The Grand Hall held its breath as if the very air had crystallized into glass. Not a soul dared disturb the profound silence that stretched like spider silk between predator and prey.
All eyes turned toward the figure seated with impossible elegance at the head table—Hua Ling, Prince of the Demon Realm, whose beauty could inspire both worship and terror in equal measure. His dark lashes cast shadows across marble-pale cheeks as he lifted his jade teacup with the languid grace of someone who held life and death in his fingertips.
Sect Leader Jiang's voice finally shattered the crystalline quiet, respectful yet threaded with barely concealed tension. "Your Highness... what punishment do you deem appropriate for this transgression?"
The silence stretched until it became a living thing, coiling around the assembled cultivators like invisible chains. Hua Ling savored his tea as if the question were merely a mild curiosity, his apparent indifference somehow more terrifying than any display of rage.
When his voice finally emerged, it was soft as silk being drawn across steel.
"Physical punishment would be... unnecessary."
Several disciples flinched at the word 'unnecessary,' including Chen Xinyu, who knelt on the cold stone with his head bowed and hands clenched white-knuckled in his lap. His mind immediately conjured images of fates worse than a simple beating—perhaps transformation into something unpleasant, or banishment to realms where sunlight never touched.
"I have a far more... suitable arrangement in mind," Hua Ling continued, setting his teacup down with a soft clink that echoed like a funeral bell.
The pause that followed seemed to stretch for eternity.
"I would like him..." Another deliberate pause, calculated to perfection. "...to serve as my personal attendant for the duration of my stay here."
The words fell into the hall like stones dropped into still water, sending ripples of shock through every corner.
Xinyu's head snapped up so quickly he nearly gave himself whiplash. His mouth fell open in wordless horror as the full implication crashed over him like a collapsing mountain.
Attendant?!
His mind painted vivid pictures of dawn-to-midnight servitude: being dragged from warm blankets before sunrise to arrange the prince's robes, combing out that waterfall of midnight hair, polishing boots until they reflected his own miserable face, standing at attention while the prince conducted whatever mysterious demon business occupied his days.
"W-what...?" The word escaped his lips as barely a whisper, lost in the sea of stunned murmurs.
Shen Yao was the first to recover, letting out a low whistle of amazement. "Well, at least he'll keep all his limbs attached."
Rourou elbowed Lan Xueyao with barely concealed glee. "Yu-ge gets to see that heavenly face every single day? If I'd known mud worked such miracles, I'd have prepared an entire swamp!"
Lan Xueyao responded with a sharp thump to Rourou's head. "Speak such nonsense again and I'll sew your lips shut with spirit thread. His dignity is already buried six feet underground."
Even Tang Meilin had abandoned her usual air of amused detachment, her fan snapping shut as she studied the demon prince with new interest. "What exactly is His Highness plotting?"
Meanwhile, behind Hua Ling, his shadow guard Qingze frowned in confusion. *That's it? That's the punishment?* His Highness had specifically instructed him not to hold back if violence became necessary. He'd already been mentally sharpening his blade.
Xinyu's thoughts spiraled into panic as the reality settled in. *His personal servant? Every day for who knows how long?* No more afternoon naps in the bamboo grove. No more sneaking off with Rourou to play cards and gamble away their pocket money. No more conveniently 'forgetting' sword practice. He would be chained to that beautiful, terrifying demon like a bound spirit.
He slowly turned toward Sect Leader Jiang, arranging his features into the most pitiful expression he could manage—eyes glassy with unshed tears, lower lip trembling, shaking his head in the barest motion of denial.
Please say no. Please, by all the gods, say no.
But the Sect Leader only exhaled in visible relief, clearly grateful that the situation hadn't escalated to bloodshed or diplomatic catastrophe. Master Zhou sat beside him looking as though he wanted to protest but couldn't find appropriate words to challenge a demon prince's decision.
"Very well, Your Highness," Jiang said with a formal bow of his head. "We are in complete agreement."
WE?! Xinyu wanted to scream into the heavens. Who agreed to anything?! Since when does anyone consult the person being sentenced to servitude?!
Rourou's delighted giggle drifted across the hall like wind chimes in a breeze. "Yu-ge, you'll be dressing the prince each morning! You'll even see him without—"
"I don't want that privilege!" Xinyu snapped instinctively, his voice cracking with horror.
Tang Meilin's fan connected with Rourou's head in a sharp crack. "One day I'll sell you to the merchant caravans. You'd make an excellent dealmaker with that silver tongue."
At the center of the hall, Xinyu's legs trembled like autumn leaves as he stared helplessly at Hua Ling. The prince finally turned his head fully toward him, and for one crystalline moment, their gazes locked completely.
The demon prince's lips curved into the faintest smile—cold, victorious, and utterly without mercy.
The expression spoke volumes: You belong to me now, little rabbit.
Xinyu's stomach dropped into his shoes.
Even Qingze squinted suspiciously at his master. He'd never seen His Highness display such... obvious satisfaction. Usually, the prince's expressions were as unreadable as ancient texts written in forgotten languages.
Sect Leader Jiang, ever the diplomat, gestured toward Master Zhou. "Yuanzhen, please ensure your disciple reports to His Highness's residence at first light tomorrow."
Zhou nodded stiffly, his face a mask of barely controlled guilt and helplessness. He turned to Xinyu, silently mouthing the words: Just endure it.
"Shizun, help me~~" Xinyu called out pitifully, his voice carrying all the tragedy of a lamb being led to slaughter.
Master Zhou, who had originally planned to deliver a thorough beating for this entire debacle, found his heart softening at that plaintive cry. He reached out to pat Xinyu's head with unexpected gentleness—after all, what was done was done, and he was powerless to change it.
"The matter has been decided," he said quietly. "Your opinion is... no longer relevant."
As Xinyu stood there in numb shock, pale as rice paper, Hua Ling rose from his seat with fluid grace. His voice carried clearly across the silent hall, smooth as aged wine and sharp as winter wind:
"I shall be waiting for you, Chen Xinyu. You may begin your duties tomorrow at dawn."
With that pronouncement, he glided from the hall like a departing storm, leaving chaos and whispered speculation in his wake.
Xinyu stared at the empty doorway, cursing internally. Waiting for me, my ass...
---
The banquet had finally concluded, leaving the Grand Hall buzzing with fragments of gossip and half-finished conversations. Chen Xinyu slumped at a table in the outer courtyard where his senior brothers sat finishing the last of the roasted lotus seeds, his entire being radiating misery.
He fixed Shen Yao with a glare that could have melted iron. "This disaster is entirely your fault, Shen-shixiong."
Shen Yao paused mid-chew, blinking in genuine bewilderment. "My fault? How could this possibly be my fault?"
"You distracted me! The mud trap was meant for you!" Xinyu's voice rose with indignation. "If you hadn't been constantly flirting with the junior sisters during practice, I never would have planned such an elaborate prank!"
"How was I supposed to know you'd accidentally ambush a demon prince instead of me?" Shen Yao grinned, leaning back with infuriating casualness. "Honestly, I'm flattered. You were willing to risk our entire sect just to embarrass me."
Xinyu looked ready to combust from sheer frustration.
Yan Zheng, ever the voice of reason, set down his teacup with deliberate calm. "What's done is done. No amount of blame will change the outcome now."
"I'm doomed," Xinyu moaned, burying his face in his hands. "I'll probably be dead by week's end."
"Try not to offend him further," Yan Zheng advised gently but seriously. "And behave yourself. I mean it, Xinyu."
Heavy footsteps echoed across the courtyard, and all three disciples immediately shot to their feet, bowing deeply as Master Zhou approached.
"Shizun."
Zhou Yuanzhen's tired eyes fixed on Xinyu with a mixture of fury and exasperation. Without warning, his hands shot out to grab Xinyu's ears, tugging sharply enough to make him yelp.
"Why don't you ever listen to anything I tell you, you impossible brat?!"
"Ow ow ow! Shizun, it hurts!"
"It should hurt!" Zhou growled, administering another punitive tug. "If you hadn't skipped sword lessons, if you hadn't made a spectacle at the banquet, if you hadn't decided to play 'Mud Assassin' in front of the Demon Prince, none of this would have happened!"
Shen Yao couldn't suppress a snort of laughter at the 'Mud Assassin' description.
"Shizun..." Yan Zheng ventured cautiously, "do you think... the Demon Lord knows about tonight's events?"
Zhou's hands stilled. His face paled several shades. "Let's pray to every god and buddha that he doesn't. He's not known for his... sense of humor regarding insults to his son."
"Isn't he famous for beheading people for far lesser offenses?" Shen Yao added with cheerful morbidity.
Zhou shot him a warning look that could have curdled milk.
"Speaking of which, Shizun," Shen Yao continued with feigned innocence, "I heard you and the Demon Lord were once friends. Before the war, that is."
The change in Zhou's expression was immediate and dramatic—his jaw clenched, his gaze grew distant and pained, and the temperature around him seemed to drop by several degrees.
"I don't wish to discuss that," he said, his voice carrying a finality that brooked no argument. "Don't bring it up again."
The three disciples exchanged meaningful glances. Even Shen Yao, who delighted in pushing boundaries, recognized the gravity in their master's tone.
"Yes, Shizun," Yan Zheng murmured for all of them.
Zhou turned away with a heavy sigh, muttering under his breath, "Now I have to worry about you serving that temperamental prince for gods know how long... Buddha save us all."
Xinyu stood rubbing his abused ears, contemplating his grim future. "I swear on my ancestors' graves," he mumbled miserably, "if he makes me polish his boots, I'll eat a spiritual sword."
"You might have to polish more than just boots," Shen Yao teased, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
"Shen-shixiong, shut up!"
---
Morning sunlight had barely begun its gentle assault on the drawn curtains when sharp, authoritative knocking shattered the peaceful silence of Chen Xinyu's chambers.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Xinyu stirred beneath his quilted blankets like a hibernating creature reluctantly awakening. "Five more minutes, Shizun... I promise I'll attend sword practice later..."
Knock. Knock. Knock.
A voice, cool and composed as mountain snow, penetrated the wooden door with crystalline clarity.