Chen Xinyu stood frozen in place like a statue carved from terror itself, his blood turning to ice water in his veins as the horrifying reality crashed over him in waves.
That—was definitely not Shen Shixiong.
His triumphant smile crumbled and fell away like autumn leaves in a bitter wind. The figure before him turned with the slow, deliberate grace of a predator who had just spotted particularly foolish prey. Thick, dark mud dripped steadily from his hair—hair that was far too fine, too lustrous to belong to any ordinary disciple. Each drop fell with the weight of a funeral bell, marking time until Xinyu's inevitable doom.
The stranger's magnificent robes, embroidered with intricate celestial patterns in deep midnight blue silk that seemed to hold captured starlight, now clung wetly to his tall, aristocratic frame. The fabric alone probably cost more than most cultivators earned in several lifetimes, and Xinyu had just... destroyed it. His elegant brows, now furrowed in what could only be described as arctic fury, were streaked with brown earth like war paint applied by a particularly vindictive deity.
But it was his eyes that made Xinyu's knees threaten to buckle.
Those almond-shaped eyes, the only part of his face still untouched by mud, gleamed with such cold, concentrated rage that the very air around him seemed to crystallize. The temperature dropped so suddenly that frost began forming on nearby leaves, and Xinyu could see his own breath misting in the suddenly frigid atmosphere.
I'm dead,Xinyu thought with the clarity that comes only in moments of absolute catastrophe. I'm completely, utterly, thoroughly dead.
Before he could fully process the magnitude of his error, the sound of rushing footsteps filled the courtyard as what seemed like half the sect came pouring in to investigate the commotion. The entire crowd—disciples, masters, sect leaders, even lowly servants—froze in perfect unison, their mouths dropping open in synchronized shock as they took in the scene before them.
It was like watching a carefully choreographed dance of horror.
A servant carrying a lacquered tray laden with pristine spirit fruits took one look at the mud-covered figure and promptly dropped everything, the sound of shattering porcelain echoing through the stunned silence. Another servant, clutching an ornate teapot of what was undoubtedly rare and expensive tea, simply let it slip from nerveless fingers to crash against the stone path.
One particularly dramatic junior disciple actually fainted on the spot, crumpling gracefully to the ground like a wilted flower.
The whispers began immediately, spreading through the crowd like wildfire through dry grass:
"The prince... is he cursed?"
"Did a flying demonic beast attack him?"
"Perhaps it was a cultivation technique gone terribly wrong?"
Master Tang Meilin, her purple robes fluttering elegantly in the breeze, observed the scene with the detached amusement of someone watching an particularly entertaining tragedy unfold. "Or perhaps," she said with silky sarcasm, "the heavens themselves grew jealous of his beauty and decided to take him down a peg."
The comment might have drawn laughter under different circumstances. Instead, it only deepened the oppressive silence.
Then Xinyu spotted a sight that made his already frantic heart stop completely—Master Zhou pushing through the crowd like an avenging deity, his infamous punishment stick already gripped in one white-knuckled hand, his usually jovial face transformed into something that could have frightened demon lords into submission.
Without a single rational thought in his head, Xinyu did the only thing his panic-addled brain could conceive of—he darted forward and hid directly behind the muddy stranger. Not content with this already catastrophically poor decision, he also grabbed desperately at the edge of the prince's expensive robes, managing to smear even more dirt onto both himself and the already ruined silk in the process.
Every single person present stared in absolute, breathless disbelief. No one moved. No one spoke. Even the mountain wind seemed to pause, as if the entire world was waiting to see who would die first and in what creatively horrible manner.
The muddy figure—Prince Hua Ling, though Xinyu still didn't know this crucial detail—remained perfectly, terrifyingly still.
"Uhh..." Xinyu coughed lightly from his position behind what he desperately hoped was protection rather than a more convenient place for his execution. "Greetings?"
The single syllable fell into the silence like a stone dropped into a bottomless well.
Realizing that hiding was probably not going to save him from whatever fate awaited, and driven by the kind of mindless panic that makes people do increasingly stupid things, Xinyu began frantically attempting damage control. He started wiping at the prince's muddy sleeve with his own already filthy robe, succeeding only in spreading the mess further across the expensive fabric.
"Don't worry, I'll fix it—oh no—" Xinyu's voice cracked as he realized he was somehow making everything infinitely worse. The pristine silk now looked like it had been deliberately painted with liquid earth by a particularly untalented artist.
In all his eighteen years as heir to the Demon Realm,Hua Ling thought with the kind of cold, crystalline rage that could freeze rivers solid, no living being has ever dared to show me such blatant disrespect.His cultivation base, refined through years of the most brutal training imaginable, hummed with barely restrained power. Ancient techniques for flaying skin from bone flickered through his mind like old friends offering helpful suggestions.
his inner voice hissed with anticipation. I would have gouged out your eyes and fed them to my demon pets while you still live to appreciate the irony. I would have hung your skin like banners from the walls of my palace. If it weren't for Father's specific instructions about maintaining diplomatic relations, I would reduce you to ash and memory in less time than it takes to blink.
Meanwhile, Xinyu's internal monologue was running along significantly different lines: Please, Immortal Ancestors, every deity who has ever shown mercy to stupid disciples, don't let Shizun see me like this! If he catches me, he's going to break my legs with that accursed stick... again! And then he'll make me attend cultivation classes for ten hours every day for the next year!
The irony was particularly bitter considering that earlier that very day, Xinyu had successfully skipped his mandatory cultivation session, snuck away to take a blissful nap in the peach grove, and now had somehow managed to personally offend what was clearly a guest of immense importance during what was obviously a crucial diplomatic event.
The mud-covered prince remained absolutely motionless, his silence more terrifying than any roared threats or dramatic proclamations of vengeance would have been. Hua Ling's composure held like perfectly forged steel, but beneath the surface, a storm raged that could have torn mountains apart.
These immortal cultivators are all the same,* he thought with bitter contempt. Soft. Weak. They speak of justice and punishment but lack the spine to actually deliver either.
At that moment, Qingze arrived, his normally composed features slack with absolute shock as he took in the unprecedented scene before him. He blinked slowly, his mind struggling to process what his eyes were reporting, like a scholar trying to decipher text in a completely unknown language.
"Your highness..." he stammered, stepping closer with the careful movements of someone approaching a caged tiger. "What... why... I—"
Words utterly failed him. In all the years he had faithfully served Prince Hua Ling, through diplomatic missions and demon realm politics, through assassination attempts and family power struggles, never once had he witnessed anyone dare to pour a basin of mud on his master's head.
"Your highness..." Qingze tried again, then simply gave up on speech entirely. With hands that trembled slightly—whether from rage or shock, even he wasn't certain—he pulled out an embroidered silk handkerchief and began gently, reverently wiping the mud from the prince's aristocratic features. "Who... who would dare commit such a transgression..."
Hua Ling tilted his chin with the barest suggestion of movement, his gaze dropping toward the trembling figure still hiding behind him like a child seeking protection from thunderstorms. His eyes, when they focused on Xinyu, held all the warmth of winter mountains at midnight.
Qingze followed his master's gaze and understood immediately. That particular expression was one he knew all too well—it meant swift, creative, and extremely memorable punishment was about to be administered.
Before Qingze could act on this knowledge, Sect Leader Jiang Wensheng stepped forward with the careful dignity of someone walking across ice-covered knives. His expression remained admirably calm, though his voice carried the weight of someone delivering news of a natural disaster.
"Servants!" His command cracked like a whip. "What are you standing there gawking for? Help His Highness get cleaned up immediately!" He bowed with precisely calculated respect toward Hua Ling, the gesture perfectly measured to show appropriate deference without appearing obsequious. "This... incident... was a grave offense against your person and your realm. I take full responsibility on behalf of Verdant Cloud Sect. The disciple responsible will face severe punishment."
Hua Ling's lips curved in what might charitably be called a smile, though it held all the warmth of a blade fresh from the forge.
Punishment?he thought with bitter amusement. You immortals are too soft-hearted to properly punish a pet rabbit, let alone a disciple who has committed such an outrageous insult.
"Very well," he said aloud, his voice carrying the smoothness of silk wrapped around winter steel.
With a single, fluid motion that somehow managed to convey both imperial dignity and barely restrained violence, he swept his muddy sleeve in dismissal and began walking toward the guest hall. Qingze and two carefully selected servants fell into step behind him like a small parade of barely controlled panic.
He did not glance back even once—but his spiritual senses, honed by years of survival in the demon realm's deadly political landscape, told him exactly who had dared to grab his robes, and more importantly, exactly where that person was at every moment.
The moment the prince's imposing figure disappeared around the corner, the courtyard absolutely erupted into chaos.
"Did someone actually pour mud on Prince Hua Ling?"
"Was that a suicide attempt disguised as an accident?"
"Quick! Someone summon the coffin master—we're going to need professional funeral arrangements!"
"I heard his execution methods are... creative."
Master Tang Meilin, apparently finding the entire situation delightfully entertaining, laughed with genuine mirth. "My, my... I wonder who possessed the courage—or perhaps the death wish—to drench such a legendarily beautiful face in common mud?"
A servant who had witnessed the entire debacle rushed to Sect Leader Jiang's side, whispering with urgent intensity, "I saw everything! It was Chen Xinyu... he was hiding behind the prince when everyone was apologizing! He ran away when the crowd gathered!"
Tang Meilin raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow, her expression shifting to something between amusement and impressed disbelief. "Oh my... it really was our dear little Xinyu? How wonderfully dramatic."
Shen Yao, who had been observing the proceedings while gracefully fanning himself with an expression of supreme entertainment, snorted delicately. "I'm not even remotely surprised. This is absolutely classic Xinyu behavior."
Yan Zheng, standing nearby with his arms folded, said nothing but released a sigh so deep it seemed to carry the weight of centuries.
"CHEN XINYU!!" Master Zhou's roar echoed across the mountains with such force that several birds took flight in alarm. "You disgrace me again and again! You better run far and fast, because when I catch you, I don't think I'll be able to hold back this time!"
Shen Yao's smirk widened as he continued fanning himself with lazy elegance. "Shizun, how are you planning to punish that little disaster this time? The usual beating, or are you thinking of something more... memorable?"
Master Zhou turned that brilliant, terrifying smile toward Shen Yao, who suddenly realized he might have miscalculated.
"Shizunnnnn~" Shen Yao pouted with exaggerated innocence. "What did I do this time? I'm completely blameless in this particular catastrophe!"
Lan Xueyao, one of Master Tang Meilin's more sharp-tongued disciples, rolled her eyes and chuckled. "Your very existence is punishment enough for all of us."
Shen Yao clutched his chest in mock anguish and sighed dramatically.
Turning to Yan Zheng, he offered with the air of someone placing a friendly wager, "How many beatings do you think Xiao Yu will receive this time? I'm thinking at least a dozen."
Yan Zheng's expression could have frozen flame. "Stop talking nonsense. You should be worried for his life right now, not making bets."
Shen Yao resumed fanning himself with renewed vigor. "Nobody likes me in this sect. I'm completely unappreciated."
Yan Zheng folded his arms, his practical mind already working through the implications. "Whatever Xinyu did, it's going to create serious problems. If the prince is here to attend cultivation lessons... and he ends up in our class..."
The thought hung in the air like a sword suspended by spider silk.
Zhou rubbed his forehead, already feeling the onset of what promised to be a legendary headache. "Zheng'er. Go find that brat. Now. Before something even worse happens."
"Yes, Shizun." Yan Zheng departed with the efficient movements of someone who had extensive experience tracking down wayward junior brothers.
Shen Yao continued fanning himself, grinning like someone who had just watched the most entertaining performance of the year.
Meanwhile, among the gathered female disciples, whispers began circulating like autumn wind through leaves:
Lu Rourou, a gentle soul with a kind heart, whispered to her senior sister, "Poor Prince Hua Ling... all that mud covering such a handsome face. Even ruined, he's still breathtakingly beautiful! I feel so bad for him..."
Lan Xueyao tightened her grip on her sword until her knuckles went white, her face cold as mountain stone. "What's so special about him? He's just another pretty face with a title."
Another disciple sighed dreamily, "Did you see his eyes? Even covered in mud, they were like stars reflected in winter lakes. I think I might be in love..."
Her companion snorted. "Not again! The last person you 'fell in love' with turned out to be a demon who tried to eat your spirit root."
* * *
Meanwhile, deep in the ancient forest that surrounded Verdant Cloud Sect, Chen Xinyu had finally stopped running. He pressed his back against the rough bark of a massive pine tree, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath, cold sweat beading on his forehead despite the warm afternoon.
"What... what did I just do?" he gasped, staring up at the canopy above as if the leaves might offer some divine wisdom or at least a reasonable explanation for his complete loss of common sense.
"Please, if any of the heavenly ancestors still love me even a little bit, strike me down right now and save everyone the trouble!"
He looked down at his mud-stained robes, then noticed something that made his confused state even worse. "Why is his robe still so clean even though it was covered in mud? What kind of silk is this? What kind of protective formations were woven into the fabric?"
The implications were becoming increasingly, horrifyingly clear.
"This is it," he muttered, sliding down the tree trunk to collapse in the soft grass. "This is how I die—not fighting demonic beasts, not from qi deviation during cultivation, but from a mud-related diplomatic incident."
He buried his face in his arms, fighting the urge to actually sob. "Why... why did it have to be someone so obviously important? And why did he have to be so terrifyingly beautiful even covered in dirt?"
The shadows of ancient trees provided some comfort, but not enough to quiet his racing thoughts.
*If I go back to the sect, Shizun will definitely kill me! And if I stay out here... His Highness might send people to hunt me down and feed me to demon beasts!*
Lost in his spiral of despair and increasingly dramatic predictions of his own doom, Xinyu didn't notice the approaching footsteps until a firm hand gripped his shoulder.
"Found you."
Xinyu's head snapped up, his eyes wide with terror, expecting to see either his furious master or perhaps representatives of the demon realm's justice system.
Instead, he found himself looking up into a familiar face—though the expression it wore was far from comforting.