Ordered to Marry by the High King - Chapter 30

The horde of demons had dispersed, and Lingkong Mountain was now silent. With no more demons chattering nearby, whether she truly couldn’t hear or was only pretending, only Zhuoxue knew for sure. 

Zhuoxue sat still as a mountain, clutching the tree trunk. Even if someone kindly tried to persuade her now, she was sworn not to come down. She glanced at Longming with a smile, lazily swinging her bare feet a few times, her expression radiating with playful mischief—

Beg me.

Longming looked up at the fox in the tree, who appeared bold and spirited. She couldn’t quite figure out what gave her such confidence.

“You really can’t hear?” she asked calmly. “Or have you been slacking in your cultivation?”

That’s slander! Zhuoxue glared. She hadn’t neglected her practice even a bit these past two days. But she wouldn’t shoot herself in the foot. So instead, she casually pinched her earlobe and turned her head away, saying, “You must’ve skipped a meal—your voice sounds so weak.”

Her words were clearly barbed, and Longming immediately recognized it—this fox had lit a firecracker, and she herself had been the one to ignite it. Left with no choice, she softened her tone. “Come down. I wouldn’t want you to get accidentally hurt later.”

They had to go to the Yellow Spring Palace, no question about it—but not empty-handed.

Zhuoxue clutched the tree even tighter and said, “I’ve grown together with this tree.”

Longming looked up at her. “There are so many trees on Lingkong Mountain—why did you pick this one?”

Zhuoxue patted the old tree affectionately, like it was her close sister. “This one’s the tallest. The higher I sit, the farther I see.”

“You really won’t come down?” Longming asked her one last time.

Zhuoxue wouldn’t budge.

So Longming raised a hand, and a black mist materialized beside her out of nowhere. The mist coalesced into a human form—a living, breathing leopard.

Chunxi always came and went without a trace. No one knew where she usually hid, but she always appeared the moment she was called, never once shirking her duties.

Zhuoxue muttered inwardly, What now? This big tiger wants to bring in backup to teach me a lesson? The audacity.

“What are your orders, Master?” Chunxi bowed.

Zhuoxue eyed Longming suspiciously. Then she saw Longming turn around, her silver hair and robe catching a chill arc in the air, as cold and unapproachable as her next words.

“Cut the tree down,” Longming said calmly.

Zhuoxue, who had been lounging like her spine was boneless, suddenly sat upright and asked in shock, “Why cut the tree?”

She’d never had pity for even a chicken down in the village, let alone plants and trees. But in this moment, she and the ancient tree beneath her were as one. Longming wasn’t cutting the tree—she was clearly cutting her.

“Yes.”

Chunxi didn’t even double-check. Her face was expressionless as she suddenly flung out two curved blades, cold light gleaming along their edges.

True, a servant follows their master’s will. Whatever the master commands, the subordinate should not defy. But let’s face it—if master and servant walk through the same door, they must be birds of a feather.

Zhuoxue sighed to herself about the decay of the world and silently added Chunxi to her mental blacklist.

“Cut it,” Longming repeated.

“Spare the tree!” Zhuoxue shouted, but in her heart, she meant spare the fox. She immediately leapt gracefully from the tree, her figure drifting like celestial dust—pure white, ethereal. Her hair billowed behind her, now seeming to carry a touch more white, the opposite of Longming. Longming was a blemished white jade; Zhuoxue was ink-stained with frost. A few strands of silver were now faintly visible in her hair.

Chunxi, unmoved and emotionless, had yet to strike.

“This tree could grow sentient in a few more years,” Zhuoxue said, still shaken and eyeing the cold glint of the blades. “Spare it, and that’s better than building a towering pagoda.”

Half of what she said came from what Lanhui had nagged at her about in the past, and the other half she’d picked up from the mortal world. She’d mocked Longming before for parroting others—now here she was, borrowing a few words herself from Lanhui.

But the fox felt not the slightest shame. She appointed herself the local magistrate, secretly marking the tree as her territory, forbidding the white tiger from lighting a lamp.

“What use is a pagoda to me? I don’t believe in those things in the sky.” Longming scoffed lightly.

Preaching Buddhist towers to a demon—truly unreasonable.

Zhuoxue was honestly terrified of this big white tiger. How could she resort to force so quickly? Didn’t she worry that Zhuoxue might switch sides halfway and ally with the Nightmare Clan? Her eyes darted around as she gestured silently—weren’t they going to the Yellow Spring Palace? So were they leaving or not? Yet just as she gave the look, a sudden sharp whoosh rang out behind her, a cold flash sweeping past the corner of her eye like thunder on a clear day.

Zhuoxue shivered violently, her soul nearly fleeing her body. Thankfully, it wasn’t her who got hurt.

Under Chunxi’s twin blades, the ancient tree was even weaker than paper. A tree that had needed several people to encircle it was split clean in two in an instant, slowly torn apart from top to bottom, crashing to the ground right at Zhuoxue’s feet.

Every hair on her body stood on end. She dared not look down at the tree’s mangled remains, nor glance toward Chunxi, afraid the next blade would fall on her instead.

A tree split in half is still a tree. But a fox split in half—would no longer be a fox.

Though the blade had not struck her, she already felt as though she’d been torn open too. The self that now wandered the mortal world was but a feeble soul.

“W-warning shot?” Zhuoxue’s limbs went cold.

As soon as she spoke, a chilling wind swept over the back of her neck. This time, it wasn’t fear—it was something truly drawing near.

The fox inhaled sharply through her nose and, to her surprise, caught a whiff of faint ghostly energy. This scent—it was exactly like the waters of Forgetfulness: icy to the bone, laced with decay and death.

But this was Lingkong Mountain. No major incidents had been heard of lately. Where was the ghostly energy coming from?

Zhuoxue froze, holding her breath, palms clammy with sweat. Could it be that starving ghost from the other day?

Chunxi abruptly withdrew her blades and lunged forward barehanded. The next instant, a sharp wail shrieked into Zhuoxue’s ears—so piercing that it left her ears ringing.

“The ancient locust tree gathers ghost energy and bridges the living and dead,” Longming said calmly. “It’s the best vessel to imprison a water spirit of the Yellow Spring.”

So it wasn’t a demon, a ghost, or a monster—what had shrieked was a spirit still caught in chaos and confusion.

All things have spirits. The waters of the Yellow Spring were vast and boundless, and their water spirits countless. Capturing one likely wouldn’t raise alarm. Still, why had Longming hidden a Yellow Spring water spirit? It wasn’t a memento from an old friend—something to be fondled and reminisced over.

Such carelessness—if the Yellow Spring Palace found out, it could once again ignite a conflict between the Demon and Immortal realms.

Zhuoxue couldn’t make sense of it, but she did breathe a sigh of relief. So Longming had truly meant to cut down the tree, not her.

“And what are you going to do with it now?” she asked.

“Borrow it. We’ll use it to slip along the River of Forgetfulness into the Yellow Spring Palace. Without this water spirit, you and I wouldn’t last even a breath in the water before melting into bones,” Longming said, extending a hand toward Chunxi.

That water spirit, clear as glass, obediently slid from Chunxi’s fingertip and dropped into Longming’s palm. It was only the size of a red bean. Looking closer, it had limbs, and faint facial features could just be made out—its expression dazed and innocent.

Zhuoxue leaned in to get a better look, but before she could see clearly, Longming closed her palm.

“I thought you were unwilling to leave,” Longming said as she placed the spirit into a brocade pouch, looking at Zhuoxue with a hint of a smile. “And yet, down from the tree you came.”

Zhuoxue grumbled inwardly—it was because someone scared her into it. She secretly wiped her sweaty hand on her silk skirt and looked down at the poor old tree by her feet. “When the high king invites you personally, once isn’t enough—you gotta go twice.”

“Twice?” Longming sneered. “I won’t be joining you the next time.”

“Where are we going?” Zhuoxue looked into the distance.

Last time, she’d been clinging to Granny Qian’s back and hadn’t even seen the road clearly—just remembered burrowing underground, rocks cracking and earth splitting open along the way. When the ghostly aura reached its peak, that was the Yellow Spring Palace.

“Follow me,” Longming said, suddenly grabbing Zhuoxue’s wrist. She leaned in and said seriously, “Once we arrive at the Yellow Spring Palace, don’t wander around. Even ten of me might not be able to save you.”

“Ten is too many. One is enough.” Zhuoxue shivered at the breath that brushed past her ear.

“Chunxi, go scout ahead,” Longming ordered.

As soon as she spoke, Chunxi turned into black mist again and dispersed. Perhaps her true form wasn’t a leopard after all—but smoke.

Zhuoxue gave her wrist a couple of quick flicks, but Longming’s fingers wouldn’t budge. “How could I even get lost?” she muttered.

Longming loosened her grip slightly, her teasing expression gone. A stern, imposing look filled her eyes. “This time is no game. Stay close to me.” She reached out and gently brushed the back of Zhuoxue’s neck, where a hidden rune lay.

It wasn’t an affectionate gesture, yet it made Zhuoxue’s fingers tremble and her limbs go weak.

“You…” Longming seemed to sense something, paused briefly, then withdrew her hand.

Zhuoxue flushed red. She hadn’t expected to be so easily flustered, even if Longming hadn’t meant anything by it. She suddenly wished to return to her fox form—then she could dig herself a hole and bury her shame right there.

A fox may be embarrassed, but a fox never admits it.

Eyes lowered, Zhuoxue took a deep breath to suppress the strange flutter in her chest, and said stiffly, “The wind on Lingkong Mountain is really cold, colder than Qiufeng Ridge. So cold I’m shivering. Must be because I’ve been shedding too much fur lately—doesn’t keep me warm anymore.”

Longming rubbed her fingers together, brushing off the lingering warmth, and asked steadily, “Did you remember everything I said just now?”

Thinking she’d successfully changed the subject, Zhuoxue held her head high and said, “Just lead the way. I want to see who I was in my past life—apparently someone impressive enough to nearly become an immortal.”

Actually, Longming was also a little curious—and a little skeptical.

The Heavenly Dao deemed the Immortal Clan the upper realm—superior. Only those with deep karma and great merit could ascend. If one accumulated enough virtue, they could also enter Kunlun Yaojing.

Even with such strict selection, hearts could still change. Even pure white silk could be stained—like Tianji, who was no longer a gentle or humble soul.

***

Fly ninety thousand miles upward, and you’d reach Kunlun Yaojing. Dig thousands of feet downward, and you’d arrive at the winding path of the Yellow Spring.

They passed through whistling yellow sands and jagged rocks, descending what seemed like the edge of a cliff. Eventually, they reached a misty ravine where deep waters flowed. From the shadows came chilling wails and ghostly howls. Longming finally stopped.

“This is the springhead of the Yellow Spring,” she said, bending down to scoop a handful of water. It flowed through her fingers without leaving a trace of moisture.

She gently blew on her palm, dispersing the lingering ghostly aura, and added, “I’ll divide the water spirit in half. You and I will each swallow one part. That way, we can ride the current directly into the Yellow Spring Palace. Without the water spirit, we wouldn’t last even a breath in this water before dissolving.”

Zhuoxue was shocked to see Longming’s hand still dry after touching the water. She tucked her skirt and crouched to scoop up some herself.

But as soon as her fingers submerged, she recoiled in pain—it felt as though a thousand blades were slicing her skin. No wonder the ghosts submerged in this water wailed so miserably. It really wasn’t something ordinary beings could endure. Soaking too long in it would probably dissolve even the bones, leaving not even dust behind.

But…

Zhuoxue suddenly looked up and asked in confusion, “That tiny thing can even be divided?”

Longming took the red-bean-sized water spirit from the silk pouch and blew on it lightly. It immediately split into two drops of water.

The spirit didn’t cry out—it simply turned into two identical little figures, their faces equally bewildered.

Zhuoxue stood up quickly and poked at them with her finger, nudging them this way and that in delight. “So they really can be split like this! Doesn’t that mean there are thousands of these things in the Yellow Spring?”

“Exactly.” Longming nodded. “Eat it.”

Zhuoxue gaped. It had a face—eyes, nose, everything! How was she supposed to swallow that?

Before she could convince herself, her chin was caught, her lips forced open, and something cold slipped into her mouth—it was half of the water spirit.

So tiny, it pressed on her tongue like a grain of sand.

She clamped her mouth shut, afraid it would slip down her throat by accident.

“Swallow it,” Longming said, her fingers still pinching Zhuoxue’s cheek. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

Bracing herself, Zhuoxue swallowed. The moment it dissolved, a deep chill spread through her waist and stomach. She curled up in the cold, like she’d swallowed three pounds of snow—her breath came out icy, no longer like that of a living creature.

Longming let go and swallowed the other half herself. Instantly, a dark aura clouded her face, full of deathly intent.

Zhuoxue stared, momentarily unsure of who she was looking at.

Those crimson eyes grew even colder, malevolent energy swirling around her as if defying the peace of the world. Fortunately, Longming still looked striking—nothing like a terrifying demon. But under her eyes, the twin crescent marks remained, betraying her true nature: half-demon, half-ghost, walking the line between light and shadow, accompanied by ghostly beasts and flying dragons.

Zhuoxue snapped out of it and looked fearfully at the Yellow Spring water, unsure what she herself now looked like. But the water showed no reflection. Just as she turned to ask, she felt a push at her back and, with a splash, fell into the water.

Zhuoxue couldn’t swim and hated getting her fur wet. If not for trying to break through her cultivation, she never would’ve entered the water. She choked down a mouthful of Forgetfulness River water and scrambled to grab onto Longming in a panic.

When Longming pulled away, she clung right back.

She tilted her head up and pressed close, trying to steal a breath of vitality from Longming, and mumbled, “I’m going to drown, Longming, I’m going to drown!”