Little Pink Starfish

Zhang Qiu trembled all over. Beside him, Zhang Zuo Jiu asked, “Xiao Qiu, what’s wrong?”

“N-Nothing.”

Instinctively, he hid his thoughts. His mind was in chaos, filled with the image of those crimson eyes—overlapping with the ones from the underground tomb of the Gumu Kingdom in the Qinling Mountains. Back then, the moment he saw those eyes, he had blacked out. After that, it had felt like a dream. Except for the initial pain, the whole experience was quite… an enjoyable ride. But all of this was based on the assumption that it had been a dream.

If it had just been a dream where he had an intimate encounter with a man, he might have been momentarily shaken about his sexuality, maybe even considered dating a guy to see how it felt. But this was reality. The other party was a Jiangshi. And now, he—a grown man—was pregnant.

Thinking of it that way, that “dream ride” wasn’t a pleasant journey at all. It was a car crash.

Zhang Qiu was zoning out when the stone slab beneath his hands suddenly moved. Startled, he jerked his hand back.

The slab was pushed open, and Li Shu emerged from below, his movements swift and precise. The moment Zhang Qiu saw him, he instinctively took two steps back, his legs giving out as he fell to the ground. Li Shu glanced at him, his tone carrying a trace of concern. “What’s wrong?”

Zhang Qiu’s mind was a mess. He subconsciously rubbed his nose and shook his head. “Nothing.” Then, stiffly changing the subject, he asked, “Was there anything else down there?”

Li Shu paused for a moment upon hearing the question, his eyes locking onto Zhang Qiu’s. Under that gaze, Zhang Qiu felt as though he had done something wrong and immediately shrank back.

Zhang Yu Shui observed the two with interest before speaking up. “Stop playing mind games with each other. Let’s head down first.”

“You go first,” Li Shu said, securing the rope with one hand and holding it taut, signaling the two to climb down.

Zhang Zuo Jiu, seeing Li Shu’s slender frame, wanted to switch places with him, but Li Shu didn’t say anything—his eyes simply indicated that it wasn’t necessary.

Zhang Yu Shui was the first to descend. Zhang Zuo Jiu planned to go last, letting Zhang Qiu go ahead, but before he could, Li Shu spoke again. “Wait, I’ll take him down myself.”

Sitting on the ground, Zhang Qiu heard this and felt a surge of apprehension. He wanted to refuse, but as soon as he met Li Shu’s gaze, he chickened out and swallowed his words. Frustrated with himself, he punched the ground. Why am I so spineless?!

The Zhang brothers descended swiftly and gracefully, leaving only Zhang Qiu and Li Shu on the ground.

Zhang Qiu sneaked a glance at Li Shu. His two brothers weren’t exactly lightweights, yet Li Shu had held the rope effortlessly with one hand. That was kind of… cool.

“You’re afraid of me,” Li Shu suddenly said.

“No, I’m not,” Zhang Qiu replied, swallowing hard.

From above, Li Shu stared down at Zhang Qiu’s fluffy head. The heat of his gaze nearly made Zhang Qiu blurt out the truth. He was just about to confront Li Shu—Are you really that thousand-year-old Jiangshi from the Gumu Kingdom?—when Zhang Zuo Jiu’s voice called from below, “We’re down!”

Just as Zhang Qiu had mustered some courage, it all deflated in an instant. He hung his head, looking utterly pitiful.

The corners of Li Shu’s mouth curled up slightly, but Zhang Qiu didn’t notice. He was too busy drowning in self-loathing. How could a grown man be this much of a coward? I’m not usually like this!

It’s all Li Shu’s fault!

Just as Zhang Qiu finished cursing in his head, he felt an ice-cold hand ruffling his hair. He stiffened, lifting his head to see Li Shu looking at him.

“Hug my waist.”

…What?!

Zhang Qiu remained frozen, so Li Shu simply wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him close. Zhang Qiu tumbled into a firm, icy embrace, his nose filled with Li Shu’s scent. His brain turned to mush, and before he could protest, Li Shu stepped onto the stone slab.

The sudden sensation of weightlessness made Zhang Qiu instinctively tighten his grip, arms clinging to Li Shu for dear life, burying his face in his chest.

In the darkness, the curve of Li Shu’s lips deepened.

The rope was a little short. Holding Zhang Qiu, Li Shu swung back and forth twice. Zhang Qiu was so terrified he nearly screamed, instinctively pressing himself even closer against Li Shu.

Below, Zhang Yu Shui and Zhang Zuo Jiu watched them swing back and forth. Something about the scene felt off, but they couldn’t quite put their finger on it.

Li Shu landed lightly on the ground. A few seconds later, Zhang Qiu scrambled out of his embrace, coughed, and pretended nothing had happened. “Haha! Everyone’s here now, let’s go!”

They stood at the edge of an underground passageway. Ahead of them, just ten meters away, was a dense array of blades—still sharp after thousands of years, gleaming with a chilling light. Anyone who triggered the mechanism would be impaled, skewered like a kebab.

Yet here they were, safe and sound. All thanks to Li Shu.

Thinking of those crimson eyes, Zhang Qiu glanced down at the lethal spikes below. How could an ordinary person come down unharmed? His suspicions about Li Shu grew stronger.

As they walked down the corridor, Zhang Qiu noticed a dagger embedded high in the stone wall. The entire blade was lodged inside, with only the hilt sticking out. A rope was wrapped around it—that was how Li Shu had lowered them all.

“Stay close,” Li Shu said, his voice a little cold, displeased with Zhang Qiu’s wandering thoughts.

Zhang Qiu obediently murmured, “Oh,” then immediately regretted his automatic response.

Stepping out of the corridor, Zhang Qiu was so stunned that he momentarily forgot all his previous concerns.

The passage ahead was long and narrow, yet extravagantly decorated. The floor was paved with blue-white jade tiles, each intricately carved. The arched ceiling above was transparent, filled with a flowing, star-like substance that shimmered like a vast galaxy. The reflected light scattered across the walls, making the entire corridor feel as if it were bathed in starlight—dreamlike and breathtaking.

“This is insane!”

Zhang Yu Shui seemed momentarily dazed. Even Zhang Zuo Jiu, who had seen plenty of tombs, was shocked. “Ancient royal tombs could take decades to build, but even among emperors’ tombs, this level of craftsmanship is rare. It’s incredible.”

The corridor stretched for a thousand meters. Each floor tile was identical, with precise carvings and no visible color variations—a testament to the unimaginable effort and resources spent on constructing this underground palace.

As they walked further, murals appeared on the walls—vibrant and exquisitely detailed, depicting lifelike scenes. The left and right murals connected seamlessly, forming a continuous narrative.

Zhang Qiu examined them closely. Initially, he assumed they depicted the tomb owner’s life. But the more he looked, the stranger it seemed. It started with a stern-faced young boy—not an ordinary child, judging by his regal attire and demeanor. Sure enough, the boy was later shown as the Crown Prince.

Based on the historical timeline, Zhang Qiu deduced—This must be Emperor Zhang of Han, Liu Zhao.

“Wait, isn’t this supposed to be the tomb of Prince Hui of Xiapi?”

Zhang Zuo Jiu replied, “Keep looking.”

A few steps further, the murals changed in tone. The once solemn atmosphere became softer. A gentle, handsome man appeared, always by the young prince’s side, teaching him and keeping him company. As the boy grew into an emperor, the man remained at his feet.

“This man is Prince Hui of Xiapi,” Zhang Qiu deduced. But something felt… off. The dynamic between the emperor and his uncle seemed too close. He quickly shook off the thought—No way, the emperor was just a kid back then!

As they neared the tomb chamber, the emperor in the mural had grown up.

Zhang Qiu finally saw his adult face and froze—then turned to Zhang Yu Shui, mouth agape.

“Second Brother—”

Standing before the mural, Zhang Yu Shui met the gaze of the emperor depicted there.

They were identical.

Zhang Yu Shui stood in front of the mural, staring at the painted emperor who looked exactly like him. The resemblance was so uncanny that it was as if he had stepped out of the painting.

“We’re here,” Li Shu said, standing before the grand tomb door.

Only then did Zhang Qiu realize they had arrived at the entrance to the burial chamber. He had been so engrossed in the murals that he hadn’t even noticed how far they had walked.

During the early Han Dynasty, influenced by Qin traditions, black and red were considered noble colors. True to that aesthetic, the massive tomb doors were painted in rich black and deep red lacquer, intricately carved in a dignified yet ancient style. Surprisingly, the wooden structure showed no signs of decay despite the passage of time. The two vermilion doors were tightly shut, as if sealing away centuries of history.

Zhang Yu Shui’s expression was unreadable. Slowly, he raised a hand and gently pressed against the doors, as if afraid to disturb the person resting within.

Zhang Qiu couldn’t shake the feeling that his second brother was acting strangely. Instinctively, he glanced at Li Shu. Li Shu seemed to understand his silent question, meeting his gaze with a reassuring look before naturally reaching out and taking Zhang Qiu’s hand.

Zhang Qiu: ……

I don’t need hand-holding, hugging, or being lifted up, okay?!

…Fine. Zhang Qiu looked into Li Shu’s eyes and, once again, chickened out. As long as you’re happy.

The doors creaked open.

In the next instant, the pitch-black burial chamber was suddenly illuminated, the abrupt light making Zhang Qiu shrink back slightly. Li Shu gently squeezed his hand, as if telling him not to be afraid.

“I’m not scared,” Zhang Qiu muttered under his breath—but strangely, his heart felt steadier.

Zhang Yu Shui had already stepped inside.

The burial chamber was vast. Before they could even see the coffin, their eyes were drawn to a massive folding screen at the entrance. It was embroidered with a silk painting, completely sealed within a transparent material that had preserved it for thousands of years.

Zhang Qiu had no time to marvel at the extraordinary preservation of the silk. His entire attention was fixed on the content of the painting—

Holy shit. I knew it! The young emperor was totally into men!

A wave of shock washed over him. Wait… does this mean I really am gay?

He felt a sudden crisis—Could I instinctively recognize a fellow kindred spirit without even trying?!

The realization startled even himself.

The enormous screen painting depicted a grown-up emperor pressing his royal uncle beneath him, engaged in intimate activities. Though they were clothed, the pose and expressions left little to the imagination—it was enough to make anyone blush and feel their heartbeat quicken.

Behind the screen, the layout of the chamber resembled a luxurious sleeping quarters. The furniture and decorations were identical to those seen in the murals of the emperor’s palace.

If this was indeed a bedroom, then by logic—Prince Hui of Xiapi’s coffin should be placed deeper inside.