Ordered to Marry by the High King - Chapter 1

Qiufeng Ridge was a place of extreme peril. The mountains were thick with poisonous miasma, violet mist curling and drifting through the air. Ancient trees grew in tangled clusters, waist-high weeds covered the ground, and neither common folk nor ordinary beasts dared to set foot here. Anyone who did would quickly lose all sense of direction.

“Where did that little beast run off to?!” a voice roared in anger. 

“If I don’t catch it today, I’m not going back!”

Clearly, it wasn’t the same person speaking.

In the distance, a snow-white fox leapt gracefully into view, a chicken clenched in its jaws. It darted straight into the miasma with an air of ease and confidence, showing not the slightest hint of fear.

Several mortals armed with curved blades and bows turned at the sound and halted abruptly, their expressions a mix of alarm and frustration.

“We can’t go into that poisonous fog. Even if we don’t die, we’ll lose half our lives. That fox is probably already dead!”

Another clenched his teeth. “If it had fallen into my hands, I’d have skinned it alive and torn its tendons out!”

“Let it go,” someone else said with a sigh, trying to be reasonable. “We can always raise more chickens. But if we go any further, we might not live to see tomorrow.”

“This isn’t just one chicken we’re talking about—it’s the whole town’s flock… Damn it!”

But what mortal dared to recklessly enter Qiufeng Ridge? After exchanging a glance, they all reluctantly turned back. Chickens were one thing—lives were another.

The chickens were gone, the chickens—

***

—had ended up in that fox’s belly, every last one.

The white fox bounced along happily, as if bathing in the toxic mist. There was no sign of it being reduced to bones—in fact, its steps seemed even lighter and nimbler than before. It crouched among the grass, ears twitching as it listened intently. It didn’t take long before it finished the chicken. And when it looked up again, there wasn’t a single drop of blood on its muzzle. Whether it wiped it clean with grass or licked it off was anyone’s guess—either way, it looked completely innocent, as though it hadn’t just stolen a chicken.

Just then, a deep, rumbling wail echoed from deep within the mountains—not the cry of a wild beast, but the roar of rustling forest, a thunderous sound that made the air tremble.

At the sound, the white fox instantly transformed into a young girl, the soft jingling of bells marking her movement.

Now it became clear—around her ankles were three loops of red string, each bearing a silver bell that rang with every step she took. Her long hair had originally been loose, but as she ran, the mountain breeze swept it back gently, as if invisible hands had lovingly tied it for her. Her hair twisted into buns that resembled fox ears, held fast with fluffy hair pins. Twin braids behind her ears bounced with her hurried steps, just as restless as she was.

The sound of the forest swelled, like crashing waves beside her ears, urging the fox girl to hurry home. The surrounding ancient trees swayed violently, nearly snapping in the middle. At this point, they didn’t look like trees at all—more like giant hands waving back and forth.

Crap, Aunt Lan found out! I have to hurry back!

The white fox darted through the forest and leapt into a crevice between two boulders, as light as drifting petals, landing softly on the surface of a pool. Thankfully, she didn’t fall into the water—she had landed squarely on a small flat boat. Despite having neither oar nor sail, it glided forward with ease.

Anxious, the fox girl wished it would go faster. Rolling up her sleeve, she bent down to stir the water, splashing herself and soaking her clothes.

The boat crossed a dark pool and emerged into a scene of brightness and beauty—a towering cliffside with space like a secret haven. There were cottages, a waterwheel, and a flowering tree with crimson blossoms nestled against the mountainside.

On a stone bench by the shore sat a woman in dark robes, her posture elegant. Her hair was meticulously arranged, her expression calm as an orchid, like a transcendent being above worldly concerns. Yet right beside her, a crowd of small, peacefully slumbering creatures lay curled up—flower-patterned squirrels, fawns, rabbits, birds—all gathered in one cozy, magical heap, flooding the area with a heavy scent of demonic aura.

Immortals and demons stood on opposite sides of a great divide. Clearly, this woman was no immortal.

The white fox girl dawdled as she disembarked, skipping the formal greetings. She had already prepared herself mentally for a scolding and punishment. Sidling up, she smiled sweetly and said, “Aunt Lan, why are you waiting for me here? The weather’s getting chilly—you shouldn’t catch a cold.”

Transformed, the fox girl was a stunning beauty. And when she pouted and acted coy, she was like the first bloom of spring—vibrant, delicate, and irresistible.

“How many times have I told you? Without permission, you are not to leave Qiufeng Ridge!” Lanhui said coldly, eyes fixed straight ahead, completely ignoring the fox’s soft and lovely face.

“Of course I didn’t leave,” the white fox said, eyes darting nervously. “If Qiufeng Ridge is water, then I’m just a fish swimming in it.” Her round amber eyes held no trace of flattery—only mischief and spirit. Beneath her left eye was a small mole, adding a touch of melancholy to her otherwise cheerful face. But right now, that face was written all over with guilt.

“Then why did I sense mortals approaching the ridge, following you?” Lanhui said, sitting upright with authority.

“They’ve got legs—I can’t control where they walk,” the fox said, curling up on Lanhui’s lap with a look of utter innocence.

“Zhuoxue!” Lanhui snapped.

Uh-oh.

Zhouxue’s expression shifted. The playfulness vanished as she stopped smiling. After a long pause, she mumbled, “But I came back safe and sound, didn’t I? And besides, the folks down in the town are all mortals—what can they do to me?”

“Then why did you go down the mountain?” Lanhui finally turned her gaze on her.

Zhuoxue didn’t answer. She lowered her eyes and licked her lips, still savoring the lingering sweetness of flavor.

The little demons sleeping by Lanhui’s feet all woke up. None of them were willing to take the heat for her, and they immediately started chattering.

“Mountain Lord, she definitely went down to steal chickens again!”

“She never learns! If other demons heard about this, they’d think we treat her poorly, never giving her meat!”

“Totally stole chickens—just look at her licking her lips!”

“She steals chickens every single day! If mortals could get in, they’d have razed Qiufeng Ridge by now!”

One after another, they shoved her right into the fire.

“In the past month, how many chickens have you stolen from mortals?” Lanhui’s wrist turned, and a disciplinary ruler appeared in her hand.

Zhouxue knew this was bad. She immediately crouched down and hugged her head, whimpering before a single blow even landed. Crying in advance, she mumbled through her tears, “Please, my lady, I swear I didn’t steal any chickens!”

“You’ve been messing around in the human world again, learning all kinds of nonsense and talking in a jumble!” Lanhui was already used to this behavior—there wasn’t a shred of pity left in her. She stood up and lashed the disciplinary ruler down hard on the fox’s back.

The little demons all fell silent, scattering without a backward glance.

With every strike of the ruler, silver light would flash. The pain wasn’t skin-deep—it pierced the heart.

“It hurts! Aunt Lan, it really hurts!” Zhuoxue trembled uncontrollably, her heart squeezed so tight she could barely breathe. Her eyes were red and brimming with tears. “Please, my lady, be merciful! Let me plead my case!”

Lanhui said as she struck, “Deceitful and crooked, committing every misdeed imaginable—have you forgotten everything I’ve taught you?”

The girl, still in human form, curled into a ball at Lanhui’s feet, trembling all over, the silver bells tied to her ankles jingling non-stop.

While swinging her hand one strike after another, Lanhui nagged, “You’ve eaten all the chickens on Qiufeng Ridge, and now you’re targeting those below the mountain. Don’t you know that some living birds, given another hundred years of cultivation, might even develop spiritual intelligence?” She finally stopped and grabbed Zhuoxue’s shoulder, flipping her over.

Zhuoxue remained curled up. Her hands, shielding her face, were suddenly pulled away, forcing her to meet Lanhui’s gaze. Her hair was a tangled mess across her cheeks, smudged with bits of mud. The corners of her eyes were stained as though with rouge, and her lips, likely bitten, were an unnaturally vivid red.

“Did you hear me clearly?” Lanhui raised her hand again.

Zhuoxue’s pupils shrank in fear. Worried that the ruler would strike her face, she turned her head away sharply.

But the ruler never came down. Lanhui twisted her wrist, and the object vanished without a trace.

Eyes reddened, Zhuoxue turned her head and looked at Lanhui, hesitating before shaking her head faintly. Her ears had never worked well since birth. It wasn’t unusual for her to miss four or five words in every sentence. She often had to guess the missing parts herself. Luckily, as long as the voice was loud enough, she could usually make it out.

Still, even if she understood, she’d pretend not to. If she didn’t hear it, she could avoid a lot of trouble.

Can’t hear you, I can’t hear you; I didn’t hear a thing.

Lanhui’s expression turned to one of disappointed frustration. She clearly didn’t want to repeat herself. Her voice cooled. “Whose chickens did you steal today? I’ll send Lishu to repay them.”

“How could that be called stealing? I dropped a string of coins in their courtyard earlier.” Zhuoxue mumbled, “Heaven doesn’t just drop free food. Since they picked up the coins, the chickens were mine.”

“So now you can hear clearly again?” Lanhui summoned the disciplinary ruler once more.

Oh no, why is she angry again?

The fox hurriedly transformed back into her original form, curling into a fluffy ball by Lanhui’s legs, ears twitching slightly. She looked utterly pitiful—and adorable.

Lanhui sat down without another word, gazing silently at the surface of the water.

The fox stayed curled up for a long while, waiting in vain for the next round of punishment. Her heart began to race. She cautiously lifted her head and studied Lanhui. “Aunt Lan, are you mad?”

Lanhui sighed. “The world outside is far more dangerous than you can imagine. I keep you in Qiufeng Ridge not to punish you, but to protect you.”

The fox’s tail swished, her eyes bright. “But I’ve gone out so many times and never run into danger. It’s not nearly as bad as you think out there. Next time I’ll take you with me. Once you see it for yourself, you’ll feel better!”

Repentance? What she wanted was for Lanhui to repent!

Lanhui’s gaze darkened, her thoughts churning beneath her calm surface like a hidden current.

“I’ve never even seen you set foot beyond Qiufeng Ridge. You’ve made the outside world out to be something terrible,” the fox said, thoughts growing wilder as she tried to persuade her.

Never?

Yes, never. In all these years, Lanhui hadn’t even glimpsed daylight.

She looked down at the fluffy fox by her leg. Through that white fur, it was as if she could see time flowing by.

“Times have changed,” the fox continued, seizing the moment. “Things are different now. No matter how much I say, it’d mean more if you saw it with your own eyes.”

Lanhui fell silent for a long time—so long it felt like the sky would fall and the earth would fade away.

The fox’s heart crept up into her throat.

Lanhui finally raised her eyes to the mountain stone ahead. Its silhouette was obscured in the darkness, and her vision blurred along with it. “When I found you, you were still swaddled in a bundle of cloth. It’s been eighteen years since then. Perhaps… I have been overthinking things.”

“Exactly!”

But then Lanhui said, “You must never steal chickens again. If you don’t like staying in Qiufeng Ridge, you could go to Ninghong Mountain.”

This time, Zhuoxue really didn’t hear it clearly. She mumbled, “What mountain? Lingkong Mountain?”

Lanhui was already weary of explaining. Ninghong Mountain lay to the east, Lingkong Mountain to the north—one home to human monks who spent their days chanting and eating vegetarian meals, the other inhabited by demons.

And not just any demon—a great one.

The fox froze in alarm and began circling Lanhui’s legs like a cat, her words muffled and muddled. “Aunt Lan, Zhuoxue knows she was wrong. Do you really want to send me away?”

“I heard the high king of the Cangqiong Realm resides atop Lingkong Mountain. That white tiger is cruel and violent, terrifyingly powerful, with a bottomless appetite like the gluttonous beast Taotie! It eats people whole!”

“If it tries to eat me, what am I supposed to do?!”

“When you eat chickens—” Lanhui asked calmly, “—where do their bones go?”