Little Pink Starfish

A Skeleton in Human Skin

The Assistant Minister of the Dali Temple weighed Zhao Qiuming and Gu Chen in his mind. The Prime Minister was on the decline, while General Gu had just gained command over an additional 100,000 troops. If he had to offend someone, it could only be the Prime Minister.

“Has Lord Guan made up his mind?” Gu Xinglang asked, his tone carrying a barely restrained anger.

“Gu Zhuang is in the Sky Prison,” the Assistant Minister could only say. “Does Prince Consort wish to fetch him personally?”

Gu Xinglang stared at him.

The Assistant Minister continued, “Your Highness’s guards may escort you to the prison.” This was where the Assistant Minister drew the line. Letting Gu Xinglang go fetch the man himself was different from personally delivering the prisoner. If he handed the man over, it would mean admitting that Zhao Qiuming and the Dali Temple Minister had made a mistake. But if Gu Xinglang went to retrieve him, it could be spun as the Prince Consort seizing the man by force. A fourth-rank judicial official like him couldn’t possibly contend with a prince consort and third-rank general. This would be framed as being helpless, not at fault.

“Men,” Gu Xinglang called toward the door.

Several guards—specifically summoned from the Gu residence by Jing Mo’s men—entered the side hall, all with their hands on their sword hilts, looking fierce and imposing.

“We’re going to the Sky Prison,” Gu Xinglang said.

Two guards answered and stepped forward to lift the reclining chair Gu Xinglang was seated on.

The other guards glared at the Assistant Minister. They had all heard the nonsense the man had spouted earlier. To them, it was clearly an attempt to obstruct their young master.

“Thank you, Lord Guan,” Gu Xinglang said stiffly before leaving. Though his tone and expression were cold, his manners were intact.

The Assistant Minister tried to rise and return the courtesy.

But the two guards carrying the reclining chair walked out briskly, ignoring the gesture. This was the capital. If they had been in the military, who would dare talk so much nonsense to the young master? The guards glared daggers at the Assistant Minister, their hearts heavy with frustration. They’d had enough of this feeling—like tigers trapped in a village, preyed upon by dogs.

“Young Master, straight to the prison?” a guard asked once they exited the side hall.

“Yes,” Gu Xinglang replied. “Hurry. After we pick up Xiao Zhuang, we still have things to do.”

“Yes, sir.” The guards responded in unison and quickened their pace through the long corridor toward the Sky Prison.

As they passed a flower bed outside the corridor, a wailing sound—like wind, but more mournful—came from within the dense bamboo. Gu Xinglang quickly turned his head to look. The sound cut off abruptly. Against the light, he could only see a dense clump of withered, yellow dwarf bamboo.

“Young Master?” the guard beside him asked as he noticed Gu Xinglang staring at the flower bed.

A tabby cat suddenly darted out of the bamboo, fleeing the courtyard as if escaping for its life.

Just a cat. Gu Xinglang shook his head. “It’s nothing. Let’s go.”

The guards continued forward.

In the night, none of them noticed the trail of blood left by the fleeing tabby—it was injured.

Back in the side hall, the Assistant Minister sat still. Only when he heard Gu Xinglang’s party walk away did he step out.

Several constables gathered around. One of the sergeants asked, “Lord Guan, are we just letting the Prince Consort take him?”

“He’s the princess’s guard,” the Assistant Minister replied. “If the Prince Consort insists on taking him, there’s nothing I can do.”

“But what about the Minister?” another sergeant asked.

The Assistant Minister only shook his head and sighed.

An older sergeant among them spoke up. “Lord Guan, that man is the princess’s guard—but what about the other man and woman caught with him? Are they also the princess’s people? Would she really use disfigured palace staff to serve her?”

The Assistant Minister forced a bitter smile. “I asked the Prince Consort. He said he didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know?” one sergeant exclaimed. “The three of them were together, and one ‘I don’t know’ is enough to brush us off?”

“Enough,” the Assistant Minister said, waving them off. “The Minister can’t protect himself now. If His Majesty or our superiors ask about this, we’ll explain then.”

“And if no one asks?”

The Assistant Minister sighed. “Then we pretend it never happened.”

Suddenly, a strong wind blew from west to east, making the lanterns under the eaves swing violently. The flickering light mixed with the moonlight, casting strange, twisted shadows across the corridor and courtyard.

As the wind intensified, a strong scent of blood wafted into the nostrils of these men, all too familiar with the smell.

“Who’s there?” the constables shouted almost in unison, drawing their blades.

The Assistant Minister sniffed the blood-laden wind, then pointed toward the flower bed with the dwarf bamboo. “There.”

The sergeants ran over and shouted into the bamboo. When there was no response, they began hacking at the dense stalks with their blades.

“Woo—”

A wailing sound came from within the bamboo.

The sound startled everyone, including the Assistant Minister still standing under the corridor. It didn’t sound like a human voice—had a wild beast gotten into the Dali Temple?

“Whatever you are, come out!” one sergeant shouted, slashing toward the source of the sound.

A hand reached out from the bamboo and grabbed the sergeant’s blade.

Seeing it was a human hand, they all shouted for whoever it was to come out.

“Something’s wrong!” the sergeant whose blade was grabbed cried out.

A thin, emaciated figure rose from the bamboo. As it stood, the stench of blood grew overpowering—so intense that even these hardened men, accustomed to the scent of blood, were nearly nauseated.

“A ghost!” the sergeant facing the figure screamed in terror.

The Assistant Minister turned to flee but his legs gave out and he collapsed to the ground in the corridor.

Within moments, the trained and armed constables were all dead around the flower bed. Their bodies were mutilated, stomachs ripped open, organs spilled out—as if torn apart and devoured by wild beasts.

The Assistant Minister crawled along the ground, screaming for help. A shadow suddenly loomed over his hand. He turned around.

The figure standing behind him was tall, skeletal, and draped in human skin. Calling it “human” would be generous—it was more like a skeleton wrapped in a tattered hide. Its mouth was open, blood covering its lips and teeth.

A warmth spread beneath the Assistant Minister—he had lost control of his bladder in terror.

“W-who are y-you?!” he cried out, using every ounce of strength he had.

The figure let out another mournful “Woo,” then stomped down on both his hands. The overwhelming stench of rot invaded his nose.