[To Become a River of Stars] Dong Xiange - Chapter 9

At the foot of the mountain, the lush greenery was at its peak, with mist weaving among the clouds. Light and shadow were just beginning to shift, and a faint gleam broke through the gloomy horizon, edging the depths of the mountains with a dark gold.

Occasionally, a bird would call, only emphasizing the silence.

Dawn was approaching.

Li Xuanci still sat atop his horse, allowing it to stride forward without so much as a glance backward. Only his high ponytail, tied with a red cord, swayed gently, its dark strands brushing against the sliver of nape visible above his collar. From behind, he appeared with the slender build and innocence of youth.

In his hand, he held a thin red cord, playfully wrapped around his palm, trailing in a soft arc. Against the deep green of the mountains, so lush it seemed to condense into mist, that red line stood out vividly and charmingly.

The cord hung loosely, occasionally tightening. Each time it did, Li Xuanci would lower his gaze slightly, as if noticing a pet cat had knocked over a jade vase onto the table, and would lazily reach out to punish it—without even turning around, he would give the red cord a sharp tug. Behind him, a series of stumbling footsteps would follow.

And inexplicably, his mood would lift just a little.

But Shiliu was not having an easy time of it. Tied up and dragged along, whenever she slowed even slightly, the red cord around her wrist would pull taut. It hurt, and she was tired from walking.

By nature thick-skinned, she didn’t feel particularly embarrassed about being bound and led this way. But she hated pain and exhaustion. After cooking all night yesterday and having barely any rest before the night’s sudden upheavals, her feet ached, her hands ached, and her head ached. All she wanted was to lie down and sleep soundly.

But the demon king ahead was clearly amusing himself at her expense—there was no chance he would stop. So Shiliu simply numbed her nerves, trudging forward blankly. If she didn’t think about anything, nothing could bother her.

Meanwhile, Jin Zhan, who had been following closely behind Li Xuanci, kept glancing back at Shiliu.

The prince’s temperament had always been inscrutable, but he had one consistent hobby: he loved to stand high above and watch trapped beasts struggle. For this, no matter how troublesome, he found joy in the pursuit—which was why he had doggedly chased the bird monster all this way.

Who could have expected it would bring him such a headache? This little Taoist Priest couldn’t be killed, couldn’t be beaten, and had instead become his lifeline—a tender, delicate lifeline at that.

Jin Zhan stole another look at Shiliu trailing behind the horse. This little Taoist Priest looked rather… feminine, but had the spine of a man!

Whether it was exchanging himself for others last night or enduring such humiliation now, he held his ground. His hair was disheveled, his robes stained with mud from the road, yet he stood as straight as bamboo in the deep mountains—unbending, unyielding, utterly composed.

Judging a person by their character rather than appearance, Jin Zhan felt a secret admiration for such a true man of fortitude. Truly worthy of a cultivator.

If Shiliu could have heard Jin Zhan’s inner thoughts, she would have laughed herself silly. She was no enlightened master, unshaken even if Mount Tai collapsed before her.

At best, she was the type who, when unable to escape, would hope for someone tall to bury themselves in front of her as a shield, and someone short to bury themselves behind her as a cushion.

Her appearance of composure and detachment was entirely thanks to her master’s expert guidance since childhood.

As they descended the mountain and reached the main road, carriages and horses were already waiting. Li Xuanci dismounted, his robes fluttering. He casually lifted the hem of his garment to step into the carriage, but the red cord in his hand caught on the doorframe, pulling his gaze toward the struggling figure behind him.

Jin Zhan followed his look, pondered for a moment, and reported in a low voice, “Your Highness, should we keep that Taoist Priest under close watch? After all, he is now connected to you… This matter is of great importance. It’s better to be cautious.”

His words were practical. There were too many who wanted Li Xuanci dead. But given his unique status, he couldn’t die easily, and with his private troops, he wasn’t easy to kill. Yet now, with this rural Taoist Priest tied to his fate, he had become a fatal weakness.

When the two had spoken last night, they had deliberately kept their voices low. Only Jin Zhan and He Chong, who were closest, had overheard—but there was still a risk of the secret leaking.

Thus, Shiliu had effectively become a “second master”—whether they liked it or not, he had to be protected.

Li Xuanci’s eyes flickered slightly, his glass-like pupils flashing with a coldness akin to the thin, knife-sharp ice on a river in early winter—chill and impatience. Jin Zhan immediately lowered his head, recognizing that Prince Ding was growing irritated.

Li Xuanci had always demanded that every desire be fulfilled, answerable to neither heaven nor earth, bound by no rules. Now, suddenly shackled, it was like a malignant tumor growing on his neck, making even breathing feel stifling and vexing.

Jin Zhan kept his back deeply bowed, not daring to move an inch.

Li Xuanci frowned slightly and finally spat out, “Bring him here.”

“Yes.” Jin Zhan remained bent at the waist as he quickly retreated.

Shiliu had no idea how she ended up being invited into the carriage. After walking mountain paths all night, this mercy felt somewhat sudden and bewildering. But she was utterly exhausted, so she decided to throw caution to the wind.

After all, she was already like fish on someone’s chopping block—why fret over whether it would be boiled or fried?

Steeling herself, she muttered a “thank you” and clumsily tried to climb into the carriage. However, her hands were tightly bound, making it difficult to ascend the high-step, spacious carriage.

Jin Zhan, seeing her struggle, thought to loosen the rope a bit for her. But before his hand could reach it, he caught a glimpse of a faint gaze from behind the half-drawn curtain.

It was like a well-fed tiger feigning sleep beside leftover prey, occasionally flicking its tail to scare away vultures eager to scavenge.

Jin Zhan immediately withdrew his hand and stepped back, leaving Shiliu behind—secretly hoping to be sent off quickly, yet puzzled by why she had been abruptly abandoned.

Everyone here is so bizarre!

In her heart, she fiercely cursed and imagined stabbing a little effigy repeatedly. Struggling to save herself, she managed to squeeze into the carriage in what she hoped was a somewhat graceful manner.

The curtain fell shut behind her, and the interior of the carriage instantly dimmed. Only a sliver of light stumbled in through the gaps gently stirred by the wind—ambiguous and faintly golden.

The carriage was large and sturdy, shielding them from the chilling mountain wind during the transition between dawn and day. Inside, it seemed scented, though no smoke was visible—only a subtle warmth that softly wrapped around her nose and mouth, making her very bones feel unconsciously soft and limp, as if melting into mud.

To top it off, the carriage was carpeted with an extremely thick and soft white lambskin rug, made from the pelts of lambs that had never been struck once in their lives, without a single blemish or impurity. It was fluffy and snow-white, like dense clouds plucked from the clearest sky, spread lavishly across the floor. Anyone who saw it would yearn to sink into its softness.

Shiliu couldn’t help but stare at the rug for a moment. She was so tired, every part of her aching faintly, and she desperately wanted to just throw herself down and not move.

But her instinct for pretense remained. The more she wanted to sleep, the more expressionless her face became. She stared coldly at the rug, as if disapproving of such luxury.

Li Xuanci sipped his tea leisurely, only glancing up after a long while to see this shabby Taoist Priest stubbornly standing before him.

What, does this monastic find such luxuries distasteful? Already trampled into the mud beneath his feet, yet still putting on a show of pride—it made his palms itch to fetch a whip, strip this Taoist bare, and lash him thoroughly to see if that arrogant facade would remain.

For now, Li Xuanci couldn’t whip him, but his mind was set on venting his irritation. Otherwise, it felt like fine nails were drilling into his brain, urging him to kill.

So, his black boot, embroidered with subtle gold thread, landed abruptly on Shiliu’s back. With clever force at his toes, he pressed her spine down onto the floor.

Her cheeks, still rounded with a touch of childish youth, were squeezed out of shape, pressed firmly against the lambskin. Even against such soft wool, the friction stung her delicate skin.

But Li Xuanci seemed to finally find some satisfaction, a light laugh escaping him.

“Still proud?” he asked softly, his tone dripping with unmistakable pleasure.

Madman!

Shiliu cursed inwardly. This must be what Master called “delirium”—when struck by it, one’s mind is no different from pigs or dogs. I won’t argue with a mad pig. They’ll be slaughtered sooner or later anyway.

Shiliu simply stopped resisting, lying face-down on the lambskin rug and closing her eyes to rest.

After all, I’ve been wanting to lie on this rug anyway. It really is soft and comfortable. Master, it seems that being a corrupt noble who exploits the people might be shameful, but it’s really quite pleasant.

Li Xuanci’s pleasure lasted only a moment. When the carriage gradually filled with even, drawn-out breaths, his peach-blossom eyes paused in surprise, then turned cold.

Very well. It seems what I’ve caught this time is not a bird or a lamb, but a pig.