Ordered to Marry by the High King - Chapter 34

First, the words Yunjing, dark as night, appeared—twisting like phantoms, flickering and shifting. Then came a blank page. The ink halted there.

Zhuoxue’s eyelid twitched, her heart racing, as though she could already glimpse the truth of her past life—everything laid bare. She quickly flipped backward through the pages. The sheets rustled like whirling leaves, not the flutter of butterfly wings, but the spin of turbine blades. But this life ledger was thick and heavy. Afraid of missing something, she couldn’t immediately reach the end.

Where were the words? Where had they gone?

Her eyes swept over the pages, not daring to blink for fear that missing just a stroke or two of ink might mean missing her entire past life.

The thick life ledger was nearly at its end when Zhuoxue, completely disheartened, was about to skim the last few dozen pages and give up—when suddenly, she caught sight of a crimson thread.

The thread extended from her palm, as though pulled from her very flesh. On closer look, it throbbed faintly, in rhythm with her heartbeat.

The thread was a dark, blood-like red, winding its way toward the life ledger, connecting to a page near the back.

Zhuoxue hurried to turn the pages. As she flipped them one by one, the thread, previously pressed flat, was freed and floated gently upward.

The page linked to the red thread was completely covered in dense black ink. The words had originally been jumbled and overlapping, but the moment the page was turned, they crawled back into place like insects or ants. The ink characters rearranged themselves in proper order, and the writing became neat and clear.

Zhuoxue stared in a daze, stroking the inked words on the page, then rubbed her eyes in disbelief. The words hadn’t changed. She hadn’t imagined it.

“Shuyun, Zhaoyu Palace, 2nd Cycle of Tianqu, Year of the Boar, 16th of the Lotus Month, at the third quarter of the Dragon Hour—mortal birth, named Wanqi Jueguang.”

Her eyes grew hot, and she hastily flipped through several more pages. They remained blank. Only Jueguang’s life was visible to her.

At the other end of the red thread were the words “Jueguang,” but before she could take a closer look, the thread slowly shortened and vanished, dissolving in the center of her palm.

She was Jueguang?

An inexplicable sorrow welled up inside Zhuoxue. Tears brimmed from her burning eyes. Her chaotic thoughts finally stilled, as though dust had settled.

She was not some cat or dog from within the palace walls a hundred years ago, not a maidservant, nor anyone else. She was Jueguang.

No matter how great the differences, no matter how inconceivable it seemed, she was Jueguang.

Jueguang’s life took up only a few pages, yet those few pages chronicled her entire existence.

The life ledger recorded the year, month, and place of each joy and misfortune. Every minor illness and major disaster was meticulously written. Each sickness shortened her lifespan—never lengthened it. Even the merit Jueguang had accumulated in her lifetime was briefly noted. Saving stray cats and dogs on the road counted as merit. Rewarding servants counted. Sharing pastries from the table with beggars—also merit. Yet these merits added together were nowhere near enough to attain immortality. Could it be that Jueguang’s path to transcendence included virtue from a past life?

But on the very first page of Jueguang’s life, not even a so-called “prologue” could be found.

Zhuoxue felt that something was off. Upon closer examination, she noticed the good deeds were spaced far apart across the years, as if a large portion had been deliberately erased.

Lanhui had once said that a life ledger at the Yellow Spring Palace had been tragically destroyed by fire. This had to be the one. Clearly, Tianji and the others had gone to great lengths to conceal Jueguang’s accumulated merit.

Unfortunately, the other pages in the life ledger remained blank. Zhuoxue couldn’t see anyone else’s life story, nor could she find any clues in those who had once been connected to Jueguang.

Just a few pages—her life was truly paper-thin.

Zhuoxue kept flipping back and forth but never dared to look closely at the final page. Her soul felt adrift. She couldn’t yet fully accept that Jueguang was herself. It was as if her spirit had split in two, each half destined for a different end.

But she couldn’t divide her soul. The ink-black words in the life ledger constantly reminded her—

In others’ mouths, Jueguang was a living immortal, known for her kindness and charity. She was multi-talented, wise and well-read. A hundred years had passed in the mortal world, and only one such figure had ever emerged. She wasn’t just rare—she was revered as the phoenix and qilin incarnate.

Zhuoxue pondered: she and Jueguang only shared a vague resemblance—just the same two eyes and one mouth.

No wonder that day Longming had asked if she could play the zither or wield a sword. She must’ve seen Jueguang’s shadow in her.

For some reason, Zhuoxue’s thoughts turned chaotic again. A strange guilt surfaced. That immortal-like princess turned out to be her—wasn’t that a bit of a letdown for the people’s admiration? Even a waste of Jueguang’s hard-earned virtue?

But there’s a saying in the mortal world: “Gold is never pure, and no one is perfect.” Even an immortal-like princess could not be absolutely flawless.

In that instant, Zhuoxue no longer felt ashamed. A new thought floated to the top of her mind—Would Longming’s longing suddenly shatter into disappointment?

Longming, you’re truly in trouble now. Finally, it’s your turn.

The fox wore a grin one moment and a pained frown the next. Gritting her teeth, she finally looked at the last line.

“Plagued by illness, body weakened. 4th Cycle of Tianqu, Year of the Snake, 20th of the Orchid Month. Life ended at Zhaoyu Palace.”

Just one short line, yet it was a sharp blade, carving a bloody wound into Zhuoxue’s heart.

The events of a century past suddenly poured down like a torrential rain, soaking her to the bone.

Tears welled at the corners of her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. These tears were like glue, binding her tightly to the name “Jueguang,” wiping away the soul-deep split that had never truly existed.

Groggy and dazed, she braced herself against the desk. In the distance, she faintly heard the clamoring of carriages and the roar of voices.

***

Jueguang, born in the sixth month, was just like a tuberose in late bloom—pure and graceful, fragrant and enchanting. She was so unblemished, so passionate, that she was adored by all from an early age. 

While other flowers bloomed in daylight, she blossomed resplendently in the night, and so very few had ever seen her true self. She only let others see the best parts of her. Day after day, she spoke and acted with the utmost care, walking as if on thin ice. Even the harmless flashes of her genuine nature were buried deep within her heart.

At that time, in the streets, someone was whipping a caged white tiger, bloodied and battered. Around them, a crowd roared with approval.

“What’s happening over there?” asked Jueguang, dressed in plain clothes on an incognito outing, her voice low as she turned to her maid.

The maid went to find out and returned, saying, “A hunter with the surname Sun caught a white tiger in the mountains last night. He says it’s vicious and is trying to break its spirit with the whip.”

Jueguang frowned. “That tiger’s already on the verge of death. This isn’t taming—it’s abuse.”

“I’ll go stop it right away,” the maid offered.

Though the white tiger was barely breathing, it still glared with rage. It lunged at the iron cage, biting the bars with teeth sharper than blades, snapping one of the metal rods clean off.

The maid faltered, hesitating.

Jueguang took out a pouch of money and handed it to the maid with a gentle voice. “Buy the white tiger.”

“But… but it…” The maid shivered.

The tiger, after a brief pause, threw itself violently at the cage again, shaking it side to side.

“Even if we buy it, what then?” the maid asked. “It’s covered in wounds. It won’t survive even if we release it.”

“Take it back to the palace,” Jueguang said as she slowly stepped forward.

The crowd scattered in fear of the tiger, but Jueguang approached calmly, without a trace of panic.

“It might hurt Your Highness,” the maid said in a trembling voice.

The hunter sneered and waved his whip. “That beast hasn’t eaten all day. It’s starving. If you don’t want to die, back off!”

The maid, though afraid of the tiger, couldn’t tolerate such insolence. Weighing the pouch in her hand, she said coldly, “My lady wants to buy the white tiger. I suggest you choose your next words carefully.”

The hunter opened the pouch and stared, stunned, at the gold and silver inside. “I was out of line… but this… this is far too much.”

“My lady is giving it to you,” the maid said, following closely behind Jueguang, still anxious. “But if you keep abusing animals like this, don’t expect to keep enjoying a good life.”

The hunter forced a smile and nodded repeatedly.

The white tiger bared its teeth again and bit at the cage.

“Beast! How dare you!” the hunter raised his whip to strike.

But before it could fall, the maid caught it mid-air with her bare hand.

Jueguang stood before the cage, leaning in slightly, and said with a furrowed brow, “You’ve suffered. Let me take you back and treat your wounds—would that be all right?”

The tiger, almost as if it understood her, paused.

The maid hired a cart, and the tiger, cage and all, was loaded on. It never lashed out again afterward.

Later, as Jueguang and the maid walked away, someone in the crowd murmured, “That veiled woman… could she be… Princess Jueguang?!”

“She must be! Princess Jueguang can speak to animals—she tamed that white tiger!”

The hunter’s legs gave out beneath him. He fell to his knees with a thud. “How could I have spoken such crude words and committed such cruelty? I’ve not only offended the ears of Princess Jueguang, I’ve tainted her eyes!”

***

Zhuoxue returned to herself, tears dripping onto the life ledger. Thankfully, the ink did not smudge, and the watermarks quickly disappeared.

She gently touched the words “life lost.” The joys and sorrows of a century past filled her chest to the brim. Every joy, every anger, every sorrow and delight—each was real. She truly was Jueguang.

Suddenly, a new scene of light appeared before her eyes. It was no longer a market street, but the palace, filled with magnificent columns and ornate beams.

***

It was Jueguang, rising from her sickbed, insisting on sitting by the window to bask in the sunlight. She coughed weakly, squinting at the vermillion palace walls. A cat lay sprawled on the glazed roof tiles, suddenly rolling over to reveal a snowy white belly.

A palace maid stood beside her, trembling, clearly afraid of catching the plague, her face tightly covered with a cloth.

The white tiger lay silently by Jueguang’s feet, looking up at her quietly.

Jueguang suddenly smiled and stepped barefoot onto the tiger’s back. The white jade lily of the valley on the red string at her ankle gave a soft jingle.

“Your Highness, it’s time for your medicine,” the maid said.

The wrist that Jueguang raised had become skin and bones. She took the bowl, lowered her head, and asked, “Do you know how to weave bamboo?”

The maid hesitated. “I can weave simple things. What would Your Highness like?”

Jueguang gently blew on the medicine in her spoon. Her gaze sparkled, lively as a final gleam before death. With a bright smile, she said, “Can you make a cat? I heard long ago that tigers once learned from cats. I want to make one for Hanxing to play with.”

The white tiger scoffed, closing its eyes.

The maid stood there stunned. She had served Princess Jueguang for ten years. In all that time, the princess had studied diligently every day. As a child, she had never flown kites, never played with toy doves, not even with bamboo grasshoppers. And now…

She was asking if the maid could make a toy cat.

Was this truly not her final burst of clarity before death?

The palace maid forgot her fear. She even stopped covering her face with the cloth and, with tears in her eyes, said, “Your Highness, wait here a moment. I’ll go fetch some bamboo strips.”

Jueguang quietly sipped her medicine. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the white tiger feigning sleep, and gently rested her pale toes on its large head.

The white tiger opened its eyes and yawned.

“I never asked,” Jueguang said, “was your home once filled with green hills and clear waters?”

After a long pause, the white tiger let out a low howl.

Jueguang understood and smiled wistfully. In a soft voice, she said, “No mountains, only water? How strange. I always thought white tigers belonged in the mountains.”

For it was Wugou River—and naturally, Wugou had no towering peaks, only endless water as far as the eye could see. The white tiger didn’t explain this, but Zhuoxue immediately grasped the deeper meaning behind its call.

So Jueguang truly could speak with beasts—even as Zhuoxue drifted into memory, she heard everything as clearly as if living her past.

Jueguang continued, “There wouldn’t be such tall walls at sea. The sky must feel more open. You can come and go as you please, do whatever you like.”

The white tiger said nothing.

After finishing her medicine, Jueguang set the silver bowl aside and folded her arms atop the window sill. Gazing at the sky, she said, “If there were no restraints, no responsibilities… even grass and trees would grow wild and free. I want to live like that in my next life.”

A little while later, the maid returned, panting, holding the bamboo strips. Smiling, she said, “Your Highness, if it doesn’t come out well, please don’t be upset.”

“Just weave it,” Jueguang replied. “It’s for Hanxing anyway—a tiger wouldn’t know good from bad.”

Jueguang truly seemed like a different person, lit with a brightness like the final flare of a candle. Even her demeanor was livelier than usual.

The maid held back tears as she lowered her head and wove in silence for a long time. She wasn’t very skilled—every mistake meant starting over, and after several tries, her fingertips turned red.

Jueguang didn’t rush her. She just watched quietly without saying a word.

At last, with the final strip woven in, the maid held it up like a treasure. “Your Highness, the little cat is finished!”

Jueguang lifted the bamboo cat to examine it. Something felt off—it didn’t really look like a cat. It looked more like… a fox. Slender limbs, a big tail, and even the snout looked too long. If not a fox, what else could it be?

Jueguang placed the bamboo “cat” on the white tiger’s head and laughed. “Hanxing, this little thing is for you. One day, you can carry it home in your mouth—but remember to take it as your teacher. Don’t go turning the heavens upside down.”

The white tiger let it pass from one ear out the other, unmoving, as if it were simply wearing a hat.

Jueguang laughed for a while, and then fell silent—so silent she seemed to have become one with the heavens.

“Your Highness?” the maid called softly.

Jueguang, still gazing at the tiger by her feet, said, “If I die… whether you return to the mountains or the sea, don’t live as I did. Don’t constantly restrain yourself. Even the most careful schemes can’t see through a person’s true heart.”

***

It was as if waking from a long dream—Zhuoxue trembled all over and suddenly returned to herself.

By sheer accident, she had become a fox, just as she once wished in her past life.

The Jueguang that others saw was exactly the Jueguang she wanted them to see. She was like a bamboo shoot wrapped in a thousand layers—only she knew the purest yearning at her core.

That’s why she was Jueguang. And Jueguang had become her.

Zhuoxue opened and closed the life ledger again and again. Before her eyes, the same words repeated endlessly.

She found bitter amusement in it all, and thought to herself, Longming, you’re in trouble now.

Your dead first love has returned.