Ordered to Marry by the High King - Chapter 16

Zhuoxue hadn’t even touched it before the little demon who had just entered the room shouted so loudly it nearly scared her soul out of her body. She yanked her outstretched hand back, recoiling like a turtle, half her body pressed against the edge of the bed as she played dead again.

Longming lay on her side on the narrow couch. She was tall, and the bed was too small, so she had to curl up slightly. Her long silver hair cascaded down her shoulders and waist, accentuating her graceful and voluptuous figure.

If only the heavens had been more cooperative—Zhuoxue had nearly managed to touch her. She sighed inwardly at the missed opportunity. What if she was allowed to touch? After all, back in the cave, Zhuoxue hadn’t moved a muscle when Longming touched her.

Frowning, Longming turned her head, her cold gaze landing on the fox’s face.

Fortunately, the fox had already withdrawn her claws and was obediently crouched low, seemingly well-behaved. A smile played at her lips, and candlelight danced in her eyes, making them sparkle like stars.

“What are you doing, shouting like that?” Longming asked coolly. She hadn’t sensed any surge of demonic power. Clearly, this fox hadn’t been trying to launch a sneak attack.

The little demon nearby had a buzzing in his ears, internally cursing his own recklessness. What if this was just some game between master and servant? 

It was Qiurou’s fault for lecturing the demon attendants every day, reciting all the do’s and don’ts in exhaustive detail—easily ten thousand words’ worth. After years of repetition, the demon attendants had those rules etched into their bones. It just slipped out without thinking.

The fox only smiled in silence.

What? She hadn’t done anything at all.

She’d already decided to give up on the “tiger’s butt”—but this tiger demon wouldn’t let her leave. So who could blame her for a few wicked thoughts? If she couldn’t leave, she might as well bask a little in that “white moonlight.” The big tiger was too soft-hearted to truly hurt her, and treated her well enough. That would make things easier for her down the line.

Touch or not touch, touch or not touch…

Eh, she was just playing.

The little demon holding the bedding tiptoed into the room, trembling, unsure if he had just ruined something. He didn’t dare look up, his eyes fixed on his shoes as he stammered, “My lord, it was Qiurou who ordered me to bring bedding. Wh-where should I lay it out?”

Zhuoxue subtly pouted, thinking that after such a messy night, she might at least earn a sliver of Longming’s sympathy—perhaps even share her bed. But no—Longming truly had a cold and unyielding heart.

So much for all that talk in the mortal world about close personal servants—how was this close?

She turned to glance at the bedding. Such a garish color! Even more vibrant than the clothes Lanhui wore during festivals. Come to think of it, it was quite funny—Lanhui always acted so detached and pure, yet was absurdly enthusiastic about every celestial or earthly holiday. On regular days she dressed plainly, but once a festival arrived, she turned into a flamboyant butterfly. This bedding, with its loud purples and reds, perfectly matched Lanhui’s taste. If the two mountain realms ever formed an alliance by marriage, the in-laws would surely have plenty to talk about.

“On the floor,” Longming said.

“The floor’s great.” Zhuoxue nodded. “Keeps one grounded.”

The room wasn’t particularly spacious to begin with—already filled with a tea table, writing desk, shelves, a screen, and other furnishings. Probably not much different from the lodgings of royalty in the mortal world. Adding another bed would make it cramped and unsightly. Spreading the bedding on the floor was the most practical choice—it could be rolled up and stowed away when not in use.

Zhuoxue didn’t mind. If she couldn’t share the bed, she could settle for the next best thing. Back at Qiufeng Ridge, she’d slept in every corner imaginable—even a cave for solitary reflection counted as half her bedroom. Knowing when to stop was a demon’s virtue. She no longer hoped Longming would change her mind. As long as this white tiger didn’t kill her, that was blessing enough.

“B-but…” The little demon looked hesitantly at the fox, unsure how to lay out the bedding.

“What are you still standing there for? Want the attendant to throw the bedding over your head?” Longming said calmly.

Over the head? Zhuoxue thought, That sounds good.

If it’s over her head, someone has to lift it. In the mortal world, during wedding ceremonies, the bride’s head covering could only be removed by the groom—after that came the wedding chamber and the bridal night.

“Covering the head keeps you warm,” Zhuoxue remained motionless, mentally rattling off ideas like abacus beads.

Longming gave her an odd look, thinking this fox must have been so spooked by the pig demon that she was acting like a mortal—only feeling safe once completely bundled up in bedding.

“High King…” The little demon looked at Longming helplessly, on the verge of tears.

“Lay it out,” Longming said, eyes closing, her red pupils hidden beneath her lids.

The little demon held his breath and quickly unfolded the bedding.

A breeze brushed past Zhuoxue as she watched the little demon skillfully fold a corner of the bedding with a touch of magic, neatly avoiding her.

So the cover didn’t go over her head. And without that, Longming had no excuse to lift it. What a pity.

“High King, it’s done!” the little demon let out a long breath of relief. He quickly retreated to the door, patting his chest several times before he could calm down.

Outside, the night was still and deep. This bedchamber was in a remote part of the palace. With no visitors and even the insects and beasts silent, everything was perfectly quiet.

“Sleep.” Longming exhaled softly.

The candle on the distant desk suddenly went out, plunging the room into darkness.

With no other choice, Zhuoxue slowly shifted onto the bedding, smoothing out the folded corner, then changed into her beast form and curled up, resting her head on her tail. Her eyes were closed, but her heart pounded fast—she couldn’t sleep at all.

What kind of demon sleeps this early, anyway? It’s not like she’d drunk some ancient wine and passed out.

For demons, cultivation relies on the essence of sun and moon, and since moonlight energy is most potent at night, it’s the prime time for training. To waste the whole night sleeping would be to squander time and destroy one’s future.

Though Zhuoxue’s spiritual power was weak, she hadn’t always neglected cultivation. She had once tried earnestly, but no matter how hard she worked, she saw no results. Eventually, she gave up. So while others cultivated through the night, she played through it. Isn’t nurturing one’s spirit also a form of cultivation? If one is happy, isn’t that spiritual progress too?

She used to believe she simply lacked talent, born unsuited for cultivation. But now she began to wonder—could it be that the seal on the back of her neck was what hindered her all along?

The fox, curled in a fluffy ball, silently shifted back into her human form and stretched out her legs.

The young girl reached toward her nape. At that moment, the runes didn’t ache or burn, which somehow made her even more uneasy than when they acted up.

She moved her feet slightly, and the silver bells on her ankles chimed. Fortunately, the sound wasn’t sharp—more like a gentle stream, soft and clear, reminiscent of the mountain springs in Qiufeng Ridge.

The windowpane remained open, and moonlight slipped quietly into the room. Unable to sleep, the fox tossed and turned. Her skirt flipped up to her knees, and her pale legs, bathed in moonlight, gleamed like flawless jade.

Maybe she should try absorbing some moonlight again? What if she broke through this time?

She kicked her legs lightly. Jingle, jingle.

Suddenly, the chime stuttered. Zhuoxue’s eyes flew open, her lips trembling as she let out a muffled gasp.

From the soft couch, the white tiger demon lord’s silver hair spilled over the edge, silky strands winding around her feet. That hair—so fine yet tenacious—clung to her skin like taut bowstrings. Just like a blade, it could kill without warning. The silver strands wrapped tighter and tighter, like a bloodsucking vine, slicing into her skin. It hurt, yet she didn’t dare make a sound.

Eyes brimming with tears, Zhuoxue couldn’t fathom it. Why was this noble tiger demon so temperamental? One moment calm, the next turning violent. 

It really hurt—and she couldn’t tolerate pain at all.

The shimmering hair kept creeping upward around her knees, making her tense her feet, legs rendered completely immobile. It slid past her waist, coiling around her arms, binding her so tightly she resembled a figure from a mortal world shadow puppet play. Who said this was a tiger demon? This was clearly a spider woman, spinning a web with silver threads. Maybe only that starving old Madam Qian who once mistook the tiger demon for a goddess could’ve made such a mistake—and even then, she worshipped her for decades.

Zhuoxue bit her lip, thinking darkly, Is this tiger going back on her word? A promise broken is a sin worthy of divine retribution!

Tears streaked down her cheeks. No longer able to hold it in, she began to sob helplessly. “I bet… I bet you don’t even care about that old lover of yours. Looking at this face, how can you still bear to lay a hand on me?”

In the darkness, Longming spoke, her voice calm and indifferent. “Be quiet.”

What, so you’re going to hurt me and not even let me cry?

But Zhuoxue couldn’t bear the pain any longer. She opened her mouth wide, weeping in gasps, soaking the bedding with her tears in an uproarious mess.

Then, unexpectedly, the icy hair shifted, transforming into something like silver fish. The strands traced up her throat like delicate tendrils and slipped into her open mouth, tangling around her tongue.

The fox could no longer make a sound. Saliva and tears soaked into the demon lord’s hair, making the silver strands clump together. Her flushed eyes trembled as she strained to glance toward the couch, silently begging for mercy.

“Still moving?” Longming asked.

Zhuoxue couldn’t speak. Nor could she move. Her wet eyes blinked rapidly. So all this fuss was because of that? Just the sound of me tossing and turning?

“The silver bells on your ankles—” Longming sighed.“—have been ringing non-stop. Don’t move anymore.”

Zhuoxue thought, Fine, I won’t, and inwardly grumbled, At least untie me first so I can obey!

The damp silver hair gradually retreated from her mouth, leaving a glistening trail down her neck. Her arms and legs were finally freed, though the sting of pain lingered. Even so, she didn’t dare move now. She clenched her teeth, cupped her mouth with her hands, and lay completely still, muffling every sound into the bedding.

A long time passed. 

Then, a gentle wave of demonic energy swept over her back, silently soothing all her pain. The energy flowed through her meridians, cleansing her from head to toe. Her scratched skin healed instantly, even her bent and torn nails returned to normal.

“Even if I still think of my old acquaintance, I can lay a hand on you. There’s no one in this world who looks exactly like her.” Longming’s voice was hoarse, every word soaked in bone-deep yearning.

The pain gone, Zhuoxue whispered, barely audible, “I’m not moving anymore… Can I ask you one simple question?”

“Only one.”

“What did your old acquaintance look like? Was she a princess from the mortal world? How did you two meet?” she asked in one breath, then sucked in air quickly at the end.

In the silence, the tiger demon suddenly let out a low chuckle. “You sure know how to ask. If you hadn’t run out of breath, that ‘one question’ might’ve stretched to the heavens.”

Zhuoxue quickly shut her mouth tight again.

“A hundred years have passed. I suppose… it’s not unspeakable now.”

The fox turned back into her beast form, ears perked up high, careful not to jingle her ankle bells.

“When I first met her, she was about your age. The mortals called her Princess Jueguang.”