[To Become a River of Stars] Dong Xiange - Chapter 18

Shiliu had just stepped out of the side courtyard when she ran into someone entirely unexpected at the entrance.

Li Xuanci.

He had been standing there for who knew how long, now looking at her with a faint, ambiguous smile.

Shiliu’s heart began to drum nervously. She had no idea how much he had overheard.

She had relied on her wits to insist on getting to the bottom of things, partly to satisfy her own pride. But if that pride ended up harming another person, it would be a sin she’d have to bear.

Shiliu thought about trying to talk her way out of it, but she had always been straightforward—coming and going without deceit—and didn’t know how to be evasive.

She also considered testing the waters, but the icy sharpness in Li Xuanci’s eyes made her feel that any attempt at probing would only backfire.

So, all she could manage was a clumsy, “Don’t take it out on her,” her eyes unusually flustered and pleading.

Li Xuanci lowered his gaze, his slightly upturned lashes casting a faint shadow in the sunlight. He stepped closer, each step pressing in, his shadow engulfing her slender frame, every inch exuding intimidation.

“It seems you’re not just a useless waste, but a softhearted one at that.” Softhearted wasn’t necessarily a bad word, but Li Xuanci’s tone was unmistakably laced with scorn and mockery.

Yet Shiliu’s attention was diverted elsewhere. Having grown up in the south, she wasn’t familiar with northern slang. With an utterly serious and stern expression, she asked earnestly, “Pastry? What pastry?”

Only someone like Shiliu, whose lifelong passion was food, could focus on the word “pastry” when being called useless.

Even Li Xuanci was momentarily stumped. After a pause, he let out a derisive snort. “If someone sold you off, you’d probably help them count the money.”

Shiliu finally caught on, exclaiming in realization, “You… you knew all along?”

Only then did Li Xuanci deign to look at her properly. His peach-blossom eyes, shimmering with light, held a trace of undisguised amusement.

“Seems you’re not completely hopeless,” he said, his voice tinged with mockery. “A trick like this might work once, but using it a second time is just insulting.”

“Then why did you…” Shiliu started to ask why he had said earlier that beating someone to death would suffice, but the faint, mocking smile on Li Xuanci’s face sent a chill rising from the soles of her feet. “You knew I’d step in?”

“Someone had to play the fool and expose the matter. Having an idiot like you do it was just perfect, wasn’t it?” He glanced down at her condescendingly, then turned and walked away.

What clever calculation. Using an outsider like her, a Daoist, to uncover the plot ensured that even if the seductive spies were purged in the end, the mastermind behind them wouldn’t be able to pin the suspicion squarely on Li Xuanci.

Come to think of it, just how much of Prince Ding’s reputation all these years—for favoring brute force over brains—was deliberately crafted by his own design? Shiliu watched his retreating figure with complicated emotions.

She had been used as a pawn, after all. Shiliu took a deep breath, her expression calm, her steps steady as she slowly made her way back to the courtyard where she was staying.

Once she had securely closed the courtyard gate, shut the doors and windows tight, and confirmed that no one was spying on her, Shiliu neatly and furiously practiced her fist forms three full times in a row before she finally vented the anger of having been played.

Shiliu wasn’t large in build, but her heart was wide. She had always lived by the motto, “Let pastries pass through the gut, but keep the Daoist ancestors in the heart.” Yet, Li Xuanci had managed to provoke genuine fury in her, a rare occurrence.

Not only had she been used, but she’d also been treated like a fool. The anger burned inside her well into the night. When she lay down on the bed, she remembered how she had nearly been strangled to death by that tyrant on this very bed the night before. Resentfully, she thought, One day, I’ll be the one smothering him.

Then, immediately feeling that such a thought was sinful, she hurriedly murmured, “Boundless blessings of the Celestial Worthy,” several times before settling down a bit.

That night, the wind was still, the world silent. Even the shadows of the trees seemed to fade into the darkness—a cool, peaceful night perfect for sleep.

In the main room of the central courtyard, the heavy bed curtains absorbed all sound. Li Xuanci was sunk in deep slumber, enjoying a rare, tranquil sleep.

It was a fine body.

It still held the leanness of youth, yet was adorned with well-defined muscle. Now, it lay unaware in sleep, but when roused to action, those very muscles could instantly support him in wielding a sword to kill.

His skin was exceptionally pale, his hair jet black. With his eyes closed, his thick lashes cast a delicate shadow, slightly upturned at the corners, lending an androgynous allure that made one hold their breath, afraid to disturb the dreamer.

The silk quilt rose and fell gently with his breathing. From the silent darkness, a tangible presence seemed to coalesce, slipping in without a sound.

A slender, pale hand crept beneath the silk quilt, leaving only a subtle rise and ambiguous creases in the soft fabric.

Fingertips traced along the bone of his calf, rumpling the thin sleeping trousers. The vivid, warm body heat seeped through the soft cloth, stirring a restless itch in the heart.

That hand was exceedingly light, not even disturbing the air, moving silently over his skin like a breeze stirring spring water. His body became a plaything, like a qin being gently plucked by those fingers, teasing forth threads of desire.

The rise in the silk quilt crept steadily upward, nearing the groin. A finger slipped out, teasing apart the fabric and slipping inside.

“Who’s there?”

Li Xuanci jolted awake. The beast-like instinct never dormant in his blood kicked in. He sprang up, reaching for the dagger he always kept under his pillow, ready to slit a throat.

But as he moved, he found his limbs bound to the four corners of the bed with fine iron chains, leaving him struggling in vain toward the dagger, just out of reach.

A soft laugh echoed—unlike the seductive tones of the courtesans in his residence, this one was huskier, like fine sand grinding over skin, impossible to shake off or sever, leaving a sticky, bone-deep itch.

A delicate hand reached under the pillow in his stead, found the dagger, its cold gleam confirming its sharpness.

The blade parted the quilt, dangerously tracing a path from his knee upward, slicing a fine line through the soft cotton trousers.

The cold metal pressed against warm skin, asserting an undeniable presence—sharp and perilous. Even the slightest contact made his hair stand on end.

Li Xuanci would never submit to such coercion. Even bound, he struggled violently, the chains clinking futilely as he failed to drive away that detestable hand.

“Be good.”

The voice, though somewhat indistinct, was straightforward, strangely familiar to him. Words that sounded like scolding a child made Li Xuanci’s eyes burn with fury.

Since gaining awareness, no one had ever dared speak to him like this. Li Xuanci had always done as he pleased—what he desired, he obtained; what opposed him, he destroyed. He was the one who imposed his will, never the one subjected to it.

Yet, against his will, the blade continued its ascent. In the darkness, the sound of tearing fabric hissed, exposing more of his skin to the air.

Like the legs of a venomous spider crawling over him, his body instinctively recoiled from the sharp weapon. Yet, under this eerie stimulation, his senses heightened to an extreme, as if his skin had grown eyes, watching the blade’s slow, deliberate approach.

It glided over his taut abdominal muscles, even dipping slightly into the grooves between them.

His body tensed to its limit, his fine muscles trembling with excitement. The wielder handled the blade masterfully—not too light, not too heavy, hovering just above the skin.

The exquisite touch of the blade’s tip evoked an unbearable itch. Unable to move, yet refusing to yield or evade, his body succumbed to a numbing, intoxicating paralysis.

Li Xuanci refused to relent, his very bones stiff with resistance. But the more he fought, the more his senses betrayed him. An indescribable sensation seeped from his marrow into his veins, both agonizing and exhilarating.

This feeling peaked as the blade reached his chest.

The wielder seemed deliberate, slowly, teasingly circling around the brown are*la, tilting the blade this way and that, patient and meticulous, as if deciding where to make the first cut for the most exquisite dissection.

Li Xuanci had endured for so long, just waiting for this moment of opportunity. Seizing the instant when the person atop him seemed to relax, he abruptly raised his leg, attempting to throw them off.

But the other was even more agile, evading in an instant. However, their grip loosened, and the long-poised blade tip plunged into his flesh.

Not deep, only a few millimeters.

It didn’t hurt much either. Li Xuanci had already half lost his life once, and he had endured far greater pain than this.

Yet the sharp sting of torn flesh transformed a thousandfold into humiliation, rushing to his head, clouding his mind. Even his eyes were veiled with a brutal, bloodshot hue.

Kill.

He only wanted to kill.

Wanted to carve out the heart, slice the flesh, grind the bones, and scatter the ashes of the wretch atop him.

But the next moment, his rage was replaced by an even stranger sensation.

Warm, moist lips and tongue enveloped his wounded chest—so hot, so wet, tightly wrapping around his ni*ple.

Blood still seeped out. The soft tip of the tongue lifted slightly, licking away the droplets of blood, then swallowed them along with saliva.

The sucking sensation of the mouth swallowing was so bizarre and tormenting.

He didn’t feel pain, only absurdity. The young prince, renowned for his allure but in reality untouched, looked down on everyone and thus allowed no one to touch him.

So now, merely encountering the lick of human lips and tongue, he felt an unprecedented sense of helplessness.

But that wasn’t enough. That tongue continued its mischief, teasing around the tip, pressing into a small point, forcefully prodding his ni*ple, then relaxing again, softly licking the surrounding skin.

Playing with him repeatedly.

A fire ignited inexplicably in Li Xuanci’s abdomen, unbearably restless, burning so fiercely that his erect member strained against the torn undergarments, creating a prominent bulge. His patience finally wore thin. He struggled once more, rattling the iron chains loudly, his voice icy as he snapped, “Let go!”

Unfortunately, the person on him was utterly clueless, bluntly retorting, “No chance. I won’t let go.”

Then, the punishment escalated. The weight on him lightened, and the next moment, soft breaths fell upon his throbbing erection.