Ordered to Marry by the High King - Chapter 18

How could the chicken farmers not covet her fur? Every time they saw her, all they wanted was to skin her alive.

Longming lay on her side on the bed, her silver hair cascading like a cold spring. She stared unblinkingly at the fox by the window, her gaze dimming slightly. Even in the darkness of the netherworld, she could see things hidden in shadow with perfect clarity—let alone the fox’s darting, evasive glances.

Such a little creature. Unable to conceal even the slightest ripple of emotion—everything showed on her face. Even her pretended obedience was laced with the untamed willfulness of one unchastened by heaven’s law.

So spirited. So pure.

The fox watched Longming without expression, though her heart was already burning with anxiety.

Why hadn’t she replied yet? Even a casual answer would be enough—she just needed a foothold to shamelessly bargain her way into staying.

After a while, the fox said, “High King, you’re the strongest and most magnificent demon I’ve ever met. With you around, even the sky could fall and I wouldn’t be afraid.”

Longming let out a light snort, thinking, Just a fox. “Unforgettable glossy fur, is it? I’d say it’s your unforgettable glib tongue.”

The fox gave a dry laugh. “If it can slip into my lord’s heart, then smooth talk has its value.”

“Then stay,” Longming said, lifting her hand slightly to tap the edge of the bed. “I wouldn’t want you frightened out of your wits by morning.”

Zhuoxue was stunned, her store of clever tricks completely unused. That was it? Permission granted—had she really smoothed her way into Longming’s heart?

It didn’t sound like a joke. Her steps grew light as she approached the bed, and in a single leap, she landed squarely on the mattress. But she didn’t dare overstep. She curled up neatly at the foot of the bed and clamped her teeth onto the tip of her own tail—just in case she talked in her sleep.

If this didn’t count as sharing a bed, what did? They simply hadn’t shared a pillow yet. Truly, the bolder the fox, the faster affection grew.

If Longming didn’t feel anything for her, she wouldn’t have allowed her to stay.

The room fell into silence again. The tiger didn’t move, so the fox didn’t move. Within the space, it was as if no living creature existed.

At last, the silver-haired tiger demon closed her eyes, her crimson pupils vanishing into the dark, her aura settling completely.

Half-asleep, Zhuoxue drifted into dreams. But instead of a peach blossom paradise, she found herself once again in the bustling royal city of the human world.

She didn’t yet find the recurring, oddly similar dreams strange—she only wandered dully, wondering what it was she was meant to be doing.

She heard someone telling a story and realized she was in a teahouse. But unlike before, the teahouse was lavish: gold and silver vessels were laid out before her, plates piled with all kinds of delicate pastries—even the flaky cakes were exquisitely crafted like never before.

Looking down, she saw a white tiger dozing at her feet, head resting on crossed paws in an utterly peaceful pose, completely different from its usual swaggering self.

The teahouses of the royal city were indeed far superior to those in small towns—even the storytellers were more vivid and captivating. This one wasn’t talking about mundane family matters, but grand tales: ruthless heroines, Daoist immortals… From the Heavenly Palace above to the Underworld below, they spoke of the divide between immortals and demons, between the living and the dead.

As she listened, it felt like there was another dream within the dream. She followed the storyteller’s voice, journeying through the Nine Provinces.

Then a guard in black robes hurried over and said something she couldn’t hear.

Zhuoxue saw a silver spoon fall and clatter to the ground, waking the white tiger with a lazy blink.

The woman who dropped the spoon stood up in a panic. Above her embroidered shoes, several loops of red cord were tied, with white jade lilies of the valley hanging from them.

It was Jueguang, the woman from her previous dreams.

But before Jueguang could leave, armed assassins burst in. She rushed to climb out the window, only to have her skirt caught in the jaws of the white tiger.

That usually docile tiger tore into the attackers with savage fury, shredding them into a bloody mess.

The teahouse erupted into chaos, with patrons shouting as they rushed for the exits. The shopkeeper and waiters had long since vanished, nowhere to be found. The guards seized the opportunity to capture the remaining intruders alive. The white tiger crouched low, calmly licking its paw—its claws drenched in fresh blood.

Someone called out, “Hanxing.”

There was no response. Only the white tiger, mid-lick, lifted its eyes slightly. Hanxing must be the tiger’s name.

Jueguang spoke again. “Thank you for protecting me. But please… don’t do that again. If others see you like this, crazed by bloodlust, I won’t be able to keep you with me.” A soft sigh followed. “With guards around, I won’t be hurt. So be at ease.”

The white tiger lowered its emerald eyes again, as if it didn’t understand—or perhaps simply didn’t care—and leisurely resumed licking its paw.

…

The next morning, Zhuoxue yawned, catching a glimpse of the empty bed. She jolted fully awake.

The binding charm must’ve been lifted—otherwise, she wouldn’t have even been able to wake up. If Longming had taken just a few steps away, she would’ve been torn apart.

Zhuoxue shifted into human form, calmly tidying her hair while scanning the room. As the mortal world wisely says: Know yourself and know your enemy, and you will never be defeated.

She’d been to Lingkong Mountain before, but never had the chance to explore the mountain lord’s bedchamber. Now that Longming wasn’t around, it would be a shame not to look around more.

When Zhuoxue was timid, she was more cowardly than a speck of dust—but when bold, she was bold enough to shake the sky.

She saw that Longming’s chambers held numerous calligraphy scrolls and paintings. The writing was graceful, the artwork vivid and lifelike. If it were her, she’d probably leave behind nothing but a dark pawprint.

She rummaged through boxes and drawers for a while, but soon grew bored. Just as she was about to give up, she unexpectedly spotted something tucked deep inside a cabinet. A small string of something, mostly hidden beneath fine silk. She couldn’t tell what it was.

Zhuoxue pricked up her ears, listening for any sounds outside. Then, gathering her courage, she gently lifted the silk and peeled back one corner—only to freeze in astonishment.

The red cord was bright, freshly dyed, and vivid as if just pulled from the vat. Strung on it were pieces of flawless white jade, as luminous and smooth as if carved from a sliver of moonlight. Each bell-shaped lily of the valley was identical. Hollow inside, but without clappers.

Without thinking, Zhuoxue flicked herself on the forehead. She squeezed her eyes shut. Her two fingers pressed near her brow, her touch softening mid-motion—afraid of hurting herself.

It did hurt a little. So it wasn’t a dream within a dream.

The white jade in her hand had been handled often; it was warm, its carved edges blurred. It had clearly been fondled and polished until a glossy patina had formed.

She felt a little lost. Longming had never mentioned a red cord with white jade—it couldn’t just be something she dreamed up by chance, could it? Could the dream not be a dream, just as she’d suspected from the start? Had she not finished drinking that forgetfulness soup?

(T/N: The forgetfulness soup is what you’d usually read as Meng Po soup. It is a drink given in the Underworld when you die to make you forget about your past life in preparation for reincarnation.)

She was supposed to be the audience, listening to a tale—yet somehow she was in the tale. Then who was she, really? She couldn’t be Jueguang, could she? There wasn’t the slightest resemblance between them.

In a daze, Zhuoxue heard rustling from outside. She hurriedly returned the silk to the cabinet and tiptoed to the door.

The gathering of demons wasn’t over yet. Some had left the mountain yesterday, and new guests were arriving today. The banquet was in full swing. Demons filled every seat, toasting and laughing without end.

Zhuoxue glanced toward the great hall, wondering if Longming was once again sitting there all alone. But what about Lanhui? Had Lanhui arrived?

The hall doors were shut tight, piquing one’s curiosity. The strange, inexplicable patterns carved into them were surely mandala flowers—meant to cloud the mind.

The demon lord from Jueming Ridge was still around. He was still thinking about yesterday’s game of leaf cards. When he spotted the fox, he eagerly waved and called out, “Fox, come! We didn’t finish yesterday—let’s keep going today.”

Zhuoxue was distracted, eyes fixed longingly on the closed doors, but not wanting to offend a powerful demon, she forced herself to take a breath and reluctantly strolled over.

Kunyu pulled a freshly carved set of leaf cards from her sleeve and grinned. “Don’t bother looking—your master is busy chatting with another demon.”

Zhuoxue felt a pang of unease. That “other demon”—could it be Lanhui? She took the new jade-carved cards absentmindedly and murmured, “How about we try something different today?”

Kunyu, half her face hidden behind a skull mask that gave her an eerie and ghostly look, still carried herself with confidence. She nodded and asked, “What kind of different?”

“Add wagers. The winner takes the whole pot,” said Zhuoxue, reaching into her sleeve. After groping around for a while and coming up empty, she gave a theatrical little “Oh no!” and added, “This little fox has nothing to her name—I can only wager my entire household.”

Her “entire household,” of course, included Lanhui and Qiufeng Ridge.

Kunyu looked surprised. “That’s a big bet. I suppose I’ll have to take this seriously, so I can win you away from Longming.”

Zhuoxue feigned reluctance, while inwardly praying to the heavens. She’d never staged a fake loss before, but this time, she had to succeed. Failure was not an option.

Losing the game meant gaining another path forward. If Longming changed her mind and no longer cared about their shared bed, Zhuoxue could run off with Lanhui to Kunyu. They were all great demons. Kunyu surely wouldn’t be much weaker than Longming and likely had the strength to deal with the pig demon—and maybe even break Zhuoxue’s seal.

“My lord, you just learned how to play leaf cards yesterday,” Zhuoxue said, head down as she shuffled the cards. “But I, this little fox, am a battle-hardened veteran—I’m not one to lose so easily.”

She carefully stacked the cards, slipping the good ones into Kunyu’s hand on the sly. Still, she couldn’t make her favoritism too obvious—other demons would grow suspicious. Fortunately, she had spent plenty of time in the mortal world, where she’d learned a great many tricks. She didn’t even need to use her demon power to pull off a perfect sleight of hand.

“You sly little fox,” said Kunyu, shaking her head as she flipped her palm and pulled out a lantern carved from white bone. “This tool is called the ‘Bound Flame.’ It can trap a wandering soul inside, shielding it from the pursuit of Underworld agents—and the soul can endure within it for ten thousand years, unextinguished.”

The other demons at the table also began laying down their wagers: gold, silver, jewels, and powerful artifacts like the bone lantern.

Zhuoxue’s eyes sparkled with awe. This was her first time seeing real magical tools. It was all Qiufeng Ridge’s fault for being dirt poor. Even Lanhui didn’t have a proper magical artifact to her name.

Each one of these items was a treasure.

The fox salivated with longing but forced herself to pinch her own leg. No matter how tempting the treasures, she couldn’t be swayed.

In no time, the cards were dealt. Some demons beamed with delight; others frowned in misery.

Kunyu’s eyes gleamed as she spread her fan of leaf cards in one hand, hiding her face behind them. “With a hand like this, I’m going to sweep the floor with you all.”

Zhuoxue thought, Perfect, but said aloud, “Such luck, my lord? I’d like to see what this sweeping defeat feels like.”

Just as the first card was about to be played, the hall door creaked open in the distance.

Zhuoxue spun her head in panic, trying to see who was coming out.

It wasn’t Lanhui. It was Longming, walking alongside a woman clad in an ornate emerald gown. Her face was half-veiled, and her dress was adorned with layered feathers that shimmered like peacock plumes. She moved with a grace that made her seem ethereal, almost like she’d transcended the Mortal Realm.

Kunyu glanced at her with disdain. “That’s the mistress of Huangliang Dream Market, also known in the mortal world as the Ghost Market. Huang Liangmeng comes from the Feather Clan. She’s got some skills and ties to all three realms. Her information is sharper than anyone’s.”

“I’ll start with this: my surname is not Huang,” said Liangmeng, her ears twitching.