Ordered to Marry by the High King - Chapter 41

Deceive the heavens, deceive the earth—but you can’t deceive a nightmare. Longming thought she had concealed everything well, but once caught in a nightmare’s bewitchment, her thoughts were laid bare, with nowhere to hide.

Zhuoxue couldn’t help it. She let out a laugh.

“What are you laughing at? If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have been scared out of my wits in the middle of the night and forced to hide in this place,” Suli snapped in anger.

Zhuoxue suppressed her laughter and whispered, “But they really seemed to think I was a ghost.”

“If they truly thought you were a ghost, would they have dared chase you?” Suli said irritably.

Zhuoxue replied, “As soon as she saw me, she blew her bone whistle and drew everyone out.”

Suli was furious. “She saw through you! You’ve had your eye on her for years—how could you not know how clever she is? Her mind is sharper than a deity’s!”

“I’m not that bad myself,” Zhuoxue said, sulking in protest.

Suli glanced at her, too tired to argue.

Inside the tree hollow, the two curled up with arms and legs drawn in. The thick leaves overhead did nothing to stop the pouring rain—water kept drifting in. This wasn’t shelter from the rain; it was practically a ritual bath.

Now, suppressed by the illusion realm and without demonic power to protect, Zhuoxue’s demon sinews and bones were no different from those of mortals—hardly any better off. She felt chilled to the bone. Her shoulder trembled, and she sneezed. Coupled with her current heat from emotional stirrings, she was no different from someone terminally ill.

Late at night, Suli couldn’t see clearly, so she reached out blindly to press her palm to Zhuoxue’s forehead. Under her hand, that patch of skin was burning hot. She cried out in alarm, “This is bad—we can’t keep sheltering in the rain. Any longer and it won’t just be amnesia you suffer—you might burn yourself into an idiot.”

Mortals were always fragile—even minor bumps could be fatal, let alone fevers and chills.

“Don’t worry. I’m fine,” said Zhuoxue, knowing full well she couldn’t possibly fall ill. She yawned nonchalantly and tilted her head as if to sleep.

Who would’ve thought that the Suli in this nightmare realm would think she was on the verge of death, breaking into sobs immediately? Her temperament was completely unlike the real Lishu outside the dream—who knows who she was supposed to be?

Suli sobbed and scolded, “You foolish thing! Sick like this, and you still ran out in the rain to see that Erming! Why didn’t the downpour drown you out there?”

Zhuoxue had no way to defend herself. She couldn’t very well say she was a demon—that kind of confession might turn a cold into madness.

“If you die, I won’t even bother to bury you,” Suli cried, her eyes red. “Ungrateful wretch! Always thinking about some icy stranger out there—never sparing a thought for your own people.”

Zhuoxue opened her mouth but held back her words.

“Fine. If we’re going to die, we might as well die together. Give me your illness—we’ll perish side by side.” Suli gritted her teeth. “The family’s finished anyway. Happy now?”

Zhuoxue took the hand off her forehead and said, “That won’t do. What if I survive and you suffer for nothing?”

“You—!” Suli was speechless.

“Say something auspicious. Let me hear something nice,” Zhuoxue urged.

Suli didn’t respond. She tore off a corner of rough cloth from her clothes and began drying the water off Zhuoxue’s hands and feet. But after a few strokes, her mind grew chaotic, and she simply threw the cloth into Zhuoxue’s arms.

Zhuoxue grew restless—unable to sit still, unable to sleep. She finally said, “Why don’t I go out and dig up some herbs to chew?”

“You know herbs?” Suli glared.

Of course she did. Qiufeng Ridge was full of medicinal herbs. Lanhui had once led the mountain demons in memorizing every plant that could be used medicinally. Whatever could be sold to mortals for money, the demons would harvest, and use the earnings to buy useful goods.

Zhuoxue stood and said, “I’ll gather some for you too.”

“Those people might still be out searching. Better not go,” said Suli, no longer caring whether Zhuoxue really knew herbs or not.

“It’s fine—I’ll be quick,” Zhuoxue wasn’t afraid. In fact, she still wanted a chance to see Longming again.

Was Longming truly feigning madness? That remained unclear. And what exactly was in that bundle she held in her arms? That too needed investigation. Rather than wait here for death, she might as well take action—think of a way to awaken Longming.

“Be careful, and come back quickly if you find nothing,” Suli said, looking up.

Zhuoxue thought for a moment, then whispered, “By the way, how long do we have to hide here? The villagers must have a deadline for offering tribute to the fox spirit.”

There was something strange about that bundle. She had to intercept it before Longming made her offering.

Suli looked at her for a while, then sighed. “At the seventh moment of the Tiger hour two days from now. You’ve truly forgotten everything.”

The seventh moment of the Tiger hour, two days from now. Zhuoxue noted it quietly, nodded, then asked, “What if we miss the time? Will the fox spirit come down the mountain to claim it?”

Suli replied, “No. The fox spirit never comes down the mountain.”

Never comes down the mountain?

A strange feeling welled up in her heart again. Zhuoxue nodded and said, “Alright, you stay here and wait for me.” As soon as she finished speaking, she slowly climbed out of the tree hollow. The moment she stepped out, rainwater pooled on the broad leaves above poured down over her, soaking her head and making her shiver from the cold.

There was no one around, and no footprints nearby—clearly, the villagers hadn’t searched this area yet.

Zhuoxue tiptoed ahead, keeping her head down while she searched the ground and casually picked a few decent-looking herbs. Fortunately, she remembered the way clearly and didn’t get lost in the deep forest. She soon found her bearings and recognized the location of the thatched hut.

As she walked unhurriedly toward it, a sudden thought struck her.

Longming couldn’t have offered her to the fox spirit without reason. The Nightmare Clan’s intent to kill her was obvious—constructing this dreamscape must have been part of a ploy to take her life. If she were sacrificed to the fox spirit, there would be no chance of survival. And whatever Longming carried in that bundle—it must be something the Nightmare Clan was desperate to obtain.

What could it be? Something alive? Or something dead?

Zhuoxue pressed forward through the rain, pretending to gather herbs as she went, not wanting the Nightmare Clan to notice that she hadn’t fully succumbed to the dream. Earlier, when she had rushed to see Longming, if Suli hadn’t covered for her, she really wouldn’t have been able to explain herself. Saying she had been driven by desire, oddly enough, did make a kind of sense. She had indeed once been tempted—being tempted to touch a tiger’s butt still counted, didn’t it?

Thinking of that made her blush a little. Before she had recovered her memories from her past life, she had genuinely believed that the intimacy on their wedding night could be summed up as a mere touch or caress. At the time, she had even treated it as a duty—truly undignified.

When she reached the thatched hut and saw a string of dense footprints, she realized that the villagers had failed to find anyone and had returned to rest.

This time, Zhuoxue didn’t dare act rashly. After some thought, she rummaged through the broken-down house for a long while until she found paper, a brush, and an inkstone. The brush bristles looked like a cat’s fluffed-up tail, completely splayed out—soaking it in ink made no difference. As for the paper, it was covered in mold and felt damp to the touch. She couldn’t even be sure if it was still usable.

Out of options, Zhuoxue tore a strip from the bed curtain and began to write.

Her handwriting was elegant, with sharp, clean strokes—so refined it looked like a rubbing taken from a carved tablet. It was clear the writer was meticulous and possessed an unyielding pride. This calligraphy was far more beautiful than the scribbles she used to produce. Just recently, she’d even mocked Kunyu’s handwriting—never expecting hers to be just as bad before.

After writing two characters, she paused.

With Longming’s exceptional memory, she might even recognize handwriting from a hundred years ago. If Zhuoxue wrote in her old style, wouldn’t that expose her identity? So she tore another strip from the curtain and switched to her left hand, producing two crooked lines that looked more like ghostly scrawls than proper characters.

“Red candles weep tears of longing.

Come alone in the night, if you can.

—Xue.”

Done.

By using the word “longing,” it matched Suli’s earlier claim that she had feelings for Longming, hopefully enough to fool the Nightmare Clan’s spies.

After tucking the fabric note away, Zhuoxue donned a straw raincoat again, now more cautious than ever, even softening her footsteps.

The village was dark and quiet—every household had turned off their lights. Fortunately, the paths were simple, and she quickly found Longming’s residence.

The house was silent inside. Carefully, Zhuoxue slipped the fabric note through the window frame, as stealthy as a thief—though she didn’t feel guilty in the least.

Once the note was in place, she followed the road back to the forest and the tree hollow, startling Suli, who was half-asleep and jumped in fright.

Seeing Zhuoxue soaked to the bone, Suli looked at her like she had seen a ghost. It took her a while to speak. “Did you run into anyone? Are you still in your right mind?”

Zhuoxue was more than clear-headed—just thinking about Longming reading the note the next day made her smile. She took out the herbs and said, “Put all of these in your mouth and chew the leaves. That’s the only way to ward off illness.”

Suli held out her palm, eyeing the leaves with dread. Her voice trembled. “Where did you learn this? Don’t go poisoning me.”

“It won’t kill you. If you like, I’ll chew it first to show you.” Zhuoxue had already popped some into her mouth, frowning as she chewed. She had never liked vegetables, let alone these bitter medicinal plants that mortals used. Every single one tasted horribly bitter.

Suli also chewed with a miserable expression, forcing herself to swallow with the look of someone marching to her death.

When Zhuoxue saw her throat move, she faked a cough, using her sleeve to hide as she quietly spat the chewed herbs out. She moved her hand behind her back and discreetly discarded the pulp, saying, “Bitter medicine is best. As long as we don’t show ourselves, they’ll soon pick someone else as the sacrifice.”

The bitterness in Suli’s mouth started to fade, and she felt slightly better. She nodded and said, “Once they let down their guard, we’ll sneak down the mountain and find a new place to live.”

Just as she spoke, her stomach let out a loud grumble.

Zhuoxue quickly pulled out all the remaining leaves from her sleeve and offered them. “There’s nothing else to eat—chew these to fill your belly. I’ll go out again later to see if I can find any fruit.”

Suli was finally comforted. “You used to get scolded for always sneaking off and not learning anything useful. Now it looks like you actually picked up a few tricks.”

Zhuoxue thought about finding some poisonous berries for her instead.

The two of them curled up in the tree hollow, unable to stretch out even their limbs, taking turns bailing water out all night long.

The next day, the rain still didn’t stop—pouring down as if a hole had opened in the sky.

During the day, Zhuoxue dared not move around carelessly, afraid of running into villagers. Only after nightfall did she cautiously peek outside. Fortunately, the tree hollow was well concealed, hidden by layers of leaves. Unless one had wings and could fly, it would be nearly impossible to spot the hole in the tree.

Zhuoxue frequently felt restless and irritable. She was becoming impatient—not just because she wanted to see Longming, but also because she longed to step outside and feel the breeze. She figured Longming must have seen the silk strip by now. Although her handwriting was crooked—being written with her left hand—it wasn’t so messy as to be unreadable. If Longming truly cared, she ought to show up to find her.

She only hoped Longming was smart enough to realize that the rendezvous spot was the old grass hut.

Thinking of Longming’s appearance, Zhuoxue couldn’t help but sigh. That usually commanding and dignified demon lord had actually shown such a lonesome, fragile side. How curious. Perhaps this was exactly what people meant by “I will grow thin for love, and never regret it.”

Seeing that Su Li was fast asleep, Zhuoxue didn’t disturb her. She quietly climbed out and followed the familiar path toward the grass hut. Silently, she prayed that Longming had come alone, without anyone trailing her. That bone whistle—once was more than enough.

As she drew closer, she could see from a distance the shattered jar in front of the hut and the trampled chicken coop—but no sign of a person.

Zhuoxue felt a pang of disappointment and silently added another mark to Longming’s record. She was about to leave when, just before turning back, she caught sight of a lone figure emerging through the misty rain.

Slender and elegant, the figure moved with the quiet indifference of night rain—it was Longming.

Longming appeared to have come alone. But the rain was dense and the fog thick—it was impossible to tell if any villagers had followed.

Zhuoxue hid securely behind a tree and didn’t make herself known.

That vague silhouette slowly approached, the face and form gradually coming into focus.

Longming walked forward holding an umbrella. The bundle in her arms remained cradled against her chest. Perhaps because her expression was so cold, she didn’t seem at all pitiful—just distant.

Zhuoxue couldn’t bring herself to say “Erming.” After all, her own ears were truly bad, but Longming’s supposed tinnitus was fake. This dream realm was clearly antagonistic to her, mocking her.

There was no one else in sight, and Longming turned as if to leave.

At that, Zhuoxue rushed out, splashing through puddles like someone out to silence a witness.

Hearing the commotion, Longming stopped and looked toward the oncoming figure. Without dodging or flinching, she asked, “You’re not a ghost. Why pretend to be one last night?”

“I came back to life,” Zhuoxue replied with shameless nonsense.

Clearly, Longming didn’t believe her. Unmoved, she asked, “You came here unarmed, and asked me to come late at night. Surely not to murder me. What exactly do you want?”

Zhuoxue didn’t answer, instead staring fixedly at the bundle in Longming’s arms.

Longming finally stepped slightly to the side.

Zhuoxue’s pale skin, delicate as jade and glistening with rain, only enhanced her ethereal beauty. And though her face was bare of any makeup, her cheeks were flushed as if slightly drunk. She didn’t look like a ghost—she looked like a demon.

She wasn’t there to attack, but to take. She reached out toward Longming’s bundle—but froze when she saw what was inside.

It wasn’t a baby. Yet somehow, to others, it appeared to be one.

Inside the swaddle lay a quiet brocade pouch, nothing even remotely human. It could never be the sickly, stunted child it was made out to be.

Was this really appropriate? Zhuoxue felt momentarily dazed.

But it finally made sense—why the nightmare realm would tempt Longming into offering this object to the fox spirit.

Longming’s expression changed instantly. She slapped Zhuoxue’s hand away and said coldly, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m here to steal what you love, so I can worm my way in,” Zhuoxue replied, reaching again for the bundle. What was in the pouch was her life ledger. “Stealing love” was just an excuse to reclaim what was hers.

Longming stepped back several paces, hand reaching into her sleeve—she was going for the bone whistle. She had come prepared. There were certainly villagers hiding nearby, though none had shown themselves yet.

Zhuoxue looked around frantically. In desperation, she grabbed a gourd ladle from the broken jar and struck it toward Longming.

The demon lord, who once could summon wind and rain, collapsed with closed eyes into the pouring storm. Her paper umbrella drifted down with her.

Zhuoxue threw the gourd away, grabbed the bundle with one hand and supported the staggering demon with the other, thinking to herself, How the mighty have fallen—once a tiger in its prime, now bullied by a fox. A fallen phoenix is no better than a chicken.