[To Become a River of Stars] Dong Xiange - Chapter 22
“You really think I don’t dare to kill you?”
“N-no… you wouldn’t, right?” Shiliu widened her eyes, trembling as she told the truth.
The next moment, Li Xuanci’s gaze—so chilling it could freeze one from the crown of the head to the soles of the feet—jolted her back to full awareness.
It’s over. Even if she wasn’t doomed before, she certainly was now.
This young prince, with a heart smaller than a needle’s eye, hadn’t even glanced at the blood now trickling down his own neck. It seemed he’d rather perish together than let her live.
Fortunately, having grown up overshadowed by her master and senior brothers, Shiliu had mastered the art of flexibility. Prompted by the cold, bleeding wound on her neck, she swiftly and shrewdly ducked under the sword pressed against her.
Though her movement was somewhat dog-like and undignified, it was effective. Li Xuanci clearly hadn’t expected such shamelessness, and she seized the opportunity to burrow right in front of him.
Shiliu had originally intended to cling to his leg, but her short stature made it impossible. Forced to compromise, she tightly wrapped her arms around his waist.
With utmost sincerity, she admitted her fault and begged for mercy, “I was wrong, Your Highness. I’ve been black-hearted and spouting nonsense.”
In her panic, her words tumbled out without any logic.
Li Xuanci who was abruptly awakened from a spring dream with his lower garments still damp, felt a surge of restless heat rising from his core as she recklessly clung to him. It burned his bones with an itching urge to kill and see blood.
Enraged to the point of laughter, he raised an eyebrow and asked, “Admitting your fault is good. Now you can die with clarity, without lodging complaints before the King of Hell.”
Shiliu’s hands, still wrapped around his waist, trembled. Why was he so hard to appease? In her childhood, no matter what mistake she made, clinging to her master’s leg and begging for mercy had always worked.
She struggled to explain further, “I… I would definitely lodge a complaint before the King of Hell.”
“Oh? You think you’ve been wronged?” His tone was light, rising slightly at the end like a jade hook laced with hidden barbs.
“I’m thinking of how wronged you would be, Your Highness! A prodigy like you, brilliant as the bright moon, falling because of a nobody like me… if word got out, people might think you died for my sake!”
Shiliu, usually tight-lipped and stern-faced, was now pouring out a year’s worth of flattery all at once in her struggle to survive, almost convincing herself in the process.
Finally, it occurred to her that someone as proud as Prince Ding would not fear death but would surely despise being dragged down from his divine pedestal in the eyes of the world. So she quickly adjusted her wording, cleverly blurring the line between “dying because of her” and “dying for her.”
Li Xuanci narrowed his eyes, moving the blade she had dodged back to press against her heart. The tip indented the soft cotton of her clothes, hovering as though it might pierce through at any moment.
He forced Shiliu to retreat, putting some distance between them, but even then, she refused to let go completely, still half-embracing his waist.
Who knew if he’d turn on her the moment she released him? Her years of experience struggling with her master had taught her: once you’ve latched onto a leg, you never let go.
“You certainly have some nerve,” he said.
“I’m afraid of tarnishing your reputation, Your Highness. You wouldn’t want to be associated with me even after death, would you?” Shiliu spoke cautiously, afraid of provoking the tiger again.
Li Xuanci remained silent, but the blade in his hand tilted upward, its tip gradually piercing through her clothing. The cold touch of metal sent shivers down her spine.
In the next moment, the icy sharp point broke through her warm skin, right above her heart. On her white undergarments, a spread of crimson bloomed like red plum blossoms.
Shiliu gritted her teeth, suppressing a groan. The cut was shallow—more a warning than a genuine intent to kill.
Yet her heart raced uncontrollably, thumping like a trapped bird.
Li Xuanci loomed over her, gripping the blade. A faint pain bloomed in his own chest, and a dark stain spread across his black robes.
But he felt an unusual satisfaction.
The restless fire burning within him all night finally seemed less frantic and scorching, like a tamed wildfire now under his control.
The little Taoist beneath him reminded him of the first white-tailed fox he had hunted as a child—helpless and quiet, curled at his feet.
Equally reckless, one had timidly brushed its tail against his boot as he approached, while the other clung to his waist without a hint of self-preservation.
Her face was pale with fear, yet she still wore that same foolish, dazed expression. Did she really think he couldn’t see how terrified she was of dying?
What an idiot.
A foolish, cowardly fool.
For some reason, he felt a flicker of amusement. The more the blood spread and deepened in color, the more satisfaction coursed through him.
Even the trivial pain served as a catalyst, intensifying the thrill and stimulating his senses.
Shiliu waited, her face pale, watching his inscrutable expression as he stared down at her. It reminded her of… the way she watched preserved pork hocks, waiting for them to be perfectly cooked.
Baffled, she felt the pressure of the blade gradually ease until, at last, it withdrew completely.
Li Xuanci sheathed his blade, his face once again an emotionless mask of ice.
Suddenly, he raised a hand, his fingers brushing over the bleeding cut on her neck. Her blood was warm, but his touch was cold. Shiliu shivered involuntarily, and a fresh trickle of blood splattered across the back of his hand.
Li Xuanci raised an eyebrow, then methodically wiped his bloodied fingers clean on her pale cheek.
“Behave from now on, or else…”
Under his frigid gaze, Shiliu—her face now smeared with blood—trembled as she nodded.
Then, at that intensely serious and bizarre moment, her stomach—which had been tantalized by dreams of pork hocks for half the night—let out a loud, unmistakable growl.