Ordered to Marry by the High King - Chapter 39

Longming ate in quiet frustration—and still had to pay for this meal that had stirred up all her emotions.

The elderly man at the next table was quite surprised. He hadn’t expected that, apart from Jueguang, there would be anyone who could actually finish that strange and ancient dish of fried rice.

He couldn’t help but sigh, “If Princess Jueguang is watching from the heavens, she must be deeply comforted.”

Zhuoxue, full and content, turned back and said, “But heaven is never as good as earth. Why not ask Jueguang where she’d rather be?”

The old man clicked his tongue. “But going to heaven means becoming a celestial being. Someone like Princess Jueguang—if not to become a goddess, then what… what else…” His words abruptly trailed off. Whether demons or ghosts, in the eyes of mortals, such things were never seen as noble.

Zhuoxue didn’t respond. Good and evil, right and wrong—these are the judgments of onlookers. Without standing in the story yourself, how can you truly know? Pity the demon race, burdened with centuries of scorn—not something that can be undone in a day.

Longming swept her gaze calmly across the room, took one last sip of tea, and said, “Since we’ve eaten, let’s go downstairs.”

Once outside the teahouse, Zhuoxue seemed like a cat off its leash, dashing ahead gleefully, impossible to predict.

Longming followed at an unhurried pace, but crowds of passersby soon widened the distance between them to several dozen feet. She could only make out Zhuoxue’s silhouette in the distance. This time, it looked like the fox was headed for the bell tower. Conveniently, the tower sat in the center of the city, accessible from all sides. She only needed to head straight there to reach it.

Longming’s thoughts weighed heavy. Could the world really be so full of coincidences? But then again, that teahouse was the most famous in Yunjing. Many newcomers to the city went there specifically for it. And the Sunset Bell Tower was just as renowned. Countless scholars and poets had once gathered at its top, praising it as Yunjing’s finest view.

Perhaps it wasn’t such a coincidence after all—maybe she was just overthinking things.

Zhuoxue climbed to the top in a few swift steps. The hem of her white dress trailed across the wooden stairs, stained with dust and dirt since she couldn’t use magic.

Longming followed close behind and looked up. “What are you doing here?”

“To get a better view,” Zhuoxue replied with a bright smile. “This is the highest point in Yunjing. The view must be spectacular.”

Longming said nothing.

A hundred years ago, Longming had also climbed the bell tower—right during springtime in Yunjing. The people had gathered beneath the tower, watching the princess strike the bell to pray for blessings.

Jueguang had prayed for gentle seasons, peace and prosperity for the people, health and safety for all.

Every year was like this—except that one year, Jueguang had brought the white tiger with her. She took the tiger up the tower, had her stand and lean on the windowsill to look out—at the city, the people, the white clouds and the birds.

But it was just after that year that a plague of insects spread chaos through the human world. The people’s cries filled the land; lives were as fleeting as mayflies. Even Jueguang was taken away.

Now, at the top of the bell tower, Zhuoxue looked over the maze of alleyways and said happily, “Longming, look, I can see the palace. What a grand palace complex!”

Longming saw it too. She could even distinguish at a glance which building had been Jueguang’s residence—Zhaoyu Palace.

The smile on Zhuoxue’s lips suddenly froze. The bell tower was too high—one could take in all of Yunjing in a single view. From such a distance, the shifts in the times became clearer. Some high walls had long since been torn down; where a fish pond used to be, there now stood a pavilion. Even the spring colors within the palace walls looked different than before.

A small ache still stirred in her—not much, just a trace, barely worth mentioning. She stopped looking and turned to place her hand on the bronze bell. Her fingertips brushed over old, worn-out marks, rough and uneven. The bell, worn down by wind and rain, had nearly lost all the script engraved upon it—far from the polished gleam it once had. But that didn’t feel like such a loss. She had seen it when it was newly hung, and now she had seen it in its aged, weathered state. That, too, was a spring not wasted.

Outside the tower, a sharp cry pierced the sky.

Zhuoxue turned to leave, but glanced back to see Longming still staring at the bell, lost in thought. She grinned mischievously and teased, “Did Jueguang ring this bell herself back then?”

Longming looked at her quietly. Her eyes held no sorrow, no joy—only the stillness of a deep pool.

Zhuoxue smiled, then darted down the stairs with light steps, not the least bit afraid of twisting an ankle.

In just half a day, the two demons had covered nearly half of Yunjing—from carnivals and variety shows (because the fox wanted to watch), to pleasure boats and pipa music (because the fox wanted to hear).

Longming walked in silence the entire way, completely out of place amid the bustling surroundings. Though she had black hair and black eyes, she looked like a ghost out to claim lives in broad daylight.

The fox just had to fan the flames. She picked up a gaudy, multicolored hairpin and stuck it into Longming’s hair, saying, “Let me add a splash of color to your look—otherwise people might think you’re here to mourn someone.”

Longming cast a cold glare at her. “And who would I be mourning?”

“How about we buy a bit of wine and some snacks and visit Princess Jueguang’s grave?” Zhuoxue suggested.

“You—” Longming’s eyes blazed with fury.

Zhuoxue finally backed off. Truthfully, she hadn’t taken Longming’s anger seriously at all, but she knew better than to go too far. Keep pushing, and she’d cross the line. She turned away and said, “Why don’t we check into an inn and rest? It’s not good to stay out in the open all day. If the gods protecting Yunjing recognizes us, how will we ever find the Huangliang Dream Market?”

Longming booked a top-tier room and, upon entering, began gathering her energy. Though she didn’t use a trace of demon magic, the pressure alone made the teacups and teapot on the table tremble and clatter.

Zhuoxue simply sat at the table and pushed the two shaking teacups together, watching them bump like a pair of fighting crickets.

She tired of that quickly. After a few deep sniffs, she couldn’t smell even the faintest fragrance. Resting her chin on her hand, she asked, “You said the Huangliang Dream Market is preceded by a scent. Why can’t I smell anything?”

The focused demon replied calmly, “Gather your energy, and you’ll smell the fragrance of the Smoke and Rain Dream.”

Zhuoxue closed her eyes and tried to concentrate—but no matter how she focused, she couldn’t calm her mind. For some reason, her whole body was burning—not just the back of her neck. She opened all the windows, but the breeze did nothing. Her heart was restless, and she couldn’t sit still.

Could it be that all this wandering had made her heart unruly?

She didn’t believe it. She shut her eyes tightly and tried again—this time, she swore not to open them until she succeeded in stilling her mind.

After a long while, she finally caught a faint scent—like overripe fruit bursting in the rain, a bitter tang laced with sourness, muddled with the smell of wet earth, only to be washed away by a downpour. It was awful. The moment that smell hit her nose, it felt like she’d eaten a whole basket of spoiled fruit—her stomach churned. No wonder Longming hadn’t said it outright. She wanted Zhuoxue to experience it for herself—this wasn’t something words could explain.

Zhuoxue opened her eyes and drank several cups of tea in a row before she could push that lingering foul taste from her memory.

When she opened her eyes again, it was already night. The moon hung on the treetops outside, and the street below was empty. The noise had faded, leaving only a distant, hollow clanging of a watchman’s gong.

Zhuoxue still felt uncomfortably hot all over. Her mouth was even drier than usual. She quickly drank two more cups of tea.

This was bad. Could it be… that time again? She had clearly already broken through to the next realm. Why couldn’t she suppress it?

She reached for the teapot, but not a single drop remained. Staring wide-eyed at the moon, she eventually began rummaging noisily around the room.

Afraid of leaking her demonic energy, she didn’t dare transform into her beast form. Instead, she repressed the urge to dig into the floor and pulled out the shadow puppets she’d bought earlier. Unfortunately, the set wasn’t complete. She had to light a lamp and project the figures onto the wall.

Wrapped in fine silk, the tiger figure in the box looked magnificent—its head and limbs could all move. Its shadow on the wall was lifelike, almost as if it were alive. 

She had seen cats pounce on butterflies before, and tigers were just big cats, after all. So she dug out a butterfly figure and had the tiger chase it around. But since Longming was still in deep focus, she could only perform for herself.

In the middle of her puppet show, a voice suddenly cut in by her ear. “What are you doing?”

Zhuoxue froze, then calmly swapped the tiger for a female figure and cleared her throat. “Chasing a butterfly. But no matter how I try, I just can’t catch it.” She held the puppet woman in her left hand, the butterfly in her right—casting two shadows on the wall, one chasing the other.

Longming watched for a moment, then said quietly, “The Huangliang Dream Market only opens at midnight. There’s still time to rest.”

“You rest. I won’t,” Zhuoxue replied, agitated, as the two shadows danced wildly across the wall.

Somehow, the shadows on the wall suddenly twisted into a blur, dazzling and disorienting. Zhuoxue stared blankly, unable to tell where the butterfly was—or where the figure was. To make things worse, her body was burning with restlessness. The longer she stared at the swirling shadows, the dizzier she became. Unable to bear it, she lowered her head with a soft retch and collapsed to the floor, losing consciousness.

Why couldn’t she see clearly? Even as she fainted, the fox was still muddle-headedly trying to figure it out.

Longming’s expression turned cold in an instant. She raised her palm and struck out with a chilling gust of wind that slammed the window shutters shut.

But she was a heartbeat too late. A thousand voices echoed by her ear, laughing and coaxing her to use her demonic power. Inside Yunjing City, that was absolutely forbidden.

She suddenly clutched at her ear, her lips and teeth icy as if biting snow. Her voice was frigid and bone-chilling. “Nightmare King, I hope you’ve been well.”

“I have been well. You, however, are not,” came the reply—hundreds of voices speaking in unison, some childlike, some elderly, some male, some female.

Impossible!

Longming’s dark pupils dimmed abruptly. She was about to give up and forcibly summon her demon power, only to find it frozen at her spiritual core—completely unresponsive.

She had already fallen into a nightmare.

The watchman’s gong rang again, this time chaotically and without rhythm.

Clang, clang-clang, clang-clang, clang-clang-clang—

***

When Zhuoxue came to, her head felt like it was splitting open. Her throat was so parched it felt like it was on fire. She frantically groped around, trying to find water.

A sudden clang sounded close to her ear. She whipped her head around and followed the noise—only to see a pair of legs dangling in mid-air, kicking furiously against a table and cabinet in desperation.

She bolted to her feet, grabbed a pair of scissors, dragged over a drum stool to stand on, and cut the rope strangling the woman who was hanging.

The woman collapsed to the ground, croaking out a hoarse curse, “Slow as hell! I was almost strangled to death—were you trying to kill me?”

Zhuoxue was drenched in sweat. She looked around—this place was utterly unfamiliar, a shabby room that looked like a home in total poverty.

Where was she? Who was she? And who was this woman?

The woman lay gasping for a long while before weakly pointing upward. “Your turn.”

“What?” Zhuoxue asked in confusion, looking up at the beam where the rope still swayed.

“It’s your turn to hang. We’ve been pretending to be ghosts for half a month now—don’t drop the act halfway,” the woman said, sitting up. A vivid red rope mark was clearly visible on her neck.

Zhuoxue stared in bewilderment. This woman acted like she knew her intimately. Why were they pretending to be ghosts? To pretend to be a ghost, wouldn’t you just float around?

She instinctively tried to rise into the air, wanting to show the woman what a real ghost should look like—but her spiritual core was utterly silent. She couldn’t summon even a thread of energy.

Zhuoxue lowered her head in panic and checked her own pulse. It was shockingly ordinary—so normal that…

It was like she was a mortal.

She turned to the woman, stunned. “Where is this?”

The woman looked at her as if she’d seen a ghost and started cursing again. “You idiot! Trying to cut ties with me by pretending to have amnesia, is that it?”

“Who are you?” Zhuoxue asked again.

The woman leaned in for a closer look. Her eyes widened like she’d seen a corpse come back to life. She said in disbelief, “This is Qiufeng Village. I’m your sister—Suli.”

Zhuoxue felt like someone had hollowed out her brain. Her thoughts were empty, and against all logic, she almost believed her. She mulled over the name Qiufeng Village, and the word Suli, and the more she thought about them, the more familiar they seemed.

“You’ve lost your memory?” Suli gasped.

Zhuoxue nodded slowly. “I think I really did lose my memory.” She then touched her own forehead. “And I think I’m sick too. I feel hot—my whole body is burning.”

Suli reached out to check her temperature, then immediately tore off a corner of the bed curtain, soaked it in water from a vat, wrung it out, and scolded, “What a curse. We’ve been hiding these past few days, and now you’ve gotten sick from the fright.”

Zhuoxue was half-convinced, half-doubtful. “Why have we been hiding?”

Suli placed the wrung-out strip of cloth on Zhuoxue’s forehead and let out a soft sigh. “The fox spirit in the mountains has awakened again. This time, she wants the village to offer fourteen people—six young women, six young men, and two infants. You and I are on the village chief’s list.”

“Offer them for what? Is she going to eat them?” Zhuoxue found that hard to believe. A fox wouldn’t eat humans.

Suli nodded. “You and I didn’t want to go up the mountain and die, so we faked our deaths to hide. But the villagers didn’t believe it. People have been coming by for days looking for our corpses, so I had no choice but to put on a ghost act to scare them off.”

Zhuoxue muttered, “Can’t they just not offer anyone?”

Suli shook her head with a sigh. “Every year, Qiufeng Village prays to the fox spirit for a good harvest and safety. This year, they even prayed for rain—and it actually came. If they can’t deliver the offering, we’re likely to face a severe drought again.”

Zhuoxue could really hear the sound of rain—light and steady outside. It didn’t sound like it would stop any time soon. She frowned. “Then why don’t we just escape in the night? What’s the point of staying here pretending to be ghosts?”

“There are guards. The villagers aren’t allowed to leave,” Suli replied.

The more Zhuoxue thought about it, the stranger it all seemed. Even the rain couldn’t wash away the heat simmering inside her. She removed the cloth from her forehead and quietly lifted the window to peek outside. The ground was full of puddles, with rainwater up to her ankles in the low spots. Yellow mud was splattered everywhere, and faint footprints could still be seen.

Someone really had been there.

She quickly shut the window. But when she turned back around, her heart gave a sharp jolt—her mind suddenly became crystal clear.

She remembered now. Just moments ago, she had been in a guesthouse in Yunjing, playing with shadow puppets—then, somehow, she had fainted. Then Qiufeng Ridge had turned into Qiufeng Village, and Lishu had become Suli.

So what was this place, really? Was she in a dream?

Zhuoxue suddenly slapped herself across the face. The sting brought tears to her eyes, but she didn’t wake up.

Suli grabbed her wrist and scolded, “What are you, brain-kicked by a donkey? You’re already sick, and now you’re slapping yourself?”

Zhuoxue lowered her voice and asked, “Is there anyone in the village named Longming? Maybe not Longming exactly, but someone like her.”

“There is someone named Erming,” Suli said, eyes wide. “Didn’t you lose your memory? How come you suddenly remember her? She’s a widow, and the village chief’s daughter too—don’t go getting ideas about her.”

Zhuoxue was shocked. “What does she look like?”

“Always wears a cold face. Doesn’t get along well with people.”