Beneath the merciless gaze of the morning sun, Chen Xinyu crouched beside a wooden basin like a condemned prisoner before his execution block. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, revealing arms that had grown surprisingly toned from recent manual labor, while his pale legs gleamed under the golden light streaming through the bamboo grove.
The water in the basin had taken on an ominous pinkish hue that should have been his first warning of impending catastrophe, but Xinyu was far too absorbed in his litany of complaints to notice the gathering storm.
"Why must I suffer through this particular torment?" he muttered, attacking a pristine white robe with the ferocity of someone wrestling a celestial beast. "Does Your Highness perhaps desire my arms to simply detach and float away? With an entire pavilion full of perfectly capable servants, somehow I've been crowned the royal laundry maiden."
He hummed a dramatically mournful tune—something appropriately tragic for his circumstances—and nearly toppled sideways while attempting to wring out a sleeve that seemed determined to retain every drop of water like a stubborn spirit clinging to the mortal realm.
This particular garment was one of His Highness's sleeping robes, crafted from silk so fine it seemed woven from moonbeams and morning mist. As he stood to hang the robe on the drying line, a flash of color caught his peripheral vision like a warning from the heavens themselves.
"Hmm?"
He leaned closer, squinting with the focus of a scholar examining ancient texts.
"Why does this fabric look... pink?"
His gaze darted in growing horror to the nearly empty bottle beside the washing basin—a fabric softening potion that Rourou had gifted him weeks ago for his own humble garments. In his morning stupor, he had poured the entire contents into the wash water without a second thought.
"No... no, no, no! This cannot be happening!"
He snatched the robe from the line with desperate hands, plunging it back into the now-clearly pink water and sending droplets flying in all directions like scattered pearls. "Fix yourself! By all the gods and buddhas, please fix yourself!" he wailed, his arms flailing with the panicked grace of a swan caught in a hurricane.
But the damage was irrevocable.
The snow-white fabric had absorbed a delicate but unmistakably rosy blush, transforming from pristine perfection into something that belonged in a courtesan's wardrobe rather than a demon prince's chambers.
"Waaaah... what terrible karma from my past lives has led to this moment?" he moaned, clutching his head in despair. "I only wanted peaceful naps and sweet osmanthus cakes—not to be haunted by the vengeful spirits of royal laundry!"
A voice cut through his lamentations like winter wind through silk.
"Chen Xinyu."
His soul nearly abandoned his body entirely. He spun around with such velocity that his hair ornament threatened to launch itself into orbit, and found himself face-to-face with disaster incarnate.
Hua Ling stood mere steps away, his midnight hair bound in elegant simplicity, his robes bearing not a single wrinkle or stain, his expression carved from the same jade that formed celestial palaces. Beside him, Qingze wore the long-suffering look of someone who had just witnessed a natural catastrophe unfold.
In a move born of pure desperation, Xinyu shoved the incriminating robe back into the basin and sat on it with all the casual innocence of someone hiding absolutely nothing suspicious whatsoever.
Hua Ling's perfectly sculpted brows drew together like storm clouds gathering on a clear day. "Why are you conducting laundry in this particular location? This path serves as my morning walking route."
Xinyu's face drained of all color until he resembled a ghost who had received particularly bad news. "I—I had no knowledge that Your Highness would—that this was part of your daily... royal constitutional..."
Of course I didn't know!* his mind screamed in indignation. *How was I supposed to divine your Highness's sacred perambulation schedule? Do I look like a fortune teller?
Before spontaneous combustion could claim him, Qingze stepped forward with the fluid grace of someone accepting responsibility for a natural disaster. "The fault lies entirely with me, Your Highness. I failed to designate an appropriate washing area."
Hua Ling bestowed upon him a glance that could have frozen flowing rivers. "Very well." His attention shifted briefly to Xinyu—a look that seemed to pierce through flesh and bone to examine his very soul—before he continued his interrupted walk with the regal bearing of someone who had never encountered a single inconvenience in his entire existence.
Xinyu remained perched atop his bucket of evidence, trembling like a leaf in an autumn storm.
"That was far too close," he whispered to the uncaring heavens. "But eventually he'll discover the truth. What then? Death by silk strangulation?"
---
Later that morning, Xinyu dragged himself to the training courtyard with all the enthusiasm of someone walking to their own funeral. His senior brothers had already assembled, their morning energy a stark contrast to his soul-deep exhaustion.
Shen Yao erupted into delighted laughter the moment he laid eyes on his bedraggled junior brother. "By all the celestial beings—have you seen your reflection lately, Shidi? You resemble a puppy that's been kicked by an entire cavalry!"
"Your compassion is overwhelming," Xinyu muttered, his feet dragging across the ground like he was hauling invisible chains.
Master Zhou's arrival prompted them all to straighten into respectful bows, though Xinyu's posture suggested someone barely maintaining consciousness.
Zhou Shizun's keen eyes fixed on Xinyu with the expression of someone discovering an unexpected natural disaster. "Xinyu, what calamity has befallen you? You appear to have survived an actual battlefield."
"I've been... washing clothes..." Xinyu replied with the hollow voice of someone whose spirit had departed for more peaceful realms.
"Sit before you collapse," Zhou commanded, massaging his temples as if warding off an approaching headache. "Your lessons will now be conducted under Elder Zhong's supervision, beginning immediately."
"What?"
Zhou continued with the air of someone delivering inevitability itself: "His Highness will also be attending these sessions. Therefore, all of you must conduct yourselves with impeccable behavior and avoid creating another diplomatic catastrophe."
Shen Yao couldn't resist adding fuel to the fire. "Shizun, are you certain Xinyu won't somehow manage to cause international incidents through sheer proximity?"
"Silence!" Zhou snapped with the force of a whip crack. "Your own cultivation requires significant improvement. Remaining in early Golden Core stage at your age is nothing to celebrate."
His tone softened marginally as he turned to Yan Zheng. "Only Zheng brings honor to my teachings. Already achieving late Golden Core stage at such a young age. You should all aspire to follow his example."
Xinyu crumpled to the ground like discarded silk. "Yes, Master..."
At this pace,he thought miserably, I'll become a cultivation corpse before even finishing Foundation Establishment...
---
Elder Zhong commanded the open-air classroom like a general surveying his troops, arms crossed and face bearing the grim expression of someone who had witnessed too many disappointing disciples. His formidable brows were furrowed with such intensity that relaxation seemed permanently beyond their capability. Even Shen Yao, notorious for his inability to remain quiet, dared not emit so much as a whisper.
Legend claimed that Elder Zhong had once launched a disciple off a cliff for sneezing too loudly during meditation. Whether factual or mythical, no one possessed sufficient courage to test the boundaries of his patience.
At the front row, His Highness sat with one elegant leg crossed over the other, an ancient text cradled in his pale hands like a precious artifact. The demon prince appeared completely absorbed in his studies—spine perfectly straight, focus serene as still water, eyes moving across the pages with the fluid precision of a master calligrapher.
Beside him, Chen Xinyu embodied suffering in human form.
He slouched with the posture of someone whose bones had been replaced with overcooked noodles, arms hanging limp at his sides like abandoned puppet strings. His sleeves retained dampness from his morning laundry ordeal, fingers still trembling faintly from hours of wringing fabric, and eyelids drooping with the weight of exhaustion that seemed to emanate from his very soul.
Almost against his will, Xinyu found his gaze drifting sideways toward the figure beside him.
So impossibly handsome... so pristine... so fundamentally unfair...
He continued staring with the fascinated horror of someone witnessing a celestial being descended to earth. His thoughts scattered like autumn leaves in wind. His aching limbs seemed forgotten. The golden sunlight transformed Hua Ling's profile into something approaching divine art—too perfect to be entirely real.
Is this person actually human? Or demon? Or some impossible fusion of both?
Hua Ling, in the process of turning a page with characteristic grace, became aware of the persistent attention.
This troublesome brat again. What does he want now? Does he believe staring will somehow repair his obviously deficient brain?
When the scrutiny failed to cease, Hua Ling glanced sideways to find Chen Xinyu still gazing at him with glassy, unfocused eyes and the general awareness of someone barely tethering themselves to consciousness.
Does he even realize what he's doing?
A flicker of curiosity pierced through Hua Ling's irritation, followed quickly by annoyance, then something else entirely—something strange and unfamiliar that he couldn't quite categorize.
He raised one finger subtly and directed a small illusion spell toward Chen Xinyu—a gentle jolt of spiritual energy meant to restore alertness. The magic fizzled upon contact like water droplets meeting heated stone.
No reaction whatsoever.
"Tsk." Hua Ling's brows drew together in frustration as he snapped his fingers directly in front of Xinyu's vacant face.
The sharp sound startled Chen Xinyu back to awareness. He jerked upright, wiped a small trail of drool from his mouth with unconscious grace, and mumbled groggily:
"Oh... His Highness is here too..."
Hua Ling stared in disbelief. 'Here too'? I've been seated here since dawn broke, you absolute fool!
The corner of his mouth threatened to curve upward for one treacherous moment before he forcibly buried the impulse back behind his book, resuming his mask of cold indifference.
Elder Zhong's palm struck the front table with the force of thunder. "Eyes forward!" he barked with enough authority to command armies. "Today's lesson concerns the critical distinctions between malevolent spirits and benign ghosts!"
Every disciple snapped to attention with military precision.
Every disciple except Chen Xinyu, who was already listing sideways like a ship taking on water. His eyes fluttered closed as his body surrendered to gravity's gentle pull, lulled by Elder Zhong's deep, rumbling voice into something approaching meditation—if meditation could be achieved through complete unconsciousness.
His head nodded forward once... twice...
Hua Ling's gaze shifted again with growing incredulity.
He's doing it again?! The sheer audacity! The complete lack of respect!
If the decision were his alone, he would have ejected this boy not merely from the classroom, but from the sect entirely, possibly via catapult.
Elder Zhong's keen eyes narrowed with the precision of a hunting hawk. The next second—fwip!
A substantial tome flew through the air with deadly accuracy and connected with Xinyu's head in a solid thwack that echoed across the courtyard.
"AH!" Xinyu bolted upright as if struck by lightning.
"Yes! Which robes need washing next?!"
The classroom erupted in laughter. Shen Yao nearly tumbled from his seat, wheezing with uncontrollable mirth. Even Yan Zheng covered his mouth and turned away, his shoulders shaking with barely suppressed amusement.
Elder Zhong's glare could have reduced mountains to pebbles. "Chen Xinyu! Sleep again during my instruction and I will personally break both your legs!"
Xinyu rubbed the tender spot on his head, eyes half-open and voice laden with the tragedy of his existence: "Yes, Elder... my deepest apologies, Elder..."
He groaned softly as he slumped forward again, muttering with the resignation of someone accepting their fate:
"I should have simply fled yesterday when I had the chance..."
Hua Ling closed his book with deliberate slowness, a shadow of something that might have been amusement flickering beneath his glacial gaze.
This little fool is truly beyond all salvation.