Ordered to Marry by the High King - Chapter 43

Why?

Zhuoxue’s hand paused mid-air with the brush. She thought to herself, Naturally, it’s because if I write too well, you’ll notice something’s off.

She had grown up on Qiufeng Ridge. While she could read, she had barely held a brush in her life—there was no way she could write well. And yet, when memories of her past life surged up, it was like someone who hadn’t swum in decades suddenly thrown into water—after a moment’s awkwardness, it all came flooding back.

Even if she deliberately tried to make her handwriting sloppy, the sharpness of the strokes might still give her away. That wasn’t something a few simple words could cover up.

Zhuoxue shifted her gaze, thinking that Longming must have a reason for asking about this. Was it that her handwriting was so bad it drew attention, or that the poem was too well-written and aroused Longming’s suspicion?

She thought of how to phrase it, then feigned confusion. “Should I have used my right hand to write? I thought either hand would do. Or did my writing earlier offend your eyes?”

Longming stared at her without blinking. It was hard to tell whether she saw through her or not.

Zhuoxue shook her wrist and muttered, “I saw others mostly use their right hands, so I thought I’d be different and do something unique. Is that not allowed either?” She was confident that Longming wouldn’t press the issue too deeply. This was all taking place in a dreamscape. If it touched upon matters outside the dream, it could end badly—neither of them might survive. Even if there was going to be questioning, it could wait until they got out.

Longming studied her for a long time, and the probing look in her eyes eventually faded. With a faint smile, she said, “Why wouldn’t it be allowed? For those with extraordinary talent, it doesn’t matter if the brush is in the left or right hand—they could even hold it in their mouth and still imbue their writing and painting with spirit.”

The villagers who had brought over the table didn’t seem suspicious, though their faces looked even more sorrowful. One choked up and said, “Poor you, having relied on your sister since you were little. Your sister did go to school for a few days, but she didn’t learn much and ended up teaching you wrong.”

“If her sister went to school, why didn’t she?” Longming asked.

The villager hesitated. “The village chief didn’t allow it, and the teacher didn’t want to see her either. She was too unruly and always disturbed you, my lady. You were young back then—perhaps you don’t remember.”

Zhuoxue thought this person was quite helpful, covering for her like that. She inwardly flicked her invisible fox tail in satisfaction and said, “That’s right, I’m self-taught.” Though she never felt she had been particularly unruly.

It seemed this nightmare realm really was working against her.

“I don’t remember,” said Longming.

The villager wiped his tears. “Ah, I was careless. I even thought of asking you to leave a farewell letter, but now that I think of it—who would we even give it to? Your sister still hasn’t shown up. She probably won’t.”

Zhuoxue lowered her head to dip the brush in ink and switched it to her right hand, but she didn’t write a word. Instead, she scribbled aimlessly across the paper.

Longming wanted to see her writing? She wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

With a few strokes, she sketched a turtle in a bright floral jacket—her imagined version of Lanhui during festivals, transformed into her original form.

“We didn’t want to send you sisters into the mountains either,” the villager said, sorrowfully. “But the fox spirit pointed to you two specifically. If anything goes wrong, Qiufeng Village might be in serious trouble next year.”

The villager was still grieving when his gaze accidentally fell on the low table—and he froze. For a moment, he didn’t know whether this girl was taking the tribute seriously or just messing around. With disaster looming, how could she still look so cheerful?

“Why did you draw a… turtle?” the villager asked in confusion.

Zhuoxue remained unfazed. “Naturally, I’m finding joy amidst the misery. After all, even if I cry my eyes out, you’re still not going to let me go.”

The villager was half-convinced and sighed again. “If Suli doesn’t show up soon, we’ll have to find someone else. Many people can’t make sense of all this and even blame the village chief and the others for being heartless.”

“Can’t make sense of what?” Zhuoxue felt a sense of dread, expecting more twisted logic. She snuck a glance at Longming, feeling a bit gleeful. How timely. Let Longming hear this too—it might remind her of the ridiculous things she herself had said not long ago.

A proper demon lord, acting just like some preacher.

The villager spoke righteously, “This trip is to bring peace to Qiufeng Village. It’s a great blessing. Yes, there’s sacrifice involved, but it’s worth it. By entering the mountains, the entire village benefits—bountiful harvests, thriving livestock. Other villages will be envious. Everyone who enters the mountains is a hero.”

“If it’s such a wonderful job, why don’t you go?” Zhuoxue casually set down the brush, a blot of ink spreading across the paper.

Longming gave a quiet laugh, showing no embarrassment.

The villager stammered, “I-I have elders and children to care for. How could I possibly leave?”

Zhuoxue helpfully suggested, “Why not take the whole family, nice and tidy? If it’s such a great honor, the entire household should go.”

“You—!” The villager was shocked and angry. Clearly, this girl was pretending not to understand and using it as an excuse to insult him. That turtle on the paper—surely it was meant as an insult too!

Zhuoxue calmly said, “I’m done. Take my farewell painting instead.”

The villager, flustered and enraged, shouted, “Don’t be so ungrateful!”

Zhuoxue was annoyed. How was she being ungrateful?

With a sudden thought, she picked up the paper and gently blew on it to dry the ink. Then she slowly said, “Tell me—what if that list of names was made up? You saw that my sister and I are isolated and helpless, so you pretended the fox spirit named us. But maybe the spirit never said a thing. And that fox fairy—maybe she just calls herself a ‘celestial,’ but isn’t one at all.” She was calm and composed, her words logical and flawless.

The villager was furious. “You have no proof! Do you take us for heartless monsters?”

This person’s rhetoric wasn’t even close to Suli’s level. Both were dream constructs, but this one was clearly the weaker version. Zhuoxue, feeling triumphant, couldn’t help seeing herself and Longming as two opposing sides. Since the villagers Longming brought were less capable than Suli, didn’t that prove Longming herself was a bit inferior?

“What are you laughing at?!” the villager demanded, confused.

Zhuoxue didn’t want to argue anymore and said lazily, “Since you’ve captured me and I can’t escape, you might as well hurry and send me into the mountains.”

The villager glared at her. “Of course you’re going into the mountains! The fox spirit favors you two sisters—that’s why she named you. Stop spouting nonsense!”

Zhuoxue feigned madness and nodded obediently. “Many thanks to the fox spirit for favoring me. That’s exactly why I’m eager to meet her.”

The villager flew into a rage and snatched the paper with the flowered-coat turtle she had drawn, crumpling it into a ball. He stepped outside, schooling his expression somewhat. Before leaving, he looked back and said, “You go in peace. Everyone will burn incense and paper offerings for you!”

Once the man was gone, Zhuoxue let out a long breath and looked innocently at Longming. “He ruined my turtle. But the right hand really is easier to use. That was the best I’ve ever drawn.”

Longming gave her a look, then turned to leave, quietly closing the door behind her.

The fox remained inside, gnashing her teeth. She wondered if it was that tigers naturally had thicker skin—Longming actually showed no shame at all, even calmly watching her put on an act.

Outside, the noise continued. Some were wailing in misery, others singing and dancing in the rain, strangely joyful.

Over the next two days, Zhuoxue didn’t see much of Longming. But she wasn’t worried—judging by Longming’s calm demeanor, she had likely figured out a countermeasure.

This nightmare realm truly was formidable—even a powerful demon like Longming had her spiritual core and essence sealed. Which meant brute force wouldn’t work. They had to rely on wit.

But Zhuoxue wasn’t scared anymore. If the sky collapsed, the tall would hold it up; if the flood came, the short would bear it. With the white tiger here, she had nothing to worry about. She adapted to her situation, though stuck in the house with nothing to do, she passed the time waking and sleeping in turns.

At one point, she heard someone crying and cursing—likely the villagers had failed to find Suli and had picked someone else in her place. That person, unwilling to die, screamed and cursed until their voice gave out. Fortunately, the nightmare was only an illusion—no one was actually being sent to die.

Zhuoxue treated the yelling as though watching a play, appreciating how passionately the imaginary actor performed. She tossed and turned, sometimes focusing on the sound of falling rain, sometimes on the cheers or sobs outside, but nothing could distract her mind.

The heat surged within her, unbearable. Even as she rubbed against the straw mat until her skin turned red, the discomfort remained. It felt as though her whole body was soaked in some silken spring—just closing her legs made her feel sticky and damp, worse than before.

At last, the fox lay flat and bit her own hand to force herself into sleep.

By dawn the next day, the torrential rain had turned to a light drizzle. Firecrackers popped outside, followed by the sounds of instruments—truly festive. Not long after, the villagers must have started slaughtering animals. A pig squealed sharply, the sound ripping through the air.

Zhuoxue sat up. Though she still felt feverish, the sleep had brought her some relief. She couldn’t find the hole she had poked in the paper window earlier, so she made a new one and cautiously peered outside.

The villagers were gathered together, hoisting a freshly severed pig’s head onto a cart.

The ground was slick with blood, and the villagers, drenched by rain, looked like demons themselves.

All manner of slaughtered chickens, ducks, cows, and sheep were being loaded onto the cart. Thank goodness the fox spirit wanted a living sacrifice—otherwise, even the named ones might have been torn limb from limb on the spot.

Just then, the door creaked open.

Zhuoxue jumped and looked back. Seeing it was Longming, she relaxed and resumed watching the scene outside.

Her spiritual awareness was dulled, and even her hearing seemed diminished, the sounds outside no longer clear. Thankfully, her nose still worked. She caught the faint scent of meat, and when she turned to look behind her, she saw Longming carrying a basket—presumably her “last meal.”

Longming said nothing. Calmly, she took out the food from the basket and placed it on the low table beside the straw mat. Her hair fell from her shoulders, veiling half of her indifferent face, but her hands moved with care—even laying a cloth under the bowls and chopsticks. The hands that held the chopsticks were long and slender, jade-like and clearly jointed—hands meant to lift mountains, yet now they looked as if they belonged to someone gently preparing a meal.

The clinking of bowls and utensils rang through the room.

Zhuoxue felt the heat rising in her body again. Pretending nothing was wrong, she walked over and asked, “It smells so good—who made it?”

Longming replied unhurriedly, “At the very least, it’s not poisoned.”

If she was going to act, she’d do it to the end—Zhuoxue was practically pressing the entire script to her face. She grinned and rambled theatrically, “Just seeing you makes me perfectly content. Even if this food were laced with a deadly poison, I’d still want to taste it.”

Might as well pretend she was some love-struck fool pining for a widow—willing to die just to see her once, a lamb offering itself on the butcher’s block. Surely this would make the performance flawless.

Longming was momentarily speechless. After a while, she said, “Enough nonsense. Eat your fill—you’ll need strength for the journey.”

“How is that nonsense?” Zhuoxue, pent up for two days, finally had someone to talk to and fully embraced her theatrical spirit, no longer caring if Longming was irritated or angry. Her eyes sparkled as if filled with stardust. “Do you perhaps have feelings for me too?”

Longming turned to leave.

Seeing she hadn’t yet opened the door, Zhuoxue quickly added, “You met me in secret at night, imprisoned me here, and even treated me with food and drink—surely that means you love me too, right?”

Longming said coolly, “If your mouth is idle, fill it with food.”

“Why don’t you elope with me? Let’s leave this Qiufeng Village behind. I’ll even take care of your child like my own.” The fox’s tongue was honeyed—she could make lies sound truer than truth.

“If you don’t eat, I’m taking the bowls away,” said Longming.

The fox quieted.

It must be that this nightmare was built from her and Longming’s shared memories—even the smell of the food matched that on Lingkong Mountain. As she ate, everything felt so familiar, like she had returned home. She almost got enchanted by the nightmare.

Fortunately, the heat flaring up in her body sobered her again.

Zhuoxue suffered in silence. She truly couldn’t understand how Longming was managing to stay sane.

No matter. A great demon had her own ways.

***

At midnight, drums and gongs resounded, the rain suddenly pouring again. A thick fog enveloped the village—beyond ten steps, you couldn’t even see a person.

Zhuoxue grew increasingly anxious. Before the villagers even came to call her, she had already tidied herself up and stood at the door waiting.

The door creaked—it was Longming, standing outside.

The fog was so dense, it seemed as if the dream world held only the two of them.

Longming held a red silk ribbon in her hand. The swaddled bundle from before was gone. Her expression was indifferent as she gestured. “Cover your eyes, and we can enter the mountains.”

Though dressed in regal robes, Longming still had that aloof, cold demeanor. This wasn’t a ceremonial offering—it looked more like a funeral procession.

Zhuoxue stepped forward, just about to grab the red ribbon when the back of her hand was lightly brushed away.

Longming leaned in and wrapped the silk over her eyes.

Zhuoxue’s vision was gradually filled with red. She felt the ribbon pass over her ears, and Longming’s sleeves flutter gently against her shoulders.

Longming’s breath was close—warm and damp, like the scalding water used in dyeing silk.

Am I not just a bolt of soft spring silk dipped in dye? Zhuoxue mused.

When the red silk was tied tight, Longming withdrew her hand and drew down a crimson satin ribbon from her shoulder to bind Zhuoxue’s wrists. Those slender wrists, pressed together, were bound so snugly they couldn’t be separated. It was like a wooden yoke, only much softer.

Unable to see, and noticing Longming’s arms were now empty, Zhuoxue couldn’t help but ask, “Where’s the baby? Are you really giving it up?”

“That was its destined end,” Longming said calmly.

“And what about my end?” Zhuoxue perked up, suddenly eager—she had never seen a Nightmare demon before and was impatient to meet one.

“Your end,” Longming said evenly, “is to come with me.”

The other end of the satin ribbon was in Longming’s hand. With a slight tug, the fox stumbled after her.

Being led along blindfolded, Zhuoxue bumped into Longming’s back and murmured, voice small as a mosquito’s, “Being led like this while blindfolded—it’s a bit sudden, don’t you think? You won’t lead me into a ditch, will you?”

“When you said all those things earlier, didn’t that feel sudden?” Longming paused. “And what about that ridiculous turtle of yours?”