Little Pink Starfish

The Grand Preceptor’s Desire, the Princess’s Touch

“This isn’t the place to talk,” said Grand Preceptor Wuhuan to Yu Xiaoxiao. “Why don’t you come with me somewhere more private? We can sit down and talk properly.”

Yu Xiaoxiao replied coldly, “What is there to talk about with people from Yongsheng Temple?”

Wuhuan smiled. “You’ve put Fenglin and his subordinates in bed for good—I’m quite pleased about that.”

Yu Xiaoxiao raised an eyebrow. Was this guy being sarcastic? She’d taken down Wen Fenglin and left him bedridden, and this was his senior. He was happy?

“You don’t believe me?” Wuhuan asked.

“Why should I?” Yu Xiaoxiao retorted. Wen Fenglin had tricked the ruthless empress so badly—how much better could his senior brother be?

“Now that Fenglin is dead, I’ll be the next abbot of Yongsheng Temple,” Wuhuan said. “So tell me, Princess—do you think I loved him or hated him?”

Yu Xiaoxiao was momentarily stunned. Power struggles? That was not her area of expertise.

“Who?!” Wuhuan suddenly barked, turning sharply to the right.

Yu Xiaoxiao picked up a grey roof tile with her toe and launched it toward the shadowy part of the rooftop across the courtyard.

Two shadowy figures leapt out of the darkness.

Judging by their build and movements, Yu Xiaoxiao said, “Chenqi. Chenmie.”

But the two didn’t approach. Instead, they stood atop the roof, bowing respectfully to Wuhuan.

Wuhuan scanned the area coldly. “What do you two think you’re doing?”

Chenqi said, “Wuhuan, you left Zhuri without permission and came to Fengtian. What exactly are you planning?”

Yu Xiaoxiao noticed something odd. Both Chenqi and Chenmie were disciples of the same temple. Yet they respectfully addressed Wen Fenglin as “Young Master” (Shaoshi), while they called Wuhuan by his name, without honorifics. So the National Preceptor was ranked lower than a Young Master? That hierarchy stank of Yongsheng Temple’s arrogance—like it considered itself above the six nations.

“You’ve been spying on me?” Wuhuan asked.

“Under orders from the abbot,” Chenmie replied bluntly. “Leave Fengtian immediately and return to explain yourself.”

“So that’s what this is,” Wuhuan said after a pause. He chuckled. “All that talk about Fenglin’s tribulation—it was just a trap set for me, wasn’t it?”

Chenqi said, “The abbot merely guessed you might come. He didn’t give us any special instructions.”

Wuhuan’s hands curled slightly, half-clenching into fists.

“You want to fight us?” Chenmie asked.

“You served me once,” Wuhuan sighed. “I don’t want you to die.”

Chenqi and Chenmie exchanged a glance—then flew forward, attacking together.

Yu Xiaoxiao raised her leg and kicked. An entire rooftop spun through the air toward the two attackers.

They dodged the first barrage of tiles—but didn’t escape the second. A flying roof beam slammed them both to the ground.

For the first time since reaching adulthood, Wuhuan was dumbfounded. Princess Linglong had just demolished an entire temple with two kicks.

Yu Xiaoxiao then moved to the unconscious black-clad fighters and kicked them awake one by one. “Get up! Go catch them!”

The fighters hesitated, looking to their master. They’d just been beaten senseless by this woman—were they supposed to listen to her now?

Wuhuan gave a slight nod.

The fighters, still dazed, got up and began sifting through the ruins to find Chenqi and Chenmie.

“So you’re the one your master doesn’t like,” Yu Xiaoxiao said, eyeing Wuhuan. “Wen Fenglin must be really good at acting. The more your master adored him, the more he despised you? Tsk. Competing with a white lotus—that takes real skill.”

Wuhuan’s facial nerves on his burned right side were long dead. But at that moment, he swore he felt his ruined face twitch just like the other side.

“Jing Mo is in the city,” Yu Xiaoxiao added thoughtfully. “I think Wen Fenglin is helping his brother—though which brother, I’m not sure. But hey, the enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?”

Wuhuan asked, “What are you trying to say?”

Yu Xiaoxiao enthusiastically promoted Jing Mo. “What do you think of him? He’s the emperor’s son—so he’s got the bloodline. He’s also educated—so he’s got the brains. Uh…” She struggled to come up with more. “He’s pretty generous. Treated me to a few meals. Maybe give him a shot?”

Wuhuan couldn’t help but chuckle. That’s it? A few dinners and he’s emperor material?

Yu Xiaoxiao narrowed her eyes at his face. “Are you smiling?”

“Just because my face is ruined doesn’t mean I can’t smile,” Wuhuan said.

Yu Xiaoxiao tapped her toes and closed the distance between them. With the height difference, she had to stand on tiptoe to reach him. She stretched out her hand and touched the disfigured right side of Wuhuan’s face.

Wuhuan instinctively flinched.

“Don’t move,” Yu Xiaoxiao grabbed his arm, her hand resting fully on his scarred cheek. “Let me take a look. This injury…” she pressed lightly, “the cheekbone is broken—why didn’t they fix it?”

Wuhuan couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched his face. Her hand was warm. He found himself craving that warmth, reluctant to let it go.

Yu Xiaoxiao stood higher on her toes, feeling around his misshapen brow bone. “The cheekbone healed crooked. Didn’t Yongsheng Temple have the best doctors in the world? Why didn’t they fix it for you? Huh? So much for being the best.”

Wuhuan lowered his head and mumbled, “Princess, don’t you know men and women shouldn’t touch?”

Yu Xiaoxiao continued examining his bones. “My Xiao Gu doesn’t mind. Why should you?”

When she mentioned Gu Xinglang, Wuhuan’s hand brushed the copper bell hidden in his sleeve. “You healed his legs?”

“Yeah. What’s it to you? You know my Xiao Gu?” she asked. She remembered clearly—of the Gu brothers, only her Gu had ever been to Yongsheng Temple.

“Don’t know him,” Wuhuan said. “But I’ve heard his name.”

Yu Xiaoxiao gave his face a final once-over, then stepped back. “Your cheekbone didn’t grow back in place. And you’re still alive. Guess Yongsheng Temple’s not completely useless.”

Wuhuan said, “Yes. I suppose I should thank them.”

“You’re seriously thanking them?” Yu Xiaoxiao snorted. “You can’t tell I’m being sarcastic? So they managed to keep you alive—what, they couldn’t fix your bones? Skin’s damaged, fine. You can sweat through other pores to regulate your body temp. But a crooked face? Must make eating a pain, right?”

Wuhuan’s face twitched again. Crooked bones—and all she cared about was whether he could eat properly?