dried plum into his mouth, chewing with slow indifference. “If the bush stands up and waves, we’ll know.” His gaze drifted downward, eyes narrowing in thought. “Or maybe they’re right in pin sight.”

  Song Meiyu blinked. “Huh?”

  “If you want to hide in an open pce, you don’t hide,” he said zily. “You blend. You become the one thing no one bothers looking at.”

  Song Meiyu’s eyes went wide. “Oh no. What if they’re… dressed like a puppet?!” she gasped. Then she shot up so fast her boot scraped against a loose cy tile. The tile wobbled, teetered, then fell. It nded with a spectacur CRASH on a puppet’s skull, shattering into pieces.

  For one horrifying second, silence bnketed the courtyard. Then every puppet, headless or not, armless or not, twisted its body in jerky unison. And with a sound like bones grinding together, every single puppet turned its face toward the rooftop.

  “Oh no,” Song Meiyu whispered, cpping both hands over her mouth.

  “Oh yes,” He Yuying corrected.

  Shen Zhenyu sighed, closing his eyes for one long, painful second. “Of course.”

  Down below, the puppets began shuffling, staggering, and even crawling toward the rooftop.