[To Become a River of Stars] Dong Xiange - Chapter 24

The child outside was adorned in silks and gold, holding an exquisitely painted kite. The sunlight bathed her head, causing the fine gold hairpins in her hair to sway as if touched by a breeze.

The child inside had a complexion like the thin paper used to patch drafty windows—pale from lack of sunlight. Straw scraps clung to her hair, and only her eyes resembled a moon emerging in daylight, bright even through the haze.

In her soft, gentle voice, she asked, “Who are you?”

But the one inside did not answer, only watched her quietly—like a starving wolf cub with no strength to respond or bite, merely observing this innocent-smiling little girl with wariness.

“Can you not speak?” Perhaps too young for fear to fully take root, her curiosity outweighed any trepidation. She blinked, leaning closer on tiptoe, and whispered delicately, “I’m Mianniang, six years old. How old are you? Are you a little brother or an older brother?”

Those eyes shifted, as if finally stirred by the intrusive light. They stared directly at her, and a mouth opened, emitting only a hoarse sound, “Wa… water…”

“You want water?” The little girl paused, then—quick-witted—darted away. She initially tried to pluck a broad leaf but, too short to reach, cupped her hands instead and scooped water from the large vat in the courtyard collecting rainwater.

Her small legs moved swiftly, but water still trickled through her fingers, leaving a trail of dark droplets on the ground. Hurrying back to the window, she raised her cupped hands to offer him the water.

Warm breath brushed against her palms, and water splashed messily as the thirst-maddened child desperately drank life from that small, shallow handful.

Mianniang’s palms tingled with the sensation. She glanced sideways at him, feeling an inexplicable familiarity, as if he were the fine hound she kept in her room.

Mianniang made several trips back and forth, leaving deep and shallow trails on the sun-scorched ground, before finally quenching his thirst.

Only then did she pick up the kite she had left by the window and whisper toward the dark opening, “I’ll bring you my favorite zhanpianzi tonight. Wait here for me, okay?”

It was as if Mianniang had secretly adopted a little animal trapped within the walls, burdened with a sudden sense of responsibility.

From then on, she found excuses every now and then to share food with the silent, strange child and chatter about things her parents had no patience to hear.

Prince Ding’s Manor.

Shiliu wiped her egg yolk-stained hands on an inconspicuous part of her Taoist robe and strolled leisurely toward the study.

She didn’t know if Li Xuanci would be there but decided to try her luck. As she turned to a corner, she spotted officials in red court robes waiting outside the study courtyard. Quite a few of them, adorned with silver fish pouches.

Although her sect originated from humble backgrounds, they were now gilt with genuine prestige—legitimate orthodox Heavenly Masters. Thus, she had been taught the ranks of court attire.

But Shiliu was always confused whether purple or crimson robes denoted higher rank. Still, the silver fish pouches suggested these were high-ranking officials, likely from the capital, like them.

Shiliu felt this wasn’t the best time to enter. If the higher-ups discovered she shared a Fate-and-death bond with Prince Ding, there would be no need to investigate any Heavenly Dog—if the Emperor was displeased, he could simply have her head chopped off.

Forgive her, Little Shiliu, for lacking grand ideals—she valued her own head, which might not be the prettiest but certainly ate its fair share, more than that glittering golden throne.

In this sense, Shiliu and Li Xuanci—that “thorn in the court’s side”—were now swaying on the same rope.

It seemed that after only a month away from the capital, the court’s bureaucratic rituals had grown even more elaborate. Shiliu waited until her breakfast had fully digested before the officials finally departed the manor.

She bounded into the courtyard in quick strides, hunger urging her to act as if she belonged there—all she wanted was to settle this quickly and go eat.

But Jin Zhan subtly signaled to her with his eyes, quietly stopping her—almost like a warning.

Shiliu froze. What did that… mean?

Her mind was often an empty cavern, half-filled with thoughts of various snacks and recipes. She was inherently lazy and, without the stimulation of imminent danger, truly inept at reading subtle cues. So, she failed to grasp the bodyguard’s well-intentioned warning. Puzzled but undeterred, she entered the room.

“What are you doing here?”

Those four icy words alone made Shiliu realize that Jin Zhan had genuinely been trying to help her.

The King of Hell’s temper had been provoked again.

And she had just become the unlucky fool who walked right into it.

“Your Highness, I’ve heard that the bird monster might have appeared in Tongzi County. Should we go and investigate?”

She had originally planned to weave an eloquent, seamless argument to coax Li Xuanci into going with her, but this wasn’t her strong suit. Combined with the oppressive atmosphere, she could only spill everything straightforwardly, like beans from a bamboo tube.

Li Xuanci shot her a sharp glance from the corner of his upturned eyes and extended his hand. “Hand it over.”

Was… was she discovered?

Hesitantly, Shiliu retrieved a piece of Yikousu pastry she had hidden in her robe and placed it in his palm.

She had been so hungry earlier that she secretly snatched a snack from the table on her way over. He actually noticed.

Li Xuanci stared at the greasy pastry in his palm, the corner of his eye twitching. He let out a low, humorless laugh, suppressing his anger as he said, “How many lives do you think you have, to dare fool me like this?”

Shiliu was baffled. Wait, wasn’t he upset about her stealing his snack?

Looking at her dumbfounded expression, Li Xuanci once again confirmed: this was a fool whose very earholes oozed stupidity.

“The letter,” he stated bluntly.

Shiliu felt a pang of guilt. How did he know she had a letter? Was he bluffing again? This time, she wouldn’t be fooled like with the Clay Figurine Spirit incident, where she was sold out multiple times and still counted the money for them.

She kept her expression neutral but dawdled, unwilling to produce the letter. Li Xuanci had no patience for her stalling and cut straight to the point, “You’ve been blowing that pigeon whistle all morning. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

Not satisfied with that, he added a comprehensive critique, “You gathered information? With a brain stuffed full of red bean paste, what could you possibly find out? It was that precious senior brother of yours, wasn’t it?”

The Yikousu she handed over was indeed red bean-filled.

Shiliu felt wronged but had no retort. Reluctantly, she pulled out the letter.

While Li Xuanci read it, Shiliu restlessly glanced around the study. A letter lay partially uncovered on the table. From her upside-down view, she could only make out fragments: “Fear that His Majesty…”, “man-made disaster”, “flood damage”—disjointed phrases that made little sense.

She was squinting, trying to read more, when Li Xuanci finished the letter. Shiliu quickly straightened up, assuming the dignified posture of an upright and proper disciple.

But Li Xuanci ignored her performance, lost in thought. After a long moment, he murmured to himself, “Interesting.”

Just like that, the mission Shiliu had painstakingly planned was half-accomplished in a bewildering turn. Li Xuanci ordered her to pack her belongings—they would set out the next day.