Ordered to Marry by the High King - Chapter 35

The fragments of her past life, all tangled and countless, had been trapped in a bubble of illusion—nothing more than a dream in this lifetime. Those joys and sorrows once etched into her bones, sworn never to be forgotten, would dissolve like a receding tide when the dream ended, leaving only boundless longing.

Zhuoxue felt the bitterness, but not the pain—for winter had passed, and she was living in the present. And yet, it’s always the one left behind who suffers most—left to carry the weight of remembering Jueguang, whose life bloomed and faded like an ephemeral flower, across an endless stretch of years.

She wasn’t in pain, and in a way, her wish had even come true. Perhaps the only one truly hurting… was Longming.

To Longming, those five years, though brief, had been vibrant and dazzling—like catching a whiff of tuberose in the night, intoxicating and soul-searing, carved deep into the bones. If that weren’t the case, how else could Longming have rubbed the white jade lily of the valley ornament so often the carvings had become smoothed?

Now that memories of two lifetimes had merged, Zhuoxue felt a strange discomfort in her heart.

Once, she could have stood outside it all and judged Longming’s affections freely. But now that she knew the truth of those years, she found herself unexpectedly speaking in Longming’s defense.

Her thoughts wandered, flitting through a century of time, yet with a single blink, she returned to the present moment.

She no longer wished to look at that final line of the life ledger. She feared the tears that would rise, the sorrow that would take hold—so she simply turned her eyes away.

Clues…

There had to be clues.

Longming had been here several times and had read through Jueguang’s life ledger. The sea of inked words couldn’t possibly be visible to the King of the Underworld alone. These life ledgers piled high around her. Longming had no thread of fate linking her to them—there was no way she’d found this one by pure luck.

Zhuoxue reasoned: there must be some trick, some key, that would allow one to read through the entire register unhindered.

Was it fire? Or water?

Cradling the life ledger, Zhuoxue paced over to the ghostly blue flame. She let it smoke over the book for quite some time, but no characters appeared. After a while, she simply used a little spell and summoned a ripple of clear water, submerging the life ledger within.

The book remained untouched by fire and unharmed by water. She racked her brain, but nothing revealed the hidden text.

Could the answer lie with the Underworld King’s official desk?

Zhuoxue turned and walked over to it for a closer look. Her eyes began to ache from the strain, but still she found nothing mysterious.

Her invisibility spell would only last an hour. She had to move quickly.

On the desk sat a tall stack of books and scrolls, with a paperweight and an inkstone on either side. The pen rack held only a single brush. Everything was neat and orderly—except for one object: a ceremonial tablet, lying askew in the center.

Could it be… the tablet?

But hadn’t it just flown off suddenly, as if tugged by some unseen force? If she reached for it now, who knew whether she’d even be able to lift it.

Zhuoxue rolled the life ledger up and tucked it tightly under her belt. After flexing her wrists a few times to loosen up, she calmly reached out. In her heart, she muttered a prayer, hoping this tablet would be sensible and not suddenly morph into some hideous demon and chew on her like a teething toy.

Once with courage, twice with fatigue.

Her fingertips trembled as she smacked the edge of the tablet with a soft thwap—and it stayed still. It didn’t go flying again.

Relieved, her hand steadied, and she grasped it right away.

But no matter how hard she pulled, the tablet wouldn’t budge.

It was as if it had been nailed to the table, grown into the very grain of the Underworld King’s desk—it would take an axe to split it loose.

Panting from exertion, Zhuoxue looked around. No one was nearby. So what if she sat in the Underworld King’s square-backed chair?

Slowly, she lowered herself into the seat—and the moment she did, she felt a cold force gathering at her feet, as though countless spirits were crawling closer. The chill rushed up her body, making her shiver. Her skin grew pale, and a thin layer of frost began to form across it.

This wasn’t good. Were the ghosts really converging on her? Zhuoxue abruptly lowered her head, hoping to catch them off guard—thinking, Let’s see who scares who.

But when she looked down—false alarm.

There wasn’t a single ghost under the table. The source of the chill was the eerie, serpent-like ghost fire slithering from the eight faces of the nearby tower, weaving together beneath her feet. Though it glowed, ghost fire was not like a candle’s light—its cold, hazy luminance seemed to form a portal to the netherworld. Fortunately, the portal was an illusion—a play of light and shadow. Zhuoxue still stood firmly on solid ground, not plummeting through with fox and chair together.

Cold sweat drenched her back. She dared to nudge the hu tablet again—this time, it was as light as paper and easily lifted into her hand.

What about the life ledger? Could it now reveal itself to her too?

Zhuoxue held the hu tablet in her left hand and drew out the life ledger with her right, casually flipping it open to a random page. The pages were now densely packed with lines of script.

Strange… It seemed even the Underworld King couldn’t catch a break. If she ever stood up to stretch after long hours of sitting, she’d have to watch helplessly as the ledger turned blank.

The fox rose, sat, rose, sat again. The text on the ledger appeared and disappeared. If the ledger had a mind of its own, it surely would have been cursing by now.

After a few tries, Zhuoxue dared not delay any longer. She flipped rapidly through the pages, scanning lines ten at a glance, absorbing the lives of mortals in swift succession.

These mortals had enjoyed their share of glory and fortune in their lifetimes, but in the end, they all fell to a plague. Despite exhausting all they had, none could return from the brink of death. When they were well, guests flocked to their doors. When they lay ill, they died alone, without a soul by their side. All because the plague was ruthless—so contagious it could spread even across the street. People avoided the sick like the plague itself.

It started in towns and counties, like dandelions blooming in late spring and early summer—bursting open in an instant, scattering for miles. Not only did it sweep through the towns, but even the capital Yunjing was not spared.

Five years of plague, countless lives scattered like dust, displaced by the chaos.

In her mind’s eye, Zhuoxue could still faintly see those times—bodies of sick refugees littering the land, nine out of ten homes abandoned in the city, the dynasty teetering on collapse.

Disaster should be followed by relief. The karmic rewards and merits she had accrued in her previous life had to be rooted in something tangible. She combed through the ledger again, comparing everything from the beginning.

Plague, refugees entering the capital, unrest in Yunjing, the princess’ untimely death, officials and citizens petitioning, royal strife…

Refugees entering the capital? Zhuoxue’s eyes paused.

But those refugees had traveled far—from distant towns and counties. Their names wouldn’t even be listed in this ledger, nor did she know which counties they had come from.

Panic welled up. Zhuoxue rose and stood before the towering bookshelf that stretched beyond sight. Looking up made her dizzy, reminded her how small the flesh was compared to this immensity. And this was just the first level. Behind it were countless more racks, dense like mountain ridges. If she simply searched aimlessly, it would be no different from finding a needle in a haystack.

Left with no choice, she returned to the Underworld King’s chair, deciding to start with those closest to her in her past life. Fortunately, as a princess, Jueguang wouldn’t have traveled entirely alone, no matter how modest her retinue.

But the entries in the life ledger wouldn’t be so detailed as to list every attendant’s name. It was still a needle in the sea—to find those who once served in Zhaoyu Palace.

So close, yet so far.

Zhuoxue’s eyes blurred. This person, though once a palace servant, had little to do with Jueguang and hadn’t served her directly.

She kept searching, growing increasingly flustered. She had to focus but feared that being too focused might blind her to danger around her.

More than half an hour had passed. Longming still hadn’t returned. Was she escorting the Underworld King all the way to Heavenly Gate?

Zhuoxue was full of frustration, her fingers skimming quickly across the pages. She was already halfway through the thick life ledger. The people recorded in the book were all born in Yunjing. But thinking again—Jueguang’s attendants might not necessarily have been Yunjing natives.

A bolt of realization struck her. Had all this searching been in vain?

All thanks to Longming!

She grew disheartened, conjuring a gust of wind to hold up her chin so she could stare blankly at the life ledger.

Where the wind blew the pages, she would read. As the saying went—if destined, they would meet across a thousand miles. Perhaps the very page she sought might land right in front of her.

A soft breeze brushed her face, the pages fluttered and turned dozens ahead, the rustling sound lulling her into a daze.

Unfocused, Zhuoxue barely gathered her gaze and glanced at the page’s subject—only to freeze.

The woman had trained in martial arts since childhood, surely a bold and valiant figure. Sadly, there was no portrait—Zhuoxue couldn’t tell what she looked like.

She flipped again—and nearly slapped the table in delight. This woman, through her skill and cunning, had become a commander of the imperial guards. And five years before the Dingsi year, she had been tasked with distributing porridge and maintaining order among the refugees in Yunjing. What was strange, though, was that the commander’s orders—who gave them—were never mentioned from beginning to end.

So much merit and virtue, like a network of rivers, yet no visible source.

Zhuoxue read with her heart racing, certain now that it had been Jueguang—it was Tianji who had burned the life ledger, erasing Jueguang’s footprints. That explained why no matter how many times Longming had read the life ledger, she never discovered anything—none of it had helped.

Longming’s place in Jueguang’s life wasn’t long, just five years. But it wasn’t light either. Those five years had been the most brilliant part of Jueguang’s life.

During those plague-stricken years, Jueguang rarely left the palace. Most tasks were delegated to her subordinates. At the time, “Hanxing” was still just a tiger. If something urgent required personal handling, Jueguang would surely travel with her attendants—not a mute white tiger.

No wonder Longming had never noticed anything off, no matter how many times she had read the record. She hadn’t been part of every moment in Jueguang’s fate. She didn’t know Jueguang was meant to ascend in her next life, and naturally, she couldn’t guess the depth of virtue Jueguang had accumulated in this one.

That was why she couldn’t see how much of Jueguang’s life ledger had been hidden away.

Zhuoxue looked again and saw that many people listed in the ledger had received royal aid during the plague, yet—as before—not a single word was written about who had granted that aid.

If she could trace where the refugees who entered the capital had come from, perhaps she could find a few lines in their life records that connected them to Jueguang. But the life ledger was vast and untraceable—she had no point of entry.

Zhuoxue leaned back, thought for a moment, then rolled up the life ledger and tucked it under the jade belt at her waist, binding it tightly. She had completely lost track of time and could no longer tell how much longer her concealment spell would last.

Just then, footsteps slowly approached—steady and composed. It sounded like the master of the place had returned.

Zhuoxue had just started to grasp a lead, like seeing the sky through parting clouds—victory was within reach. But with those footsteps, her calm thoughts were thrown into chaos. She looked around frantically, searching for a place to hide.

It was over. She had no escape.

The girl with flawless skin who had been sitting in the King of the Underworld’s chair suddenly turned into a ball of fur—a fox. The life ledger tucked at her waist fell with a smack.

The fox quickly grabbed the ledger in her mouth and bolted behind the bookshelf, using all four paws to cling to the wooden shelves.

It was a risky move, but it meant survival.

What on earth was Longming doing, that not even the King of the Underworld could be held back? This mission was shaping up to be a complete failure.

A sudden, wild thought crossed the fox’s mind: was Longming deliberately working against her?

The footsteps drew closer and closer. The fox was almost in tears, but she still held tightly to the life ledger. Even if she was carrying water in a bamboo basket—full of holes—she would do whatever it took to plug the leaks.

A voice called from a distance, “Where are you hiding? It’s time to go.”

Zhuoxue was elated at first, but didn’t let her guard down. It sounded like Longming, but it could just as easily be the Underworld King, who had seen through their plan and was impersonating Longming to lure her out.

The fox stayed motionless, her breath carefully concealed.

But the figure climbing the stairs found a clump of fox fur on the ground.

The silver-haired demon lord circled around the bookshelf, then searched behind it. Her eyes were sharp and bright, her face cold as frost. She looked around slowly—but saw no sign of a fox. The shelves, both front and back, were packed tightly with life ledgers, not a single gap left.

Longming stopped calmly, her gaze fixed on one spot. She raised her hand and brushed across the spines of the books. Her fingers, light as a dragonfly on water, glided over them.

Suddenly, her fingers halted. Maybe the King of the Underworld had misfiled something—one ledger wouldn’t fit in its place and lay oddly on its back.

Without hesitation, she pulled it out. As she did, another ledger fell with it—the two books stuck together in a strange position.

One was horizontal, the other vertical.

“Why did you turn yourself into a life ledger?” Longming asked, puzzled. Her tone was as calm as always, her aura unchanged.

The horizontal ledger abruptly transformed into a fox. The fox, still holding the real life ledger in her mouth, said calmly, “One should always adapt.”

“Then why are you holding that one?” Longming asked again.

The fox’s eyes lit up as she searched for the right way to set things up. She hadn’t planned to reveal her identity just yet, but the matter was too important. She had no choice but to say, “Guess what I found?”

Longming frowned. “Let’s leave first. The King is coming back.”

Zhuoxue turned back into human form, spat out the life ledger, and said in disbelief, “How do you know? If she’s returning, why are you still strolling around like nothing’s wrong?”

Longming replied coolly, “I left a fragment of my consciousness behind to lead her up into Heaven. But she saw through it halfway and shattered it.”

“How are we getting out of here?” Zhuoxue had barely finished the sentence when the whole tower began to shake.

The shelves trembled, the tables and chairs rocked, dust fell from above. The tower had no windows, so they couldn’t see what was happening outside.

“She got back faster than expected,” Longming said, glancing toward the pitch-black stairway. She flicked her sleeve, extinguishing the ghost fire, then strode leisurely to the King’s desk and took the King’s seat.

She raised the lampstand with her left hand and picked up the tablet with her right, then tossed both items toward the stair entrance. The lampstand and tablet flew out, not crashing to the ground, but gliding down the wooden stairs under a push of demonic power, returning to their rightful places.

The Underworld King’s crushing pressure was unbearable—it made Zhuoxue’s head pound. She quickly put away the life ledger, held onto the bookshelf, and steadied herself.

The silver-haired demon lord in the chair leapt into the air and twisted the Sheltering Shade at the top of the tower back into position.

The tower still quaked violently. Somehow, Zhuoxue felt herself sinking—as if the entire structure was being uprooted.

She looked at Longming, a chill running down her spine. “Can we still escape?”

“Come,” Longming said, reaching out a hand.

Zhuoxue transformed into a fox and leapt forward, clinging onto Longming’s arm. The weight pulled Longming’s arm down slightly, even tugging her neatly arranged robe out of place.

“I… didn’t mean for you to come like that,” Longming said, tugging at her sleeve.