Little Pink Starfish

The flashlight beams from those behind illuminated just a corner, but that was already enough to astonish.

A wide river, black railings gleaming under the light like the finest black jade.

“Xiao Rongrong?!”

Qi Xi’s voice echoed below. Zhang Qiu swept the light around but still couldn’t spot Qi Zhirong. In just that short span—where could he have gone?

“Listen.”
Li Shu looked upward toward the river.

Zhang Qiu focused. A deep, rumbling growl—it was faint, indistinct.

“Upward.”

Qi Xi suddenly spoke. Zhang Qiu looked over and noticed Qi Xi didn’t look well. At first he thought it was worry for Qi Zhirong. But if he didn’t say something now, and Qi Xi fell into a trap later, it’d be bad.

“You—be careful around Qi Zhirong. I’ve felt something’s off about him.”

“That sound is from a Xiezhi.”

“…What?”

Zhang Qiu couldn’t follow his train of thought. “That sound above is from a Xiezhi?”

Qi Xi nodded. As one of their kind, he couldn’t mistake it.

Everyone followed the stone steps along the river upward. The view was unclear at a distance, but a palace-like structure could be made out. The closer they got, the louder the roar became. Qi Xi ended up running ahead. At the palace entrance—a black stone door carved with intricate patterns.

“Wings,” Qi Xi said. “Xiezhi have wings, but those with wings are rare—kings among us.”

Zhang Qiu had seen Qi Xi’s true form—no wings. So, was the one entombed here a king among Xiezhi?

Qi Xi had already pushed the heavy stone doors open. A thunderous roar exploded forth. Li Shu yanked Zhang Qiu to the ground, holding him tightly. Zhang Qiu’s ears rang endlessly—he couldn’t hear what anyone was saying. Glancing back, he saw blood running from the noses and ears of several guards—injured by the roar.

He quickly checked Little Jiang—his son’s lips moved: “Daddy.”

Good. He was okay.

Only a few guards had reacted too slowly and been injured. Li Shu pulled Zhang Qiu to his feet. In the hall’s rear, a pair of golden wings hovered in midair, emanating a quiet golden glow. The roars, though fainter now, still carried rage and sorrow. Even without knowing the story, Zhang Qiu could tell the Xiezhi here had suffered.

The golden wings were enormous, glowing faintly.

Qi Xi stood at the center, looking around. No body in sight—only the lingering howls.

“It’s dead—a spirit,” Zhang Yushui said, patting Qi Xi’s shoulder and drawing out a talisman. He chanted as he sent it flying toward the wings. Before it touched, it ignited.

As it burned out, the faint form of a Xiezhi emerged.

It was a strong, majestic Xiezhi—slain in its prime. Rage and grief distorted its mind. Its eyes glared hatefully at the humans below, determined to kill every last one of them.

But it was trapped, unable to move despite its roars and thrashing.

“Roar!”

Qi Xi transformed into his original form—a young Xiezhi. Compared to the golden one, he was like a cub. His low growls slowly calmed the raging Xiezhi. Qi Xi leapt forward—but passed right through it.

The golden Xiezhi bowed its head, ghostly tears in its eyes. It nuzzled Qi Xi’s neck—like a parent. Fond and loving.

“I had a son too—with golden horns, just like yours,” the elder Xiezhi said sorrowfully, brushing its wings over Qi Xi’s back. “He was so young, innocent, righteous… He believed the lies of humans—befriended them. But they betrayed him.”

Its gaze turned sharp. “Beware. Don’t trust humans.”

“They’re my friends. They won’t hurt me,” Qi Xi said, eyes full of attachment. “Who killed you?!”

“You’re just like my son,” the old Xiezhi said, gently nudging his horn.

During the Zhongshan era, most ancient divine beasts had disappeared or gone into hiding. The elder Xiezhi kept his cheerful, simple son hidden in the woods, wary of humans.

One day, the golden-horned cub met a wounded young man named Gongzi Huan. The cub brought him home, cared for him. They became friends. When the man healed, the elder drove him off—hoping to cut ties.

But the young Xiezhi, now fascinated by human tales, continued meeting the man—eventually following him to Zhongshan.

Gongzi Huan had just ascended, a naive youth harried by Jin’s attacks, hiding in the Taihang Mountains. The cub saved him. Wanting revenge, Gongzi Huan sought to rebuild his nation, reclaim glory. The righteous cub helped him—leading soldiers, fighting beside him. But after seven or eight years, nothing came of it.

“I believed him. Eight years later, I returned to Zhongshan—and paid with this,” the old Xiezhi said, voice filled with hatred. “Gongzi Huan used my son’s trust. I fell into his trap.”

He’d been torn apart alive—his bones ground into powder to build the palace, his horn used to suppress the roof, his skin made into windows, wings ripped off and bound in this ritual.

“And your son?” Qi Xi whimpered, tears falling.

“I fought to let him escape… I saw him flee…” The old Xiezhi’s eyes were filled with sorrow.

Zhang Qiu was sure—the cub wouldn’t have left alone. Betrayed by his best friend, his father tortured to death…

Indeed, the cub had returned, bloody and desperate, staring at his friend in disbelief—until he saw his father’s wings torn away. He went mad.

They had fought side by side for ten years. Gongzi Huan had long known his weaknesses.

The cub’s grief-filled wails echoed in Taihang Mountains.

“Ah Huan—Ah Huan—AH HUAN!!”

“I curse you—may you never find what you seek, in every life.”

“I curse Zhongshan to fall!”

“I HATE YOU, AH HUAN!!”

The elder’s last memory: his son collapsed in blood. He didn’t know if the cub had survived—or if Gongzi Huan killed him.

Qi Xi let out a wailing cry, rubbing against the elder’s wings. Only the wings were real—the rest was spirit.

“Good child, good child… You’re just like my son.” The elder’s tears dropped—real tears that soaked into Qi Xi’s back, icy cold.

Ancient beasts’ souls were hard to destroy, but centuries trapped and dismembered had drained him. His form was fading fast.

Qi Xi turned to Zhang Yushui in a panic.

“I can stabilize his soul,” Zhang Yushui said, “but I need to break the formation. First, we must find its core.” He looked at Zhang Qiu. “Little brother, I need your blood.”

Zhang Qiu rolled up his sleeve eagerly. He’d give a whole bowl if needed.

The palace was built from the elder Xiezhi’s body. His soul, scattered, was trapped throughout. Zhang Yushui instructed everyone to leave—their strong yang energy hindered the process.

Reluctantly, Qi Xi backed away. The elder was vanishing.

Once outside, Zhang Yushui began drawing a talisman on the closed black doors, using Zhang Qiu’s blood.

The guards waited at the stairs. Li Shu and Xiapi Prince guarded him—this couldn’t be interrupted.

This type of formation was one Zhang Yushui had used before. But stabilizing an ancient beast’s soul was vastly harder than a human’s. One mistake could cost everything. Concentrating, sweat beaded on his forehead.

Zhang Qiu held his breath.

Almost done.

Qi Xi’s eyes relaxed a little.

“Qi… sir?!”

A guard muttered in surprise below.

“ROAR!!”

The palace erupted in another howl. Zhang Yushui’s hand trembled—but he steadied himself.

“GONGZI HUAN! IT’S YOU! IT’S YOU!!”

The elder Xiezhi howled with fury. Windows and doors shook. He was willing to destroy himself to kill his enemy.

“Senior! Calm yourself! If you don’t—your soul will scatter!!” Zhang Yushui shouted, quickly finishing the seal. “Who’s come?! Get rid of them!”

Zhang Qiu looked down. It was Qi Zhirong.

Qi Xi saw him too—expression complex—stepped forward to block his path.

Qi Zhirong’s cold gaze met his. Behind the anger, a flicker of guilt. “Xiao Xi isn’t dead.”

The shaking stopped.

Inside, the elder’s roars faded. The urge to die for revenge dissipated with those words.

Zhang Yushui finished the final stroke. “Crisis averted—but his soul is fragile. We must dismantle the formation soon, or this seal won’t hold.” He turned to Qi Zhirong. “Who are you?”

“I’m Qi Zhirong.” His tone was quiet, looking toward Qi Xi with sadness. “I’ve said it before—I don’t care about past lives. I’m just Qi Zhirong…”

An indirect confession—he was Gongzi Huan.

“Xiao Xi…” Qi Xi’s eyes were blank.

“He’s his son,” Qi Zhirong confirmed.

Zhang Qiu’s heart jumped. So Qi Xi is the golden-horned cub?!

It made sense. Qi Zhirong was indifferent to everyone—except Qi Xi. Even when Qi Xi playfully kissed him, he hadn’t retaliated.

Looking back now—Qi Zhirong had always treated Qi Xi… differently.

“Come with me,” Qi Zhirong said.

Qi Xi didn’t move. “You killed the elder.”

“I didn’t know.” Qi Zhirong turned to him. “It was him—but I can feel it—he didn’t want to. He regretted it.”

The “he” clearly meant Gongzi Huan.

Zhang Qiu wanted to keep things moving. “Let’s talk as we go. The formation’s still there. No point arguing now.”

“Move,” Li Shu added. “Don’t try anything.”

Qi Zhirong laughed at himself. “I’ve been burdened by his sins since birth. What could I even do? I said it—I’m just Qi Zhirong.”

“But you’re not,” Qi Xi cut him off. “You remembered at the banquet.”

Zhang Qiu recalled that banquet. They’d met Qi Xi there. At the time, he’d asked Little Jiang to bring him food—and left abruptly. Later, he’d saved them from a crash in beast form.

Now he realized: that night, Qi Xi had met Qi Zhirong. Something had happened. Qi Xi had fled, trying not to lose control. Yet he’d still transformed on the way home.

“Yes,” Qi Zhirong admitted. “I felt a familiarity the moment I saw you. A voice inside told me—I’d been searching for you.”

“But I’m me. Qi Zhirong. I won’t be controlled. If not for my body breaking down, I’d never have dealt with this nonsense.”

“If you want to save him, come.” He turned and led the way. “Believe me or don’t.”

Zhang Qiu looked at Li Shu—he nodded. They followed. Qi Xi trailed behind, dazed by everything.

Qi Zhirong continued, voice calm: “After meeting Qi Xi, I started losing control. Memories came back—of a cub named Xiao Xi. He called someone Gongzi Huan.”

His tale matched the elder’s—including the trap.

Qi Xi clenched his fists, eyes burning with hate.

“…I felt it—he didn’t want to. But he couldn’t stop. The orders… came from him. Like a puppet on strings. Wracked with guilt.”

They stopped by the river.

“It wasn’t here before,” Qi Zhirong said. “He built it. Beneath it lies Xiao Xi. He defied someone’s order—and didn’t treat Xiao Xi like the elder.”

Someone’s order?

Zhang Qiu thought of the mural—the shadowy figure offering something to Gongzi Huan. Was he the real puppet master?

Maybe Qi Zhirong was lying. Maybe Gongzi Huan did it all. Who could say?

They reached a spot by the river. Qi Zhirong stared silently.

“He liked swimming. I ruined him…”

Zhang Qiu noticed his face blur for a moment—then return to clarity.

“You noticed?” Qi Zhirong said, smiling faintly. “I told you—sometimes I’m not in control.”

“You’re afraid,” Zhang Yushui said. “You fear admitting it—admitting you’re Gongzi Huan.”

Qi Zhirong looked at Qi Xi—then away. “He’s him. I’m me.”

Zhang Qiu understood. He’s scared Qi Xi will hate him if he admits it.

“At first, that man said a palace with a Xiezhi would bless the nation. He told me to bury Xiao Xi here. But he vanished. When I tried to dig it up, water poured out—I never found Xiao Xi’s body…”

As he spoke, his “I” clearly meant Gongzi Huan.

Li Shu asked, “What did he offer you?”

“A jade disc—pure white. Said it could grant immortality, revive the dead, bless the land.” Qi Zhirong frowned. “But… I can’t remember what he looked like…”

His cold mask returned. But Zhang Qiu saw: he kept avoiding Qi Xi’s eyes.

“This is the formation core,” Zhang Yushui said. “Whoever advised you was cruel. Dual nodes cancel each other, draining the soul. Fortunately, your changes weakened it.”

Thanks to Pei Qing’s water-aligned dragon form, they didn’t need diving gear. He dove, tail parting the river. Zhang Qiu saw a blue stone slab, flipped by his motion. Li Shu and Qi Xi dived in too—but found no bones.

Zhang Yushui held a copper mirror toward the riverbed. A golden glint flashed.

Qi Zhirong’s voice trembled. “It’s Xiao Xi… it’s his horn.”

Qi Xi pulled it out—muddy, cold, slippery. He froze, unknowingly stepping onto shore.

“When the foundation was laid, that man cast a spell. Fortunately, you altered it later. Xiao Xi’s spirit partially remained. The rest reformed anew—losing all past memories,” Zhang Yushui said.

Qi Xi shivered. He never knew who he was—just that Sister Ping gave him the name. A fortune-teller said it would bring fame. He thought all divine beasts were like him—memoryless.

Now he knew—he was once the golden-horned cub.

With the core broken, the elder’s spirit was freed. But too damaged, he had to reincarnate.

Qi Xi held the horn, dazed, staring at the fading Xiezhi. The elder nuzzled him gently, tears falling on his back, letting out a final soft roar.

Zhang Yushui’s spell sent the spirit to the afterlife. The elder faded completely.

“Father…” Qi Xi sobbed softly.

Suddenly, the golden wings crashed down—covering him entirely.

Inside, Qi Xi’s low growls and panting echoed.

Zhang Qiu wanted to approach—but Li Shu stopped him.

“A transfer.”

The breathing stopped. Qi Xi slowly rose. His enchanting face, fully exposed, his body bare—on his back, a pair of massive golden wings. His eyes locked coldly on Qi Zhirong.

Zhang Qiu had never seen Qi Xi look so serious—or so cold.