Ordered to Marry by the High King - Chapter 50

The moment the mistress of Huangliang Dream Market stepped out the threshold, the fox immediately said she wanted to leave. Longming, however, had no intention of leaving just yet. There was too much strangeness in this place, and she wanted to investigate each anomaly.

“If we don’t leave now, it’ll be too late.” Zhuoxue had already risen to her feet, squinting as she examined the scene beyond the curtain. Her situation was dire. She had originally planned to rely on Longming, but now that both she and Longming were inside the Dream Market and restricted by the wooden plaques, while the mistress of the market was not, things had changed. Judging by the fact that the Dream Market’s mistress neither wore a ghost mask nor carried a wooden plaque, wasn’t it clear that she could kill at will?

The Dream Market was undoubtedly a perfect prison. If she and Longming died here, how would it be any different from mysteriously vanishing? It would likely become an unsolved mystery for the ages.

Longming did not move but instead looked at Zhuoxue and uttered two words, “Nightmare Clan.”

Zhuoxue was momentarily stunned. What did the Nightmare Clan have to do with this? Had the Nightmare Clan kidnapped the mistress of Huangliang Dream Market? Or had they perhaps directly replaced her?

“How can you tell it’s the Nightmare Clan?” Zhuoxue was already desperate to leave, especially since she carried a page from the life ledger. If she didn’t leave now, carrying it would be pointless.

Longming didn’t answer. She strode swiftly toward the curtain, as if to give chase, and coldly questioned the little demon outside the door, “Where did she go?” The “she” in her mouth was undoubtedly referring to Liangmeng.

The little demon was frozen in fear by the crimson eyes under Longming’s ghost mask. She raised a hand and pointed into the distance, stammering, “M-Mistress went that way. What’s going on, my lord?”

“I need to find her. There is something urgent we must discuss,” Longming said sharply. In truth, she didn’t need the little demon to point the way. She could track Liangmeng’s lingering aura precisely. She was merely curious to see if the little demon was complicit with Liangmeng.

Clearly, the little demon had spoken honestly.

Zhuoxue closely followed behind, but was suddenly struck on the forehead by Longming’s palm. A talisman seal embedded itself between her brows, leaving her momentarily dazed. The next moment, Longming had already leapt into the air, darting across the vermilion tiles of the rooftop. Her figure moved like a soaring eagle.

How could Zhuoxue possibly keep up? Her forehead neither hurt nor itched. Zhuoxue touched the center of her brow silently, locking eyes with the little demon by the door.

The little demon nervously asked, “May I ask, my lord, are you staying or leaving?”

Zhuoxue was without spiritual power and could barely protect herself. Naturally, she was in no position to give chase. She gazed at the red tiles above and softly asked, “Did your mistress also go flying over rooftops?”

The little demon nodded, also wearing a baffled expression.

“I’m not leaving. Bring me a pot of hot tea,” Zhuoxue said, lifting the gauze curtain as she turned back. “Use the same tea your mistress served Longming in the past.”

“Autumn Mountain Fog.” The little demon’s eyes sparkled.

Zhuoxue looked slightly surprised, speaking slowly, as if enunciating each word, “You remember that clearly. Then why didn’t your mistress serve Autumn Mountain Fog today?”

“Whatever the mistress asks for, we fetch. We dare not guess or question,” the little demon said quietly.

Zhuoxue understood. It seemed that within the entire Huangliang Dream Market, only Liangmeng was acting abnormally. The little demon was unaware. Her fox ears twitched with a passing thought. She smiled faintly and said, “Has your mistress been indulging in mortal world romance novels lately and changed her habits?”

“That…” The little demon shook her head vigorously. “That I don’t know. Mistress has been in her room the past two days and hasn’t received any guests.”

Zhuoxue fell into thought. Then how had they just claimed she was entertaining guests? Why lie?

After a while, she said, “Forget it. Go brew me that tea. If your mistress asks, tell her the guest insisted.”

The little demon nodded and smiled. “Right away.”

“Wait.” Zhuoxue stopped her again.

The little demon turned back cautiously. “Do you need anything else, my lord?”

“Do you have any snacks?” Zhuoxue asked.

The little demon looked troubled. “We do, but I don’t know which kind you’d like to try.”

“I want freshly made chicken soup,” Zhuoxue said. She wasn’t a lion or tiger, after all—just a fox who dared to ask.

The little demon thought she’d misheard. With so many guests passing through Huangliang Dream Market, this was the first to ask for freshly made chicken soup.

Zhuoxue’s golden eyes curved with a smile. “Can you prepare it?”

“We can, but I ask my lord to wait a little.” The little demon was sweating nervously. “I’ve never made chicken soup before. If the taste turns out poorly, please don’t hold it against me.”

“A big place like Huangliang Dream Market doesn’t even have a proper cook?” Zhuoxue said in surprise.

“Our snacks are made with spells,” the little demon said awkwardly. “We’ve abstained from food for many years and don’t need to eat human food. But since our distinguished guests enjoy it, we had no choice but to mimic mortal cooking.”

Zhuoxue inwardly scoffed—she hoped they weren’t all transformed from rocks, or one bite might chip a tooth. “No matter. I want chicken soup. Be quick,” she said with a smirk. She was clearly giving the little demon a hard time.

The little demon didn’t get it. To her, whatever the guest said was law. She bowed her head and said, “Please wait a moment.” After speaking, she even took the pot of still-warm tea from the table and placed it on a tray to carry away. 

The room fell into silence.

Zhuoxue walked to the window, aimlessly gazing outside. The streets were teeming with demons; although there were some immortals, they were far fewer in number. Since Aunt Lan was able to receive the news, the sealed Celestial Gate must have already reopened—only then could immortals descend to the Mortal Realm.

The street scene remained harmonious, filled with both demons and immortals. The Dream Market’s mistress had left in a hurry, yet nothing in the surroundings seemed disturbed.

Zhuoxue turned back toward the silent, narrow door. Everything beyond the curtain remained quiet. The little demon, who had gone to prepare tea and soup, likely wouldn’t return anytime soon. She leaned out, checked that the corridor was empty, and tiptoed out, circling the vermilion railing and inspecting each private room along the way.

This level was clearly meant for receiving guests—each room nearly identical, with only the screens differing slightly.

After finishing her sweep of the first floor, she lifted her skirt and ascended the stairs. As soon as she peeked around the top landing, she was sure she’d found the right place. Though the upper floor was also decorated in red silk, it was different from below—this level had only one door. Hanging in front of it was a jade wind chime adorned with bird feathers, very distinctive in style.

This must be the mistress’ bedchamber. Unfortunately, Zhuoxue’s spiritual sense was too weak to tell whether any enchantments were set upon the door. If she rashly went and tried to push it open and the chime suddenly rang out, it would be terribly awkward.

Fortunately, upon closer inspection, she realized the jade chime wasn’t an actual bell—it probably wouldn’t make a sound. Still, she remained cautious. She leaned in and poked a small hole through the paper lattice of the window. She was used to doing this in the nightmare realm—old habits died hard.

Peering in, she found the room a complete mess. Silk gowns and robes were tossed on the ground; a candlestick had toppled, wax tears dripping onto the carpet, which bore scorch marks.

Looking around the cabinets and shelves, everything had been overturned—objects scattered across the floor. The bottles and jars that had spilled—whether incense or spiritual pills, she couldn’t tell.

Could it really be as Longming had said, the work of the Nightmare Clan?

The mistress of the Dream Market had spoken directly, clearly after the life ledger. If something had happened to her, the only suspects would be Tianji or the Nightmare Clan—no one else.

After getting a good look through the window, there was no need to go inside. Zhuoxue turned to go back downstairs when she heard a faint creak—barely audible, but her sharp ears picked it up.

The sound had come from inside Liangmeng’s bedroom.

She turned back, found the small hole she had made earlier, and cautiously leaned in again.

Under the bird-and-flower embroidered carpet, something was faintly moving—barely undulating, like a mole tunneling underground. But this wasn’t the mortal world—what mole could this be?

Zhuoxue found it suspicious. Unfortunately, she couldn’t just push the door open. If she barged in now, she’d look like a thief.

From the courtyard below came voices. A little demon asked, “What are you carrying? It smells amazing.”

“It’s the chicken soup the guest requested. Not sure if it’s cooked enough. I’ve been working on my spells lately—but I’ve barely practiced fire spells,” another little demon replied awkwardly.

“No matter. Even the cakes we slap together get praised by our guests,” a third reassured.

Zhuoxue tiptoed back downstairs. She had hoped to investigate a bit longer, but the chicken soup had cooked far quicker than expected.

Soon after, the little demon came back in slowly, balancing a tray in each hand—one with chicken soup, the other with hot tea.

Zhuoxue caught the savory aroma of the soup and asked casually, “Are there really only a few of you little demons here?”

The demon cast a minor spell, causing the wooden tray to spin through the air and land stably on the table. “We’ve always served the mistress. During open market days, we host the guests. When the market is closed, we travel with her, collecting rare treasures.”

“Anyone attend to her closely?” Zhuoxue asked again.

The demon shook her head. “The mistress’ bedroom is filled with rare artifacts. We treat it as a forbidden zone—none of us dare enter without permission, so no one serves her personally either.”

That confirmed it—whatever was moving under the carpet upstairs couldn’t be one of the house’s demons. 

And to be so bold, it had to be someone quite powerful.

“The most rare and precious things in the Dream Market are all kept in your mistress’ bedroom—does that include the Smoke and Rain Dream?” Zhuoxue asked carefully.

The demon responded without hesitation, “Yes. Every time the market opens, the Smoke and Rain Dream is lit by the mistress herself.”

Zhuoxue’s gaze sharpened. From Longming’s expression earlier, it seemed she hadn’t recognized whether the mistress was real or an imposter. A person’s aura might be imitated, but not flawlessly. Perhaps it wasn’t a substitution but coercion. That would explain why none of the demons noticed anything strange. The Dream Market’s mistress deliberately broke her usual tea-and-incense habits—likely trying to signal for help. Fortunately, Longming had gone after her. If she was fast enough, maybe she could catch the mastermind. 

Still, it was odd that even the house demons hadn’t noticed anything wrong with Liangmeng. Perhaps this “Liangmeng” had fabricated a convincing cover story in advance.

“You said your mistress stayed in her room for two whole days, and none of you suspected anything?” Zhuoxue asked.

The little demon hesitated. “Why would we suspect our own mistress? She sometimes shuts herself in for cultivation. Even if the market is open for three days and she doesn’t receive guests, it’s not unusual.”

Zhuoxue seemed to be considering something.

“My lord, the chicken soup!” The demon nervously ladled half a bowl. The chicken was golden and neatly cut.

Zhuoxue looked down and noticed the soup had more spices than chicken. That explained the strong aroma—it was all seasoning. Several plump red dates floated on top, not yet fully cooked. Still, the dish looked respectable enough—it was their first attempt, after all.

She took a small sip. She didn’t want to crush the little demon’s spirit—after all, she had only sent her away to buy herself time to snoop around.

“It’s fine,” Zhuoxue lied smoothly.

The demon smiled and bowed. “Then I’ll wait outside. If you need anything, just call.”

Zhuoxue nodded and touched her brow, deep in thought. She wondered whether Longming had caught up.

***

About a quarter of an hour later, a loud boom erupted outside the window. Firelight flared, blasting apart a distant tower—tiles shattered and rooftops collapsed. In the marketplace, all the demons and immortals halted, turning simultaneously toward the blaze. Even the drowsy vendors jolted upright in alarm to watch.

None of the demons or immortals tried to flee. Clearly, they regarded the wooden plaques they carried as life-and-death tokens, firmly believing that whoever created them would be bound by their own constraints.

Unexpectedly, yet another building collapsed. The glazed tiles shattered into fine dust in an instant, glittering under the lamplight like a flowing galaxy.

Spiritual power twisted into flying blades, slicing cleanly through distant rooftops before crashing down with a thud among the market stalls—one demon was nearly struck.

That demon suddenly felt a murderous urge and lunged forward, but the wooden plaque at her waist shattered completely. The green lacquer on the ghost mask seeped into her spiritual veins, causing her to fall stiffly to the ground.

It turned out the plaques weren’t failing—the chaos was being caused by someone who wasn’t wearing one.

The demons and immortals scattered in panic. One looked back at the towering pavilion and shouted, “It’s the Dream Market’s mistress! I knew she built this place with bad intentions! She must be trying to trap us and claim all our spiritual power for herself!”

Some demons took the initiative to destroy their plaques, only for green lacquer to splash straight from the fragments and forcibly seal their spiritual meridians.

Zhuoxue, watching from the high pavilion, saw everything clearly—saw how a peaceful and joyful marketplace had suddenly descended into chaos.

Even the little demons inside the pavilion were flustered. The one who had brewed the chicken soup earlier burst into the room, panic-stricken. “Forgive the disturbance, my lord. Something’s happening in the Dream Market. Please leave immediately!”

“Can you still contact your mistress?” Zhuoxue asked, stepping away from the window.

The little demon shook her head anxiously, face as pale as ash. She stammered, “It’s best if you leave now, my lord.”

Zhuoxue shook her head. She figured that perhaps she and Longming didn’t need to leave at all.

In the Dream Market, at most the Nightmare King could order the market’s mistress to act on her behalf. But since the mistress had tried to send a message, clearly she had no intent to kill. Whether anyone lived or died—that was not for the Nightmare King to decide.

Suddenly, a shadow approached the window, startling the little demon so badly she fell to the floor.

Zhuoxue spun around and saw a familiar ghost mask. Red face, tusked jaws, flared nostrils, bared teeth—and yet, that ink-swirled silk robe flowed with grace like a painting. It was Longming.

Zhuoxue grabbed Longming’s sleeve and immediately asked, “Did you catch up?”