The Great King Ordered Me to Marry – Chapter 16
by Little PandaSpeaking of How a Fox’s Fidgeting Angered the Tiger
Zhuoxue hadn’t even touched her yet when the small demon entering the door bellowed loud enough to scare her soul out of her body.
Her extended hand snapped back. Like a turtle, she pressed half her body against the bed’s edge and played dead again.
Longming lay on her side on the soft couch. The couch was too narrow for her tall frame, forcing her to half-curl. Her cascading silver hair flowed from shoulder to waist, accentuating a figure that was full and striking.
The heavens were unkind—she had been so close to touching her.
Zhuoxue silently sighed at the missed chance. What would it have mattered if she’d gotten to touch her again? Back in the cave, Longming had let her touch freely without moving an inch.
Longming frowned and turned her head, her cold gaze landing on the fox’s face.
Fortunately, the fox had already tucked in her ten fingers. She lay there seemingly docile, a smile on her lips, candlelight reflected in eyes as bright as stars.
“What’s going on? What’s all the shouting?” Longming asked coldly.
She sensed no flow of demonic power. Clearly, this fox wasn’t trying to launch a sneak attack.
The small demon nearby still had ringing ears, thinking it must have been mad to dare such a thing—what if this was some game between master and servant?
It was all Qiu Ruo’s fault. She drilled the demon servants on the rules day after day, reciting the dos and don’ts until they ran ten thousand words long.
Over months and years, the rules had been carved into their very bones. One moment of carelessness and the words had slipped out.
The fox only smiled, saying nothing.
What’s going on? She hadn’t done anything.
She had been ready to give up on that tiger’s rear, but the tiger demon wouldn’t let her leave—so she couldn’t be blamed for her wicked thoughts arising.
Since she couldn’t leave, she’d bask in that white moonlight1‘s glow a little longer. If the big tiger couldn’t bear to mistreat her and treated her a bit better, her days ahead would be easier too.
Want to touch, don’t want to touch, want to touch, don’t want to touch.
Eh, just for fun.
The small demon clutching the bedding crept into the room, terrified, unsure whether it had ruined something. It dared only to stare at its own shoe tips and stammered, “Demon Lord, Head Steward Qiu Ruo sent me to deliver the bedding. Wh-where should I lay it?”
Zhuoxue quietly pouted. She had thought her wretched state tonight might earn her at least a sliver of Longming’s sympathy—maybe even an invitation to share the pillow. But Longming’s heart was truly cold and hard enough.
So much for “close attendance” in the mortal realm. How was this close at all?
She looked back at the bedding—such vivid colors, brighter even than the clothes Lan Hui wore during festival days.
It was rather curious, really. Lan Hui looked the picture of ascetic detachment, yet she was devoted to every festival under heaven. On ordinary days she dressed plainly, but the moment a festival arrived, she became a butterfly of many colors.
This gaudy purple-and-red floral bedding suited Lan Hui’s taste perfectly. If the two mountains could form a marriage alliance, the in-laws would probably have plenty to talk about.
“On the floor,” Longming said.
“The floor is fine,” Zhuoxue nodded. “Grounded.”
The room wasn’t particularly spacious to begin with. It had a tea table, writing desk, and shelves, not to mention a folding screen and interior landscaping. Even the imperial kin of the mortal realm probably lived no differently.
Adding another couch would make it rather cramped and unsightly. Laying the bedding on the floor for now was the most practical option—it could be rolled up and stored away when not in use.
Zhuoxue didn’t mind. If she couldn’t share the bed, she’d settle for second best. Back at Qiufeng Ridge, hadn’t she napped in every corner? Even the cave where she’d been sent to face the wall counted as half a bedroom.
Knowing when to quit was a demon’s virtue. She no longer hoped Longming would suddenly change her mind. That this white tiger hadn’t killed her was already excellent.
“B-but…” The small demon looked at the fox, unsure how to spread the bedding it held.
“Why are you still standing there? Do you want the demon to drape the bedding over your head?” Longming said evenly.
Over her head? Zhuoxue thought that sounded wonderful.
Once covered, it would have to be unveiled. In mortal weddings, the bride always wore a veil—and a veil couldn’t be lifted carelessly. Only the one standing across from you in the wedding ceremony could lift it. And once lifted, it was the wedding night.
“It’s warmer over the head,” Zhuoxue said without rising. Her mental abacus clicked and clacked at full speed—never mind that the abacus in question had apparently done the splits.
Longming gave her a strange look, thinking the fox had been so spooked by the pig demon that, like a mortal, she needed to be completely tucked under the bedding to feel safe.
“Great King.” The small demon looked at Longming helplessly, on the verge of tears with none to shed.
“Lay it,” Longming said, closing her eyes. Her crimson pupils vanished beneath the lids.
The small demon held its breath and shook out the bedding with force.
A gust of air brushed past Zhuoxue’s side. She watched helplessly as the small demon used a spell to fold back one corner of the bedding, neatly avoiding her.
The veil hadn’t been draped over her head, so Longming couldn’t lift it for her. What a pity.
“Great King, it’s done!” The small demon let out a breath of relief, then hastened to retreat outside the door, pounding its chest several times before recovering.
Outside, the night was deep and still. This bedchamber was in a remote part of the mountain—no guests made noise, and even the insects and beasts were silent.
“Sleep,” Longming breathed out.
The candle on the far desk snuffed out. The light in the room vanished in an instant.
With no other choice, Zhuoxue unhurriedly shuffled onto the bedding, smoothed out the folded corner, then transformed into her beast form and lay down to sleep on her tail.
Her eyes were closed, but her heart was racing. She had no drowsiness at all.
What kind of demon slept this early? It wasn’t as if she’d drunk herself senseless on Annual Tribute Wine.
Demon cultivation relied entirely on the essence of sun and moon. At night, when the ambient light diminished sharply, cultivation was most effective.
To waste an entire night on sleep would truly be squandering one’s years and destroying one’s future.
Though Zhuoxue’s demonic power was shallow, it wasn’t as though she’d never cultivated. In the beginning, she had genuinely tried—but no matter how she cultivated, she never saw the slightest result. So she simply stopped.
So while other demons cultivated through the night, she played through the night.
How was cultivating the heart not cultivation? If she played happily, that counted as cultivating the heart too.
In the past, she’d thought it was her lack of talent—that she was born poor at cultivation. But now, reconsidering, could it be that the restriction on the back of her neck had been limiting her practice all along?
The fluffy ball of fur that was the fox silently shifted back to human form, stretching out her legs.
The girl brushed a hand against the back of her neck. The runes there didn’t hurt or itch, nor were they hot—and somehow, that was more unsettling than when they flared up.
The moment her feet moved, the silver bell on her ankle chimed. It wasn’t piercing—rather, it had a gentle, flowing quality, warm and mellow, somewhat like the mountain springs of Qiufeng Ridge.
The window was still propped open. Moonlight crept silently into the room.
The fox couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned, her skirt hem riding up to her knees. The moonlight fell on her bare calves, making them gleam like flawless jade.
What if she tried absorbing some moonlight essence again? What if this time she could break through to a new realm?
The fox swung her legs. Ting-ling, ting-ling.
Suddenly, the silver bell’s chime stopped. The fox’s eyes went wide. Her lips trembled open, and a muffled groan escaped.
From the soft couch, the white tiger demon lord’s silver hair cascaded down, strand by strand winding around both her feet.
Such fine, tough strands—when they bit into flesh, they were no different from bowstrings. They could serve as blade and sword, silently taking a person’s head.
The silver hair wound tighter and tighter, like those demon vines that fed on blood and flesh. It constricted until she felt it cutting into her skin—yet she had to swallow her sobs.
Tears welled in the fox’s eyes. She truly couldn’t understand how a perfectly good demon lord could be so mercurial—resorting to force at the slightest provocation.
It hurt so much, and she couldn’t bear pain at all.
That hair like a silver spring kept extending, climbing slowly past her knees, making her arch her feet taut. Her legs were completely immobilized.
The tips of her hair crawled over her waist, groping up to her arms, and bound them tight without the slightest negotiation. She had become a puppet in a mortal shadow play.
Who said this was a tiger demon? She was clearly a spider woman—spinning webs with silver hair, endlessly casting silk.
Probably only Grandma Qian, half-starved and delirious at the time, could have mistaken this tiger demon for a Goddess—and worshipped her for decades.
Zhuoxue bit her lip, thinking: this white tiger wouldn’t go back on her word, would she? Breaking promises invited heaven’s thunder and lightning.
Tears soaked her cheeks. The fox couldn’t hold back her voice anymore and, with nothing left to lose, broke down sobbing, saying between cries, “You don’t miss your old friend that much either—looking at this face, how could you bring yourself to do this?”
“Be quiet.”
In the darkness, Longming’s voice came out evenly—neither warm nor cold.
What—she wanted to kill the fox and didn’t even allow the fox to cry out?
Zhuoxue truly couldn’t bear the pain anymore. She opened her mouth wide and sobbed, soaking a large patch of the floor bedding, crying loud enough to shake the heavens and move the earth.
But unexpectedly, the cold long hair turned to silver fish in an instant. The tips of the hair glided lightly along her neck, slipped into her gaping mouth, and wrapped around her tongue.
The fox couldn’t cry out anymore.
Saliva and streaming tears soaked the demon lord’s long hair, the silver strands clumping into wet locks.
The fox’s reddened eyes trembled slightly. She strained to look toward the tiger demon on the couch, silently begging for mercy.
“Will you keep moving?” Longming asked.
The fox couldn’t speak or move. Her wet eyes blinked rapidly as she thought: so she was just annoyed by the tossing and turning. What a mess this was.
“The silver bell on your ankle kept ringing,” Longming sighed softly. “Don’t move anymore.”
Zhuoxue thought “fine”—but grumbled inwardly: you could at least let me go first, then I could agree.
The wet tips of silver hair slowly withdrew from Zhuoxue’s mouth, leaving a winding trail of moisture on her neck.
Zhuoxue’s arms were freed, and her legs could move again. Only the fine, dense pain remained.
Now, no matter how miserable she felt, she didn’t dare move. She could only clench her teeth and cover her mouth, lying carefully on her stomach, muffling every sound beneath her palm and into the bedding.
A long time passed.
A surge of demonic power struck her back—silently, it swept away all the pain in her body.
The demonic power flooded into her spiritual meridians, washing through her from head to toe in an instant. The skin scraped by branches healed at once. Even her nails, worn from all the tossing and turning, returned to their original state.
“Even if I miss my old friend deeply, I can still bring myself to act. Few in the world could be identical to her.”
Longming’s voice was slightly hoarse. Every syllable was saturated with a longing that pierced to the bone.
The pain was gone. Zhuoxue held her voice and said very quietly, “I won’t move anymore. Can I ask one simple question?”
“Just one.”
“What does your old friend actually look like? Is she a mortal princess? And how did you two meet?”
Zhuoxue blurted it all out in one breath, then hastily sucked in another.
In the silence, the tiger demon let out a sudden, low chuckle.
“You do know how to ask. If you hadn’t been gasping for air, that ‘one question’ of yours would probably have stretched to the horizon.”
Zhuoxue clamped her mouth shut again.
“A hundred years have passed. It’s not that I can’t speak of it.”
The fox shifted back into beast form and perked up both ears—so the silver bell wouldn’t sway.
“When I first saw her, she was your age. The mortals called her Princess Jueguang.”
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