Ordered to Marry by the High King - Chapter 38

Under the bamboo hat, shadows half-veiled her face as Longming slightly turned her head, her gaze slanting backward. She couldn’t quite tell—something felt different, and yet the same.

Zhuoxue, entirely innocent, appeared composed and natural. With a smile, she said, “Isn’t that how the saying goes? I haven’t read many books. ‘A tiger in Pingyang’—doesn’t that mean the tiger is just taking a stroll through Pingyang?”

Longming didn’t care to explain and continued driving the carriage.

It wasn’t until the carriage entered the brocade-lined main avenue of the Western Market that Zhuoxue realized: this wasn’t Pingyang. Towering pavilions loomed high, ornate doors stood side by side. Everywhere one looked, there were pink walls and vermilion roofs, bead curtains and fine silks suspended in the air—no different from a palace on earth. The roads branched in all directions, broad and straight. Hawkers shouted from both sides. As far as the eye could see were taverns and teahouses, vendors selling spices and cosmetics, merchants offering pearl hairpins and silver ornaments. Curiosities were everywhere: dyed fabrics, griddle cakes, sugar figurines, paintings, and calligraphy—everything one could imagine.

In the distance stood a tall clock tower, looking strikingly similar to the one in Zhuoxue’s memory.

This wasn’t Pingyang. This was Yunjing.

Yunjing—after a hundred years, it flowed like the great river of time. Elsewhere, seas had turned to mulberry fields. And yet it still bore a likeness to the past.

All the bustling prosperity no longer needed to be heard secondhand or glimpsed only in dreams. It was now within reach—more resplendent and magnificent than before the plague.

Was it truly not just a fleeting dream?

Zhuoxue reached her hand out the window. A child riding on horseback with an elder bent over joyfully and offered her a flower. The fragrance of the flower was overwhelming—it was no dream.

Zhuoxue drew her hand back, lowered her head, and twirled the flower stem. Only after a long moment did she calm herself and ask, feigning ignorance, “This isn’t Pingyang?”

Longming’s tone was unreadable, yet there was a trace of longing and melancholy in her voice. “This is the capital of the Shuyun Kingdom, Yunjing.”

“Yunjing, huh.” Zhuoxue inhaled the flower’s scent, placed it carefully on her lap, then rested her fingers on the windowsill. It seemed the riot of flowers had dazzled her eyes. She remained dazed for a while before snapping out of it.

“Is it beautiful?” Longming asked.

With great enthusiasm, Zhuoxue replied, “So lively. I want to get down and take a walk.”

Longming didn’t object, only said, “This place is under the protection of many immortals. Once we’ve passed through the Eastern Blessing Gate, you can’t use magic recklessly. Keep your demon aura completely hidden—not a trace must escape.”

“Of course.”

Even if she hadn’t understood in a past life, Zhuoxue certainly did now. Lanhui had said this to her no less than a hundred times—how the human world was full of immortals, especially in places of great prosperity. Where incense burned strong, the gods gathered. Should demons or ghosts dare approach, death would be their only path. If not for this, she wouldn’t have had to sneak about so wretchedly, stealing chickens without daring to use much magic—at most changing her form, pretending to be human or just another common fox.

Fortunately, with Longming beside her now, she no longer had to suffer in silence, holding her breath, too afraid to make a sound.

Longming lowered her bamboo hat and swept a cold gaze around. Her lips moved slightly. “I’ll find a quieter place and let you off the carriage.”

Zhuoxue was momentarily stunned. “What about you?”

“Naturally, I’ll walk with you,” Longming said, tightening the reins so that the white horse could only take slow, careful steps to avoid harming any mortals.

“You’re not going to the Huangliang Dream Market anymore?” Zhuoxue asked softly. “Won’t that delay things?”

“The Huangliang Dream Market only appears at midnight. The sun is high now—it’s still early.” Even Longming’s posture while driving the carriage was indistinguishable from that of ordinary people. Who knew how many times she’d disguised herself as a mortal?

That suited Zhuoxue just fine. She nodded. “Good, I’ll be able to wander the city a bit longer.”

But a hundred years had passed. The layout of the city streets had changed greatly from her memory. The towers were taller than before, the alleys even more winding and complex. Some familiar shops had vanished entirely.

She did not wish to dwell on it—if she were merely Jueguang, returning now to this familiar land, what emotions would she feel? But now that she was a fox, she would do only what foxes do, think only what foxes think.

The carriage passed through the bustling market, crossed a small bridge, and stopped in a secluded spot.

Longming stepped down from the carriage, removed her bamboo hat, and gazed into the distance. Only after Zhuoxue had alighted did she flip her hand, transforming the white horse and ornate carriage back into a slender, dried twig.

The twig fell to the ground, but couldn’t bear the weight—it snapped in two with a creak.

Upon seeing the distant mountains, Zhuoxue couldn’t help but recall praying at an ancient temple in the mountains. Seeing colorful lanterns overturned by the river, she also remembered releasing lanterns by the water’s edge long ago.

Back when she didn’t yet know she was Jueguang, she felt a deep sense of loss. But now, what was there to regret? Having once lived such a vivid and radiant life, she could only feel immense gratitude.

Past and future matters, all could be let go with a single sound sleep. Right and wrong are no longer traceable—what matters now is not to waste the present moment.

“Where do you want to go?” Longming stepped on the broken twig.

Zhuoxue didn’t answer. She had already walked briskly away, heading back toward the bustling market they had just passed.

The street was crowded with people. A vendor was demonstrating a pair of shadow puppets, clearly enjoying himself. A number of children squatted in front of the stall, clapping in unison in delight.

The vendor lowered his head and said, “These puppets are two copper coins a pair—want to take them home to play?”

The children scattered in a flurry, not leaving a single coin behind.

The vendor said nothing, only resumed playing with the puppets. The two figures began to fight, transforming the peaceful scene from earlier into a show of fists and kicks.

Zhuoxue leaned in to watch. This shadow play seemed familiar—she thought it might have appeared in her memories, though they were now hazy with time.

Longming took out a money pouch and said to the puppet vendor, “Pick out a few good ones.”

“I’ll choose,” said Zhuoxue, already sifting through the collection.

The vendor beamed, even bringing out some ornate puppets inlaid with gold and jade from the bottom of his chest. “Take your time. If there’s something you want, just tell me.”

The shadow puppets were paper-thin—so delicate, one feared they might break just by holding them.

“Pick out some pretty ones. Do you have any tigers?” Zhuoxue asked.

Longming glanced at her, uncertain what tricks the fox was up to now.

“Yes, yes, I have plenty of tiger designs. What else would you like?” the vendor said enthusiastically.

Zhuoxue casually selected a few more pretty ones. “That’s all. Wrap them up for me.”

The vendor not only wrapped them neatly but also placed them in a wooden box for her, grinning as he said, “Take care, miss.”

When Longming turned back, Zhuoxue had already slipped off to another part of the street—nearly out of sight.

The crowd was dense, shoulder to shoulder. In a blink, she had drifted ten feet away. But Longming remained calm—she wasn’t likely to lose sight of a fox so easily.

Zhuoxue had stopped in front of a shop displaying flower hairpins. At this time, the mortal world’s peach blossoms were in full bloom, with some begonia too. Passing women had their hair adorned in pinks and reds—a vibrant scene of spring.

Zhuoxue didn’t wear flowers herself, but she asked the vendor for a basket—the basket held stray petals that had fallen off. She lifted the flower basket, thanked the vendor, and glanced back to see Longming from afar. But without pause, she dashed away again like oil underfoot—vanishing in the blink of an eye.

Longming strolled leisurely after her, certain the fox was doing it on purpose. Still, she said nothing. It had been a long time since she’d been here, and this was a good chance to take in the sights at a slow pace.

But while she was admiring the scene, she truly lost the fox.

Longming stopped walking, unable to pick up Zhuoxue’s aura in the crowd.

Her cultivation had clearly improved. The fox’s demonic energy was now hidden more tightly than ever—it was no longer easy to detect.

In that brief pause, flower petals swirled above her head like radiant clouds. Spring light fell upon her.

In that moment, Longming thought of Jueguang again—how the palace walls had been strewn with fallen blossoms. Jueguang had spent ages picking them up. At the time, Longming thought she meant to bury the petals in the soil. Unexpectedly, the petals were not buried—instead, it was Jueguang who was buried beneath them.

It was rare for Jueguang to reveal such a playful side. She had gathered up her skirt and blanketed her tiger’s back in fallen petals, saying, if she were a celestial maiden, then this would be the heavenly robe she had woven.

Longming had seen countless demons and immortals in her time, but in that moment, she felt none of their grand robes and feathers could compare to the brilliance of the fresh flowers spread across her tiger’s back.

It felt like a dream. She looked up abruptly, only to see a smiling face at the window—just faintly resembling Jueguang.

It wasn’t Jueguang. It was Zhuoxue.

Zhuoxue waved and called out, “Hanxing.”

Longming froze in place. Was it because her longing had become so deep that her ears were now deceiving her?

Yet the fox waving from the upper floor looked as natural as always—there was nothing playful or teasing in her expression.

But then, who else in the world still knew that name?

Ultimately, Longming could not bear to think of Jueguang as just anyone else, nor did she wish to see anyone replace her. She only wanted a truthful answer. Her dark eyes narrowed. Ignoring the innkeeper’s attempts to usher her inside, she walked straight upstairs. Staring at the fox by the window, she asked, “What did you just call me?”

Zhuoxue looked puzzled. “I didn’t call you. I asked huāxiāng ma (if the flowers smell nice). Don’t tell me you’ve gone deaf too?”

“Huāxiāng” and “Hanxing”… there was, admittedly, a slight similarity in sound.

Longming gathered her thoughts and decided to blame it on her hearing.

“Being hard of hearing isn’t such a bad thing,” Zhuoxue comforted her. “That way, you won’t even catch the scolding of others.”

Longming sat down and asked, “Why did you come up here? I thought you’d keep strolling down the street. Then I looked up, and you were gone.”

“To eat, of course.” Zhuoxue propped her chin on her hand and signaled to the server. Her eyes sparkled as she asked, “What’s your signature dish here?”

The server smiled and replied, “Our Shangwei Pavilion has been an old establishment for over a hundred years. Our renowned dishes include Braised Hibiscus Pork, Salted Chicken with Pear Slices, Lotus-Scented Deer Tail, as well as Moist Rice Balls in Soup, Snowflake Cake, and Tea Crisps.”

It all sounded a bit flashy—who knew what any of it really tasted like?

Zhuoxue added, “Bring us two of the house specialties. And also a portion of fried rice with stewed three bamboos and drained broth—serve the broth separately.”

“Fried rice with stewed three bamboos?” The server looked confused. The restaurant did indeed serve stewed three bamboos as a dish, but using its broth with fried rice might ruin its delicate flavor.

That dish was made by stewing three types of bamboo shoots in chicken stock. The bamboo was just tender enough—not bland, not greasy—with a perfect balance. Using it for fried rice seemed rather odd.

Longming was taken aback. She looked at Zhuoxue, frowning. “Where did you even hear about that?”

Zhuoxue only smiled, saying nothing. She had ordered that dish on purpose—and deliberately in front of Longming.

An elderly man nearby remarked, “Over a hundred years ago, there was mention of this fried rice with stewed three bamboos in Princess Jueguang’s daily records. It’s said she loved the dish dearly, and would order it every time she traveled. The one who recorded those notes was my great-grandmother.”

Zhuoxue felt a touch of melancholy. Just a little over a century had passed, and already, the official who recorded her daily life had descendants this old.

The elderly man sighed, “I heard that in those days, Princess Jueguang was deeply beloved—like the moon surrounded by stars. Her daily records were transcribed countless times and widely shared among the people. That fried rice with stewed three bamboos even became a trend back then. But times changed, dynasties shifted, and now few people eat it anymore.”

A diner nearby, listening with great interest, turned to ask, “Was it good?”

“Er…” the old man hesitated. “Everyone has their own tastes.”

“So, not good,” the diner concluded.

Zhuoxue turned to Longming and began to make things up. “In the town below Qiufeng Ridge, there’s a family with the surname Qian—they have a copy.”

Far away, in the queue at the gate of reincarnation, old Madam Qian suddenly sneezed. She had no idea someone had just spoken of her.

Longming lowered her eyes in silence, simply finding it all strange. Perhaps it was being in Yunjing—everywhere she went, she could see shadows of Jueguang, everything reminded her of her. Now a great demon disguised as a black-haired mortal woman, her gaze was deep and heavy as she turned the tea cup in her hand. Even without the oppressive aura she once carried, she still exuded an icy air that kept people at a distance—like a figure in a painting, beautiful but untouchable.

Zhuoxue, for her part, treated it as though she were admiring a painting, and couldn’t help composing a poem in her heart, Who grinds longing into ashes? It must be that lovesick white tiger.

A fine poem, a fine poem.

The elderly man from before couldn’t help but sigh again. “What a pity I was born too late and never had the chance to witness Princess Jueguang’s divine beauty.”

“I didn’t get the chance either,” Zhuoxue replied casually.

The old man continued, “The daily records described Princess Jueguang as elegant and noble. She dined on rare delicacies and drank celestial dew. It’s hard to imagine why she willingly made so many tours of the realm—and insisted on eating that fried rice with stewed three bamboos every time.”

“Maybe it was because the palace didn’t serve it,” Zhuoxue said, glancing at Longming.

Longming took a sip of tea and said calmly, “That was because Jueguang cared deeply for the people. She was willing to visit the poor and understand their hardships.”

Zhuoxue hesitated. “But what if… she just liked the taste?”

“You—” Longming started to speak, then stopped, unsure what nonsense this fox was on about today—why she insisted on stirring up dust in her heart.

After a moment, the server brought over the dishes. Zhuoxue cheerfully served Longming a bowl, with an air of generous hospitality, and said, “Now that we’re here, you might as well try it. Taste it and think of someone dear.” She paused slightly, then lowered her voice. “Though I doubt you’ve ever tasted it. Tigers in the mortal world only eat meat. The princess likely wouldn’t have fed you rice.”

Longming held the bamboo chopsticks for a while before placing them on the table with deliberate calm. “You eat.”

“Really not even a bite?” Zhuoxue coaxed. “The rice smells great, and the chicken broth is rich. No wonder Jueguang always asked for it on her tours.”

The black-haired woman took another sip of tea, then after a pause, finally picked up her chopsticks again.

“Is it good?” Zhuoxue asked, utterly relaxed.

Longming said nothing. She slowly chewed the grains of rice, as if trying to swallow all the endless longing with them.

“Are you missing Jueguang even more now?” Zhuoxue leaned in closer to the table, not wanting to miss the slightest change in Longming’s expression.

Longming looked up and met her gaze.

Zhuoxue slowly averted her eyes and muttered softly, “Who do you think I’m doing all this for?”

Longming had no wish to quarrel with this fox in Yunjing, and without saying a word, she quietly finished every grain of rice in her bowl.