Little Pink Starfish

I Want You to Live, But You Insist on Dying

“And who are you?” The old monk walked up to Wuhuan and looked at Yu Xiaoxiao as he asked.

Yu Xiaoxiao shot back, “And who are you? Mo Wen’s grandpa? At your age, you’re still coming all this way to pick a fight? Tsk. Mo Wen won’t let Wuhuan off, and now even an old guy like you can’t catch a break either, huh?”

If the situation weren’t so grim, Wuhuan might’ve laughed out loud. Talking with the princess could be exhausting, but listening to her take shots at others was actually quite delightful.

Master Jiyu’s long eyebrows trembled as he said sternly, “Insolent!”

Yu Xiaoxiao replied, “Name, please. Who the heck are you?”

Wuhuan answered, “He’s Jiyu.”

Yu Xiaoxiao shook her head. “Never heard of him.”

“I am the Head of the Martial Monk Hall at Yongsheng Temple,” Master Jiyu said, as if expecting her to flee in terror after hearing his title.

But Yu Xiaoxiao just disappointed him. The princess stood tall in a perfect military stance, expressionless. “I know you’re from Yongsheng Temple. I’ve been fighting with your people every day lately. Are you really Mo Wen’s grandpa?”

Master Jiyu: …

Yu Xiaoxiao tilted her head and thought for a second. “Ah, wait, you guys don’t have women, right? So you and Mo Wen can’t be related. My bad, I overthought it.”

How far do you have to stretch your imagination to make someone Mo Wen’s grandfather?!

Master Jiyu narrowed his eyes slightly, opened his right palm, and held it downward.

“Leave,” Wuhuan told Yu Xiaoxiao. “This has nothing to do with you.” The National Preceptor meant well. Since Mo Wen was already in the capital, he knew his chances of survival were slim. If so, why drag Yu Xiaoxiao down with him?

Yu Xiaoxiao shrugged. “Well, I’m already here. Watching you die and doing nothing doesn’t sit right with me. Hey, old man,” she nodded toward Jiyu, “I don’t usually kill humans, so while we can still keep things peaceful, leave Wuhuan here and back off.”

Master Jiyu was speechless. He hadn’t left Yongsheng Temple in fifty years. Were all young women this uncouth these days? He looked at Yu Xiaoxiao—her simple, practical clothes made for easy movement, and besides being a pretty young lady, there was no clue to her identity.

“Just go,” Yu Xiaoxiao waved at him. “Mo Wen’s at the Imperial Palace, and you—”

“Don’t say another word!” Wuhuan cut her off before she could expose herself.

“Imperial Palace?” Jiyu said. “You’re from the Yushi clan of Fengtian?”

Yu Xiaoxiao glanced at Wuhuan, who shook his head at her. She then said, “Sorry, we’ve got too big of an age gap. We wouldn’t be happy together. Go hit on someone else.”

Wuhuan: …

The monks: …

As Head of the Martial Monk Hall, Master Jiyu hadn’t heard anyone talk to him like that in half a century. He let out a cold laugh. “The Yushi clan only has one princess left. You’re Yu Linglong?”

Yu Xiaoxiao smirked. “Not telling you. What are you gonna do about it?”

“You impudent brat!” Jiyu shouted and struck with a palm.

Wuhuan wanted to warn Yu Xiaoxiao to be careful, but the words caught in his throat.

Yu Xiaoxiao stepped back. When the old monk attacked, she knew—there was no avoiding this fight.

His palm strike shattered the floral-patterned tiles where she’d been standing a second ago.

Yu Xiaoxiao furrowed her brows. This old monk was really aiming to kill her. She’d never met such an unkind elder before.

“You’ve got decent movement,” Jiyu commented when Yu Xiaoxiao dodged his attack.

Seeing him charge again, Yu Xiaoxiao didn’t retreat—she sidestepped him and, in a blink, appeared before Wuhuan.

The six monks guarding Wuhuan were shocked and furious, immediately attacking.

Yu Xiaoxiao blocked one monk’s strike, grabbed Wuhuan’s hand, and with a light tap of her toe, tried to leap onto the rooftop.

“Trying to escape?” One monk, still holding Chen Qi’s corpse, swept a leg at her, blocking her path.

“I want you to live,” Yu Xiaoxiao said, grabbing the monk by the collar and slamming him into the ground. “But you insist on dying!”

The monk’s entire body sank into the soil, leaving only part of his head visible.

The remaining five monks were stunned, frozen in place.

Buried up to his nose, the monk couldn’t breathe and rolled his eyes back.

Now Master Jiyu had a clearer sense of Yu Xiaoxiao’s martial prowess. He raised his hand and launched another palm strike.

Yu Xiaoxiao ignored the incoming strike and, moving faster than Jiyu’s attack, took Wuhuan up to the roof.

The dungeon’s thick bronze double doors couldn’t withstand Jiyu’s blow and exploded into shards with a loud boom.

Yu Xiaoxiao glanced at the demolished door and pulled Wuhuan along. “Let’s go.”

But Wuhuan said, “Princess, we can’t leave yet.”

“Huh?” Yu Xiaoxiao said. “You wanna wait for the old monk to kill you?”

“Mo Wen went to the palace?” Wuhuan asked.

Yu Xiaoxiao nodded.

“Did the Emperor mention me?”

Yu Xiaoxiao recalled her useless dad’s conversation with Mo Wen, gave Xian Zong a thumbs up, and said, “Your master asked my dad, but he didn’t give you up. My dad’s pretty loyal, right?”

Wuhuan gave a bitter smile. “If we let them return, how is your father supposed to explain things to Mo Wen?”

Yu Xiaoxiao looked at the people below the roof.

At this moment, Master Jiyu had already yanked the buried monk out of the ground with a sweep of his sleeve.

“That old monk can fight,” Yu Xiaoxiao muttered to Wuhuan.

“He’s the head of the Martial Monk Hall,” Wuhuan said softly.

Yu Xiaoxiao didn’t really get what kind of rank that was. She looked at Wuhuan’s drooping shoulders and asked, “Which is more important—the Hall Master or the Junior Abbot?”

“They’re hard to compare. The Junior Abbot is the successor; the Hall Master is the head of a specific division. Without the Hall Master’s support, the Junior Abbot…”

While Wuhuan was focused on explaining, Yu Xiaoxiao pressed on his shoulders and swiftly popped both dislocated joints back into place.

A wave of pain shot through Wuhuan, but he quickly realized his shoulders were fixed.

“You don’t want Mo Wen to find out my dad lied to him. That’s what you’re saying, right?” Yu Xiaoxiao asked once she saw Wuhuan could move his shoulders again.

Wuhuan said, “Mo Wen knows your father’s deceiving him, but he can’t be allowed to get proof.”

Yu Xiaoxiao frowned. “What if he does? What’s he gonna do—kick my dad off the throne or something?”