Morning sunlight spilled across the Verdant Cloud Sect like liquid gold poured from heaven's own chalice, setting dew-laden leaves ablaze with crystalline fire and painting the curved rooftops in shades of amber and rose. The air carried the sweet symphony of awakening—birds weaving melodies through ancient pine branches, the whisper of wind through bamboo groves, and the distant ring of practice swords as disciples greeted the dawn with steel and determination.
Chen Xinyu, however, was already marching toward what he suspected would be his daily dose of suffering.
He trudged along the stone path with the resigned gait of someone who had long since accepted his fate as the universe's favorite target for cosmic jokes. In his hands, he balanced a tray bearing a delicate tea service—white porcelain cups that caught the morning light like captured starlight, and a pot that steamed with jasmine-scented promises of temporary peace.
A familiar voice cut through the morning air like silk hiding a blade.
"Oh? Look who graces us with his presence," Shen Yao called with the dramatic flair of an actor taking center stage, his war fan snapping open with practiced precision. "Our melancholic little maid has risen with the sun."
Xinyu didn't dignify the comment with a response, instead muttering under his breath with a whiny mimicry that would have made children giggle, "Oh, look at me, I'm Shen Yao, my skin's more delicate than morning tofu, tremble before my terrible beauty~"
Through gritted teeth, he added with the fervent passion of someone nursing a grudge, "One day... when I'm strong enough to actually win a fight, I swear by all the heavens that the first person I'll thoroughly defeat will be him."
The prince's pavilion rose before him like a temple to understated elegance—all clean lines and subtle curves that spoke of power too secure to need ostentatious display. Xinyu knocked gently on the tall doors, the sound barely louder than butterfly wings against silk.
Silence answered him, deep and complete as the bottom of a mountain lake.
He tried again, knuckles tapping a more insistent rhythm against the polished wood.
"Your Highness?" he called softly, his voice carrying the careful deference of someone who had learned to navigate the treacherous waters of noble temperament.
Still nothing but the whisper of wind through eaves.
Curiosity warred with self-preservation as Xinyu pushed the door open just enough to peer inside. The main chamber greeted him with the hushed reverence of a shrine—silk hangings that moved like captured clouds, furniture placed with geometric precision, and air perfumed with sandalwood and something indefinably aristocratic.
Empty.
But from the inner chambers came the soft splash of water, rhythmic and soothing as rain on lotus leaves.
Worry began to gnaw at him with sharp little teeth. What if something had happened? What if the prince needed assistance? What if—
He crept forward with the stealth of someone approaching a sleeping dragon, only to freeze as though struck by lightning when he glimpsed what lay beyond the translucent silk curtain.
The silhouette of His Highness at bath, water cascading down elegant lines that belonged in poets' fevered dreams rather than reality.
Chen Xinyu's soul nearly fled his body in pure mortification.
Hua Ling, with the preternatural awareness of someone whose life had always depended on sensing unseen watchers, rose from the water with fluid grace. He slipped into a thin white robe that clung to his form with the devotion of morning mist embracing mountain peaks, his long hair catching the filtered light like strands of black silk woven with starlight.
Xinyu spun around so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. "F-Forgive me! I didn't mean to intrude—I was just—"
"Come here."
The command fell between them with the weight of imperial decree, low and indifferent as winter wind through pine needles.
Xinyu's throat worked soundlessly as he turned back like a marionette controlled by invisible strings. "D-Dianxia... I brought you tea..."
"Set it down."
He obeyed with the mechanical precision of someone whose mind had temporarily abandoned him, placing the tray on a nearby table with hands that trembled only slightly.
He began to retreat, seeking the sanctuary of the door and the blessed anonymity of the outside world—
"Wait."
The single word stopped him as effectively as iron chains. His heart thundered against his ribs like a caged bird sensing the approach of the hawk. Why am I even embarrassed? He's just another person. I didn't even see anything. Not really... not clearly...He slapped his own cheek lightly, the sharp sting bringing blessed clarity. Compose yourself, Xinyu!
"Yes... Your Highness?"
"Wash my hair."
The words hit him like a physical blow, driving all rational thought from his mind. I knew this day would come eventually.
Accepting his fate with the resignation of someone who had long since stopped fighting the inevitable, he moved forward. As he knelt behind the prince, the scent of peonies and sandalwood enveloped him like an embrace from a dream he shouldn't be having. With infinite care, he poured warm water over hair that flowed like liquid midnight through his trembling fingers. The pale skin revealed by the damp robe seemed carved from moonlight itself—translucent and perfect and utterly unreal.
Hua Ling lifted his hand partway, fingers gesturing with elegant economy.
Xinyu blinked in confusion. "What? You want... this?" He fumbled through nearby objects like a man grasping for salvation—a comb, a towel, a soap dish—until the prince's patience reached its inevitable conclusion.
"The tea."
"Oh." Heat flooded his cheeks as he quickly retrieved the requested cup, desperately trying not to notice how the wet silk clung to the prince's form like a second skin. "Here, Your Highness."
"You may go."
Xinyu fled like a cat with its tail on fire, stumbling through the door and into the blessed safety of morning air. Outside, he bent double, pressing his hands to burning cheeks while his lungs fought to remember their basic function.
"Calm down, calm down!" he whispered frantically. "I didn't see anything compromising! I'm perfectly fine!" Then, with the fervor of someone trying to convince himself, "What's wrong with him anyway?! He's a menace wrapped in silk robes!"
---
Meanwhile, at a humble roadside inn nestled in the valley below Verdant Cloud Sect, Chi Ruyan entered with the fluid grace of nobility slumming among commoners. Her attendant Chao Chao followed like a shadow, both women taking seats near the back where they could observe without drawing attention.
At a nearby table, four rough-looking men shared drinks and gossip with the enthusiasm of people who had little else to occupy their time.
"Did you hear the latest?" one of them said, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Prince Hua went on some kind of mission with disciples from that Cloud Sect."
Another snorted into his wine cup. "Why would His Highness lower himself to such company? Maybe he wanted to see what kind of weaklings that sect's been raising."
"No, no," a third whispered with the dramatic intensity of someone sharing state secrets. "I heard he even carried someone on his back during the mission."
Chi Ruyan's hand tightened imperceptibly around her teacup.
"Carried someone?! The Demon Prince?!" The first man's laughter could have woken the dead. "Must've been some delicate little flower of a girl..."
the last man declared with gleeful triumph. "I heard it was one of the male disciples!"
"Wrong " "Probably that famous beauty Lan Xueyao," another suggested. "She's known throughout the cultivation world for her looks."
Chi Ruyan's blood turned to ice in her veins.
"Word is," the man continued, oblivious to the danger gathering like storm clouds nearby, "he even personally protected this disciple during some ghost incident. Tsk, tsk... if it's true, I wonder what the Demon Lord would say about his precious heir's new... interests. Hahaha!"
Chi Ruyan rose with the controlled fury of an avalanche gathering momentum, her chair scraping against the floor like a sword being drawn. Without a word, she swept toward the stairs, her robes trailing behind her like captured storm clouds.
Chao Chao followed nervously, recognizing the particular quality of silence that preceded either tears or bloodshed.
Behind closed doors, Ruyan's composure finally cracked like ice under spring sun.
"He has truly developed feelings for some insignificant sect disciple..." Her hands clenched into fists that could have crushed jade. "I will not stand idly by while this insult continues."
"Madam," Chao Chao ventured carefully, "perhaps it's merely false gossip? These men weren't present during the mission..."
Chi Ruyan's smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "We will discover the truth soon enough."
---
Back at Verdant Cloud Sect, Chen Xinyu sneezed with enough violence to rattle his bones.
"Someone must be cursing my name," he muttered, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve. "Probably Shen Yao, the bastard."
Then a smile spread across his face—not the innocent expression of someone planning garden parties, but the particular grin that had preceded every disaster of his youth.
He examined the elaborate trap he had constructed with the devotion of an artist perfecting his masterpiece—a bucket positioned with mathematical precision, triggered by an nearly invisible wire stretched across the path at ankle height. Everything was ready for sweet, sweet revenge.
Crouching in the bushes with the patience of a hunting tiger, he waited.
Lu Rourou, who possessed the supernatural ability to appear wherever mischief was brewing, witnessed the entire preparation with growing delight. She scampered off toward Shen Yao's usual haunts with the speed of someone carrying valuable intelligence.
"Shen-ge! Shen-ge!" she called, appearing before him with suspicious breathlessness. "I have extremely valuable information to sell!"
Shen Yao continued fanning himself with elegant nonchalance. "Do enlighten me, Rou'er."
Silence stretched between them as Rourou held out her hand with the expectant patience of a merchant displaying fine goods.
"Tsk, tsk, mercenary child," he chuckled, placing several silver taels in her palm.
Still nothing.
With an exaggerated eye roll, he added more coins until her hand finally closed with satisfaction.
She gestured for him to lean closer, then whispered with the conspiratorial glee of someone sharing delicious secrets, "Shen-ge, I witnessed Yu-ge constructing a trap mechanism in your usual path. Exercise caution."
Shen Yao's smile became positively predatory as he snapped his fan closed. "How interesting. I know exactly what to do."
---
Xinyu waited in his leafy hiding spot until his legs cramped and his patience frayed like old rope. He had progressed through humming half-remembered songs to composing increasingly creative curses when finally—
"There he is!" he breathed, watching Shen Yao approach with characteristic grace. "Come closer, just a little more..."
Then horror crashed over him like a bucket of ice water.
Walking beside Shen Yao, moving with the fluid elegance that belonged only to one person in this entire sect, was Prince Hua Ling himself.
"No, no, no, NO!" Xinyu whispered frantically. "Why is he here?! How did Shen Yao manage to drag Dianxia outside?!"
Panic lending him desperate strength, he launched himself from his hiding spot, determined to intercept the trap before it could claim an innocent victim. But in his haste, his own foot struck the trigger wire.
SPLASH.
The entire bucket's worth of water descended upon him with the enthusiasm of a waterfall greeting the valley below.
Hua Ling stood motionless, a few droplets glistening on his pristine robes like scattered diamonds, his expression as unreadable as ancient text written in forgotten languages.
Shen Yao collapsed against a nearby tree, his laughter ringing through the courtyard like temple bells celebrating a particularly amusing festival. "PFFT—! Oh, heavens preserve us! Xinyu, your face! Your absolute expression!"
Xinyu stood in his puddle of defeat, water dripping from his hair like tears of cosmic injustice, staring at Hua Ling with the expression of someone who had just watched their reputation die a very public death.
"I..." he croaked, his voice emerging somewhere between a whisper and a wail, "...can explain."
But the prince, after studying this tableau of disaster with the detached interest of someone observing an interesting species of butterfly, simply turned and walked away without a single word.
Shen Yao patted Xinyu's soaked shoulder with mock sympathy that fooled absolutely no one. "Next time, perhaps you should improve your aim."
As he too departed, leaving Xinyu alone with his humiliation and a growing puddle, the sound of his retreating laughter echoed like the universe's own applause for a joke well played.
"SHEN YAO!" Xinyu's bellow could have startled birds from their nests three mountains over. "You will pay dearly for this betrayal!"
But only the morning breeze answered him, carrying with it the distinct sound of someone's fan snapping open in smug satisfaction.