Little Pink Starfish

Fenglin, Harboring Hatred in Silence

Looking at the empty dishes on the table, Xianzong felt utterly appalled. His daughter had not only eaten everything clean, but even drank the remaining gravy. The scene was so shocking that he couldn’t bear to look directly.

“Come with me, we’re leaving the palace,” Xianzong stood up and called to Yu Xiaoxiao.

“Oh,” Yu Xiaoxiao responded, reaching for another steamed bun.

“You can take them back to the Gu estate—these are all yours,” Xianzong grumbled. And as he grumbled, he resolved to summon Old General Gu to the palace tomorrow and demand an answer: Does the Gu family ever feed his daughter?! She was never like this when she lived in the palace!

Xiao Wei watched the emperor rush out and reminded him, “Your Majesty, are you going out like this?” A ruler in full imperial robes strolling the streets? Was there a precedent?

Xianzong looked down—he had indeed forgotten to change clothes in his haste to deal with Mo Wen. So he rushed off to his quarters to change, while Yu Xiaoxiao continued munching on her bun. Xiao Wei couldn’t help but wonder: Why is His Majesty taking the princess out in disguise? Did something go wrong again?

Meanwhile, Gu Xinglang and Chengguan’s carriage arrived at the gates of Huguo Temple.

Chengguan got down first and said to Gu Xinglang, still inside, “I’ll speak with the abbot. Please wait in the main hall.”

Gu Xinglang nodded, gripping his fists quietly in anticipation.

One of Gu Xingnuo’s guards, stationed nearby, watched Chengguan enter the temple alone, and then Gu Xinglang being escorted in. Turning his horse, he galloped off to report back to his master.

Inside the solemn Huguo Temple’s main hall, Gu Xinglang sat beneath the gaze of a golden Buddha and 800 arhats. The longer he waited, the more uneasy he became. Oddly enough, he found the idea of facing Mo Wen more terrifying than charging into a battlefield.

Elsewhere, Mo Wen sat cross-legged in his private chamber. When Chengguan told him Gu Xinglang had come on imperial orders, Mo Wen asked, “Gu Xinglang?”

“Yes,” Chengguan replied calmly. “His Majesty said you refused his personal farewell, and the crown prince is still a child. So only the prince consort was suitable.”

Mo Wen chuckled. “A son-in-law is indeed half a son. What of Princess Linglong?”

“She’s temperamental,” Chengguan said smoothly. “His Majesty feared she’d stir more trouble. As there was previous conflict between her and the junior abbot, His Majesty asked the prince consort to personally offer an apology.”

Mo Wen gently tapped the armrest, the quiet sound oddly heavy. Chengguan stood patiently.

After a pause, Mo Wen said, “You’ve been away from the temple for years. You should go back and see the other disciples. Most are still there.”

Chengguan bowed. “As long as the Buddha lives in the heart, one may cultivate anywhere.”

“You’re refusing to return?” Mo Wen asked softly.

“I wouldn’t dare,” Chengguan replied with serene detachment, then added, “But the prince consort awaits in the hall. What shall we do about the junior abbot?”

“Fenglin is still recovering,” Mo Wen said. “What hatred could he possibly hold toward Princess Linglong? No apology is needed.”

“But His Majesty fears this lingering knot will disturb his peace,” Chengguan said. “Abbot, perhaps grant him this closure?”

Mo Wen eventually nodded. “Have someone bring Fenglin here.”

Two monks obeyed and left for Fenglin’s quarters.

A monk soon arrived at the main hall, bowed to Gu Xinglang and said, “Prince Consort, the abbot will see you now.”

Gu Xinglang nodded, tightening his fists even more.

At the same time, Xianzong exited the palace with Yu Xiaoxiao.

Elsewhere, Gu Xingnuo was informed by his scout: “Master, I saw Third Young Master enter Huguo Temple with the national master.”

Startled, Gu Xingnuo blinked. Chengguan brought my little brother to Huguo Temple?

“Are you alright?” the guard asked, concerned.

Gu Xingnuo shook his head, mounting his horse. “Watch the grain shop. I’m going to the temple.”

He spurred his horse toward Huguo Temple. His guards panicked—riding like this with internal injuries?

“Follow him!” one ordered. “I’ll watch the grain.”

Meanwhile, Fenglin lay on his bed, face swollen, covered in dark medicinal paste. When monks said Gu Xinglang had come to apologize, Fenglin sneered. He remembered all too well how the prince consort had pretended to be confused and foolish—was this another performance?

His attendant whispered, “Master, the abbot asked for you personally. You should go.”

Fenglin snapped, “Hypocritical words—why should I listen?”

“But if you don’t go, what will the abbot think?” the monk asked cautiously.

Fenglin stared at the monk and whispered, “Why is Master leaving so suddenly?”

The monk shook his head—no one dared question Mo Wen’s decisions.

“Because Wuhuan left too?” Fenglin muttered.

The monk handed him a fresh robe. “Please don’t keep the abbot waiting.”

Fenglin dressed, and two monks carried him out. An autumn breeze stung his injured face, and though his expression remained calm, his heart seethed with hatred—hatred he dared not speak aloud.