[To Become a River of Stars] Dong Xiange - Chapter 39

Shiliu stood frozen at the doorway for a moment. She didn’t lose her temper, make a scene, or cry. She just stood there, dazed, before finally turning and walking back.

Once she returned to her room, she firmly closed the door, sat on the bed, curled herself into a ball, pulled the quilt over her head, and tucked it tightly around the edges until not a single gap remained.

Only then did she hug the fine husk pillow, mustering all the strength she had accumulated over Shiliu years, and pounded it so hard it nearly burst open.

When she finally emerged from under the quilt, her hair was a mess, stuck to her sweaty forehead, her face was flushed like an autumn persimmon, yet her expression had finally calmed.

Li Xuanci had deliberately set a trap—he just wanted to see her struggle. He could have easily played along after she agreed, but he had to spell it out, all just to provoke her.

Well, she refused to be provoked!

Shiliu rubbed her sore fists and honestly corrected herself in her heart: She refused to let Li Xuanci find out she was provoked.

Unfortunately, Shiliu didn’t know that while she was fiercely pounding her pillow on the bed, the sound, though faint, couldn’t contain the vibrations. They traveled through the wooden bed frame and spread outward. And her bed happened to be right against the wall of Li Xuanci’s room.

Next door, the infuriating young prince glanced toward the source as he noticed the slight tremble on the surface of the tea in his cup, the corners of his peach-blossom eyes curving almost imperceptibly.

It had been raining for several days in Tongzi County. Viewed from the dam, the waves greedily licked at the stone foundation, crashing down and churning up dirty, broken foam.

A faint mist had risen along the embankment, lingering day and night without dispersing. The sun remained firmly hidden behind the dark clouds, casting a gloomy pall over everything, leaving even the people listless.

Another boat had met with disaster. A fishing family, having been idle for over half a month due to the unsettled waters, found it hard to make ends meet. The father and son risked venturing out, and just when they were about to return fully loaded, a sudden evil wind swept them into a hidden current. In the end, the father pushed his son onto the boat to safety but was swallowed by the waves himself.

The widow, now without her husband, wailed daily in the streets, grabbing every passerby, weeping for her husband who would never return.

One incident after another piled up, silencing the voices that had initially opposed offering sacrifices to the river god. In a place dependent on the water, people had no choice but to heed the whims of Heaven. A few children, when weighed against survival, simply didn’t count for much.

But such sorrows naturally did not touch the wealthy.

Deep within the estate, Mianniang had already grown quite close to her friend. Though he didn’t speak much and often had dark stains on his face and clothes, he always listened to her patiently.

The maids and nannies were good to her, too, but they were all terribly afraid of her father’s reprimands. So, they feared her climbing high, feared her catching a chill from the wind, feared her running around—they practically wished she were a clay doll, obediently staying in her room and going nowhere.

But her father was always busy, and she rarely saw him. The nannies weren’t truly close to her either. The only one she had been close to before was the slender hound she kept in her room. But once, when she had a coughing fit, her father worried it was caused by the dog’s fur and had it taken away.

One noon, while the nannies and Chunqing thought she was asleep, they whispered under the corridor eaves that the master was truly heartless—to have the slender hound, which the young mistress loved so much, beaten to death just like that. They said if they failed in their duties, they might fare no better than that hound.

Back then, she didn’t fully understand, but she never saw her slender hound again and never learned where it had gone.

It was only when she grew a little older that she understood.

These days, Mianniang always had the oldest nanny watch over her during her noon rest. The nanny always fell asleep first, and once she was sound asleep, Mianniang would sneak out through the side door to meet him.

That day, Mianniang repeated to him what she had overheard from the nannies. Unexpectedly, the youth reacted strongly.

Mianniang asked him if he knew what the River God was. She’d always heard the nannies mention it evasively but didn’t know what the River God looked like or why so many children were chosen to serve him.

The youth stood behind the window as rain and mist drifted through the cracks in the sealed window onto his face. His eyes fixed intently on that fractured, gloomy patch of sky, his expression growing increasingly unreadable.

But his face was half-hidden in the shadows behind the crack, so Mianniang continued chattering about the River God. It was only when she belatedly realized that, at some point, the youth had pressed extremely close to the window, his eyes dark as swirling black mist.

“The River God? There is no River God!” His features twisted fiercely, and he spat out a mouthful of blood, splattering the window. Some of the blood spray even landed on Mianniang’s soft embroidered shoes, but he seemed not to notice, his expression ghostly and sinister as he breathed heavily.

Mianniang stood frozen for a moment, then took two steps back and ran away.