The Great King Ordered Me to Marry – Chapter 24
by Little PandaSpeaking of the Little Fox Breaking Through Her Cultivation Realm
This season had arrived at the worst possible time—why couldn’t it be winter all year round?
The fox’s body had turned to soft spring silk, but her heart thought otherwise. With one burst of effort, she kicked away Longming’s hand and answered stiffly, “I’m not hungry or thirsty right now, but if the Great King personally feeds me, then I’ll have to say I’m hungry.”
She knew Longming would surely refuse—and this annoyance might make her toss Zhuoxue aside.
She’d truly grown bold. With Auntie Lan behind her, she no longer feared angering Longming, nor did she fear being casually manhandled.
Longming looked down at the fox in her arms and gave a faint scoff. “Lion opening its huge maw1.”
Lions and tigers were on par. Zhuoxue reasoned that this tiger demon must be acknowledging her abilities. Good eye.
“If you want to eat, go out and eat.” Longming walked toward the hall doors. The white fox was a small bundle in her arms, speaking with full confidence, but her head had somehow buried itself somewhere, and for a moment Longming couldn’t find it.
Just as they reached the door, the white fox said sheepishly, “Great King, can I turn into human form?”
Longming had no suspicions. “Go ahead and transform.”
Without a second thought, Zhuoxue shifted into human form. Black hair like a cascading waterfall poured down in a sudden rush, and her slender limbs, unable to dodge in time, ended up draped right over Longming.
As if lightning had struck her crown, Zhuoxue ducked hastily to the side, head lowered like a quail, terrified that the flush at the corners of her eyes might be seen by Longming.
Being stroked from head to tail just now—comfortable, yes, but also strange in a way that defied easy explanation. She truly didn’t want to be that close to Longming anymore. Something about it felt like she might lose her composure.
When stealing chickens in the Mortal Realm, she hadn’t felt any loss of composure. Now, inexplicably, she was embarrassed.
The Ze’an Festival—when Soul Flowers bloomed at the Yellow Springs Bureau, roughly the third month in the mortal calendar. The season had truly arrived.
Too bad she couldn’t vanish right under Longming’s nose, or even a hundred chi2 wouldn’t be far enough to hide.
Outside the hall, noise filled the air. Lingkong Mountain had become half a mortal marketplace—feasting tables flew with cups, music and dancing filled the space, half the crowd playing leaf cards3, the other half at shuanglu4 boards.
The disturbance at the foot of the mountain had long since settled. Though the pig demon hadn’t been caught, it hadn’t brandished any blades before the assembled demons either, so naturally none of them paid it any mind.
Kunyu scratched her head for a good while—her hand was terrible, and she had no idea how to win. When she saw the fox dart out from the hall doors, she ignored Longming and waved her over. “Fox, come quick and look at my cards for me.”
Zhuoxue walked over absent-mindedly, still mulling over the matter of the season.
In the past, Lan Hui had told her that when the years and the season arrived, some demons would be unable to restrain themselves. But she’d let it go in one ear and out the other, retaining only a few scattered phrases.
Demons with powerful demonic energy could maintain clarity through concentration. Lesser demons would have a harder time, and those who hadn’t yet developed spiritual awareness had the most muddled and unbearable experience of all.
Zhuoxue reflected that she truly needed to start taking cultivation seriously. If things kept going like this, she feared she’d never be a respectable fox.
Besides, with her safety uncertain, if she lost her composure even momentarily, she’d be riddled with vulnerabilities.
The fox’s gaze darted evasively, the corners of her eyes flushed red—she looked like spring silk dyed unevenly.
Kunyu looked her up and down, then glanced at Longming, and boldly declared, “Maybe you should just give me this fox. You keep her but don’t treat her well—look, you’ve wronged the fox so much her eyes are red.”
The fox panicked—this was not something to say! She’d lowered her head and hidden for nothing just now.
“The Demon Lord jests.” Zhuoxue forced a smile. “My eyes are red because I’m homesick—not because I’ve been wronged, and not because of anything else.”
Kunyu was curious. “Where is your home?”
Zhuoxue fell silent for a long while, unsure whether she could say. If the Nightmare Tribe or Emperor Tianji found out, Qiufeng Ridge would be done for.
A flash of inspiration struck, and she answered off the cuff: “By Shuyun Lake. I’m a mortal fox who cultivated into a demon. I came from the mortal realm.”
Longming approached with an odd expression, her gaze lingering on the fox for a moment before turning to Kunyu. “You still want to take her away?”
“She’s what I’m owed—you’re the ones reneging.” Kunyu gripped a handful of leaf cards, tapping them against the table’s edge, thoroughly unwilling to concede.
Zhuoxue gave a start—what did she mean, “owed”? That wouldn’t do.
Now that she was with Longming, she didn’t want to go anywhere else. These demons all looked imposing, but they were paper tigers—none of them compared to Longming, who was the real thing.
The fox blinked and winked furiously, trying to get the Demon Lord of Jueming Ridge to shut up. But in Longming’s eyes, all that winking looked like a secret conspiracy.
Longming had intended to ignore it, but because the fox bore some resemblance to Jueguang, she raised a hand and ordered one of the great demons at the table to vacate his seat. In an unhurried voice, she said, “I’ll play you myself—let’s see who’s reneging.”
The demons all turned their heads in unison. A few were so stunned their jaws hung open, meat and melon seed husks dropping all over the ground.
When had the demons ever shared a table with Longming? They’d never even heard her crack a joke.
Ever since claiming dominion over Wugou Stream, Longming had been a solitary creature by nature—drinking tea, sipping wine, eating and feasting, always a lone demon.
Let alone mortal tabletop games. Longming kept to herself, though not from unhappiness—she simply never invested her interest in amusements.
The great demon rose in bewilderment, momentarily unsure where he even was. Only when he saw the lesser demons in the distance staring in disbelief did he accept that he’d stumbled into a rare occasion.
Kunyu was equally dumbfounded. Her leaf cards slipped from her grip and smacked onto the table. “You don’t have to force yourself if you don’t know how to play.”
Longming sat down without concern, her posture effortlessly composed. Her piercing gaze drifted lazily as she said, “If you can play, why can’t I?”
A tiger was, by nature, a solitary king of the mountains. Even when resting in silence, she had nothing to do with tranquility. She was no uncarved jade—she was a dormant volcanic ridge, silent until she amazed everyone with a single cry.
Kunyu hesitated, wanting to say: Has this fox fed you some kind of love potion? Why are you joining in the fun?
But then she thought: Something’s not right. When did you learn? Even if you picked it up in the mortal realm a century ago, it should’ve faded from memory by now.
Zhuoxue couldn’t read Longming’s intentions and quickly gathered all the leaf cards into her own hands, shuffling them with vigor—more scrambled than egg batter before it goes into the pan.
She couldn’t guess whether Longming actually knew the game or not. Should she casually explain the rules again? Save the big tiger from losing face by asking.
“How strange,” Kunyu muttered. “You really learned it a century ago and haven’t forgotten?”
The words “mortal realm” she didn’t dare bring up lightly.
Longming’s expression was unreadable. She tapped the table with a finger, urging them on.
Zhuoxue decided not to explain the rules after all. She wanted to see how long this white-furred tiger demon could keep up the act.
Even if she lost, she could just refuse to pay up.
The great demons around the table had been grinning, but now each wore a solemn expression—afraid to lose, yet also afraid to win.
The joy of the game had been swept away like a flood. The only foothold on the raging waters was not a scenic pavilion—it was an execution platform.
Zhuoxue dealt the leaf cards without a change in expression, then slowly leaned behind Longming to peek. The hand before her wasn’t bad but wasn’t good either—decidedly average.
Longming’s expression didn’t change. Instead of discussing cards, she said, “These days are the Yellow Springs Bureau’s Ze’an Festival. I wonder which immortals they’ve invited.”
Asking Kunyu about the Yellow Springs Bureau was asking the right person.
Jueming Ridge had deep ties to the underworld. The ridge held more ghosts than demons, taking in souls who refused to reincarnate or fade into oblivion.
These lesser ghosts sustained themselves by feeding on Jueming Ridge’s yin energy. With diligent cultivation, they could stand on equal footing with demons, immortals, and fiends.
Kunyu was somewhat surprised. She glanced at her cards while answering: “I’d heard beforehand that the Yellow Springs Bureau invited the Celestial Leader of Kunlun Jade Capital, the Phoenix Clan of Wutong Ridge, the Four Seas Dragon Kings, the Seven Saints of Yunya, and the Seven True Immortals of Xianqing Mountain. But lately there’s been no trace of immortals at the Yellow Springs Bureau—it seems not a single immortal has accepted.”
“How did the Yellow Springs Bureau react?” Longming asked.
“Nothing unusual. They’re acting as though the Soul Flowers simply haven’t bloomed.” Kunyu spoke casually.
“Strange. They view flowers every year, yet this year alone they don’t.” A great demon clicked his tongue. “Has something amusing happened at Kunlun Jade Capital?”
“The immortals won’t show face, so I’ll admire the flowers myself.” Kunyu chuckled. “But what could happen at Kunlun Jade Capital? I hope and pray every day and night for the clouds to collapse and the stars to fall and smash that Jade Capital to pieces. Otherwise those immortals will keep hollering about slaying demons—they nearly killed their way to my door at Jueming Ridge.”
Longming fell into silent thought. Her lovely figure was right there among the demon crowd, yet she remained solitary.
“At first I thought the Ghost’s Dread scattered beneath Lingkong Mountain was the handiwork of Kunlun Jade Capital. But then that pig demon turned up, and that put an end to my theory.” Kunyu shook her head.
“Quite right,” another great demon agreed. “Kunlun Jade Capital fears nothing more than peace in the Three Realms. All their talk of vanquishing demons and defending the Dao is nothing but reckless vanquishing and reckless defending.”
“Mortals get spun in circles by that crowd of immortals who say one thing to their faces and another behind their backs,” a demon quipped.
“But was that pig demon caught? If it wasn’t Kunlun Jade Capital’s doing, then could it be…”
The great demons all looked at Longming.
“The pig demon escaped, but the invitation has been sent. It remains to be seen whether the Nightmare Tribe will attend the banquet.” Longming sent her voice directly into their ears.
The demon lords reacted variously. The lesser demons heard nothing at all.
Zhuoxue heard it but didn’t pay much attention, focused entirely on the card table.
Kunyu’s card skills were already unrefined, and now, distracted, she grew even more flustered. She frowned. “You—asking about the Yellow Springs Bureau out of nowhere, you’re trying to rattle me, aren’t you? I played two wrong cards just now. I want them back!”
“Once a piece is placed on a board, there’s no taking it back—the same goes for cards.” Longming’s expression didn’t change. “Besides, I asked about the Yellow Springs Bureau not to rattle you.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly taken an interest and want to go admire the flowers.” Kunyu didn’t believe it.
“Mm.” The silver-haired demon lord assented.
Kunyu couldn’t discard her remaining two leaf cards and was so frustrated she pushed aside the half-skull on her face, finding it obstructed her vision. She crossed her arms. “Again. This time no one’s allowed to speak.”
Zhuoxue was puzzled. Had those five years in the mortal realm really seared themselves so deeply into memory? A century later, Longming still remembered this commoner’s game.
Longming raised her slender fingers and tapped the table twice, not refusing.
The demon lords stared at each other. The outcome was already decided—they were outmatched not only in demonic power but in card skill as well.
Kunyu, thoroughly irritated, waved the fox over. “You.”
Zhuoxue’s heart drummed. She leaned forward against Longming’s back, truly achieving not leaving her side for even an instant.
“What does the Demon Lord want with me?” Zhuoxue was close enough that her moving lips brushed Longming’s ear. She spoke softly, with utmost caution.
Now it was Kunyu’s turn to wink and signal. She figured that if the little fox truly wanted to leave with her, she’d have learned to be smarter about it.
Kunyu said meaningfully, “Come shuffle the cards—and don’t you go favoring Longming just because you’re following her now.”
“I’m at Lingkong Mountain—if my loyalty doesn’t lie with the Great King, then who would it lie with?” Zhuoxue feigned ignorance.
The silver-haired demon lord she leaned against turned her head slightly. Flying silver hair caught the spring breeze, inadvertently concealing the black markings beneath her eyes—half-hidden behind a pipa5.
Strands of hair brushed the fox’s face. A tickle seized her nose, and the sneeze she stifled became two muffled thunderclaps that shook her entire body.
A mortal saying held that one sneeze meant someone was thinking of you, and two sneezes meant someone was speaking ill of you behind your back.
Zhuoxue concluded that Longming must be thinking unkind thoughts about her—never mind that she’d already been so flawlessly discreet.
“You’re at Lingkong Mountain now. That might not always be the case,” Kunyu said darkly.
Zhuoxue’s heart lurched. So that was where her vulnerability lay.
Longming said calmly, “It doesn’t matter.”
Zhuoxue shuffled the leaf cards again, playing no tricks, not glancing at Kunyu once.
A short while later.
“Who’s next.” Longming surveyed the surroundings.
Kunyu, having lost everything, rose and brushed off her skirts. “This is infuriating. I should’ve left earlier. It must’ve been Huang Liangmeng secretly casting a spell to ruin my luck.”
Longming didn’t try to keep her, only saying, “Another day I’ll invite you to admire the flowers together.”
The lesser demons who had watched this battle snapped back to their senses in a flurry—some gnawed melons, some ate meat, all pretending they’d seen nothing.
Zhuoxue, a first-time demon servant, wasn’t sure whether she should see the guest off. Fortunately she’d learned a thing or two in town. She waved her sleeve and called out, “Demon Lord, take care! Come play again sometime!”
The Demon Lord of Jueming Ridge, ever accompanied by dark shadows, transformed into a crow and soared high. After one circling pass, she left dark clouds over Lingkong Mountain, convinced that the tiger and fox were taking turns toying with her.
Longming paid it no mind. A flick of her wrist, and the dark clouds dissipated.
After a long silence, Longming asked softly, “Do you still want to leave?”
The great demons at the table scattered, knowing those words weren’t directed at them.
Zhuoxue said sheepishly, “Leave? Leave to where?”
Then she saw Longming pat her knee lightly.
Zhuoxue understood. Her graceful figure spun, her face, fair as lotus, transforming into a trembling little fox that scrambled up Longming’s lap in two or three moves.
“Was I quick enough to catch on?” said the little fox.
“Quick enough, certainly. One idea per moment, and you switch between them fast enough.” Longming saw the fox ears twitching and couldn’t resist pinching one, giving it a gentle roll.
That pressure, neither light nor heavy, was like the ripples stirred in a resist-dyeing6 vat—water undulating, sending a tingling itch straight to Zhuoxue’s heart.
Or perhaps she wasn’t the dye-vat—she was the flower being pounded into dye, and Longming happened to be the one pounding her. Her petals trembled, her stems went numb, and she lost all form and composure in an instant.
Zhuoxue was grateful she wasn’t in human form at the moment—otherwise she’d have no idea how mortifying it would be.
How could this happen? It was just having her ear pinched. Had she always been this unable to withstand being handled?
“Your Mountain Lord told you to go to Ninghong Mountain. Why did you end up at Lingkong Mountain?” Longming asked in a low voice.
Zhuoxue didn’t want to tell the truth—that she’d misheard and actually thought Lan Hui wanted her to marry, and had even had the audacity to climb into Longming’s bed.
“There’s no meat to eat at Ninghong Mountain,” the fox said cleverly.
“Smart enough to know Lingkong Mountain was hosting a banquet, following your nose here.” Longming’s red eyes curved slightly, the smile exceedingly faint.
Zhuoxue racked her brains. “You can smell it from a hundred li7 away. I’d never been to Lingkong Mountain, so I wanted to come see for myself.”
That more or less tied things together, plugging the gaps in her story.
“So you spun a pack of lies and claimed to be presenting tribute?” Longming scoffed. “This habit of bluffing and swindling did save your life, though. If you’d run into danger at Ninghong Mountain, those mortal monks couldn’t have saved you.”
True enough. Zhuoxue’s heart pounded.
The world was full of monsters and spirits. Anyone who worked for the Nightmare Tribe and Emperor Tianji was no simple character.
Zhuoxue hemmed and hawed. “I didn’t swindle anyone. I came on Auntie Lan’s behalf to present tribute. Everyone else arrived with gifts piled high, while I came empty-handed—how was I supposed to get through the door?”
“I can see you didn’t get through the door with an invitation either. You didn’t need to present any tribute—clearly a demon servant helped you.” Longming spoke softly.
Right—that stone demon sister.
Zhuoxue’s ears shot straight up. “I tricked her! She doesn’t know anything. Great King, I beg you to see the truth!”
Longming’s voice was low and unhurried. “I won’t punish her. I’ll reward her.”
“Then why not reward me?” Zhuoxue felt a sense of injustice.
“What do you want?” Longming asked.
Zhuoxue licked the corner of her mouth. Some things could only be understood, not spoken aloud.
Longming stopped pinching her fox ear and moved to pinch her snout instead.
The fox’s eyes went wide. She raised her front paws and scratched wildly, determined to dig a hole right through Longming.
The festivities at Lingkong Mountain continued unabated. Guests arrived from afar, gradually filling the empty seats.
But the demons didn’t crowd near Longming, leaving her a quiet space. They only bantered and joked from a distance.
After a while, Longming finished her hot tea and turned back into the hall. The hall was dark, and she melted into the shadows. A crook of her index finger summoned Chunxi.
Black mist coalesced into a human form. Chunxi appeared with cupped hands, seeming to have just traversed a great distance, her breath not yet steady.
“Chunxi is here.”
“How did the Nightmare Tribe respond? Have they set out?” Longming asked.
Right—Longming had sent an invitation to the Nightmare Tribe, likely ordering it while the fox was still asleep during the day.
Though Zhuoxue had never ventured beyond Cangqiong Mountain Realm, she had heard from Lan Hui about the distribution and layout of the various mountain realms and demon streams.
Cangqiong Mountain Realm was some ten thousand li from Wugou Stream—Wugou Stream to the east, Cangqiong Mountain Realm to the west.
The former was a land of towering ridges and lofty peaks, a hundred mountains standing proud, with solid earth and firm stone, lush vegetation and flowing waters. The latter was a realm of clear lakes and marshes, without a speck of sand or a single stone, where the sound of water rang constant and dark trees and shaded grasses grew bathed in water.
Even a lesser demon, exerting full demonic power and riding without rest from Cangqiong Mountain Realm to Wugou Stream, would need more than a day’s time—a testament to Chunxi’s formidable demonic power.
Chunxi said, “I delivered the invitation to the Nightmare King himself. He didn’t give an immediate answer, only saying that if he attends, he can reach Lingkong Mountain by tomorrow. He asks that you wait patiently, My Lord.”
“Wait patiently? Keeping me in suspense.” Longming gave a cold laugh. “Does the Nightmare King know about the attack on Lingkong Mountain?”
As the master of Wugou Stream, he should have a thorough grasp of affairs across the demon realm. If the Nightmare King claimed ignorance, then either he was feigning it, or his reputation exceeded his ability and he sat the throne of Wugou Stream in name only.
Chunxi answered, “I also delivered the pig demon’s severed toe to the Nightmare King. He said he was already aware of the matter and would investigate thoroughly in due time. The great war ended only a century ago—internal strife is the last thing needed now.”
Longming pondered. “The Nightmare Tribe hasn’t a truthful word in their mouths. ‘Internal strife is the last thing needed’—and yet those words came from his lips.”
Chunxi said nothing.
“We’ll see tomorrow.” Longming raised her wrist slightly.
The leopard woman dissolved into black smoke and vanished in the blink of an eye.
Tomorrow. Zhuoxue’s fur stood on end.
The Nightmare King was far more formidable than that pig demon. Fortunately, the All-Demons Banquet would have many eyes and ears. Under the watchful gaze of the assembled crowd, the Nightmare Tribe wouldn’t dare commit open slaughter.
The moment Zhuoxue thought of the difficulties ahead, hunger gnawed at her belly. She told herself she’d better eat her fill to face tomorrow.
The revelry continued until midnight before it finally ceased. Lesser demons lay sprawled every which way beneath the tables, some still clutching jars of Annual Tribute Wine.
While Longming discussed affairs with the demon lords, Zhuoxue had nothing better to do, so she took a stroll around the banquet tables.
The remnants of the feast had already been cleared by the demon servants, leaving only cold tea and cold wine.
Zhuoxue liked neither tea nor wine. She wanted only one thing—tender, succulent meat.
Fortunately, she’d heard there was still some left in the kitchen that hadn’t been served. With a determination not to waste good food, Zhuoxue tiptoed toward the kitchen.
The kitchen was empty and unlit. The firewood in the stove had already gone cold.
Beneath the stove lid, sure enough, were dishes that hadn’t been plated—though little remained, it was enough for her enjoyment.
Zhuoxue shifted into fox form, stood on the stove, and grabbed meat in her mouth, spitting bones onto the floor as she ate.
She kept her ears angled toward the door, wary of some demon appearing without warning.
This feast made up for all the saliva she’d secretly swallowed today. When only the last piece of meat remained in the pot, she couldn’t bring herself to take it.
The door was shut tight. Nothing stirred outside.
She might as well eat it—the whole family gathered together in her belly would count as a reunion.
Zhuoxue settled her mind, arched her body, and leaned toward the pot. A voice came without warning from outside the door.
“What are you doing?”
The voice was like a tide, slow and powerful, washing to her ears. Other than Longming, who else could it be?
Zhuoxue lost her footing in fright and plunged into the pot with a splash, her snow-white fur drenched in golden broth.
The door was pushed open.
The silver-haired demon lord stood silhouetted against the moonlight, her dark gaze slanting into the room. If not for the large tail still swishing outside the pot, she wouldn’t have located the fox at all.
Zhuoxue struggled a few times, four paws splayed and slipping in the oil, before finally clambering back onto the stove.
The fox was slick with grease, sauce dripping incessantly and splattering all over the stove. She looked at Longming without a word, truly unable to think of any brilliant excuse.
“I noticed the kitchen was a bit messy, so I came to clean up,” Zhuoxue said, mustering her nerve.
“How is it that after this cleaning, there are more bones on the floor?” Longming didn’t step through the doorway, standing at her leisure just outside.
Zhuoxue said, “The bones weren’t clean either. I’ve picked them clean now.”
With her teeth.
Longming looked down and scoffed. Backlit, the black markings beneath her eyes were less distinct, shedding some of their sharp edge. “No merit, but at least there’s suffering.”
“I’ll wash the stove in a bit. Cleaning proceeds in order—one spot can’t be neglected.” Zhuoxue thought she’d gotten away with it so easily.
“Tell me—could that pig demon still be on the mountain?” Longming’s thin lips parted, casually dropping the question.
Zhuoxue gave a violent start, flinging the broth from her fur—straight onto Longming’s shoe.
Fortunately, those satin shoes with their landscape pattern were also conjured by magic. A flash of light, and the golden broth vanished.
“I’d say so. The pig demon’s scheme failed—he surely won’t have gone far. But if he wants to hide from me, there’s only one trick.” Longming’s feet didn’t move, but her body closed the distance like wind and lightning, her index finger hovering before the fox’s forehead.
The fox plopped down on the stove. “Wh-what trick?”
“Body snatching8.” Longming pressed her index finger forward, poking the white fox between the brows.
The fox clutched her head and slumped flat. “There’s no body snatching—I came specifically to find meat to eat.”
The truth at last. The fox conceded defeat.
“Look at you, covered in grease. If Sacred Immortal Lan Xiang were here, she wouldn’t be able to bear the sight.” Longming drew her hand back to her side, turned, and scoffed. “I normally don’t partake of the five grains9 or any food, meat or vegetable. If you’re hungry, find your own food. No need to hide it—I’d rather not have you ruined by my keeping you.”
Longming wasn’t angry?
Zhuoxue reconsidered. No—she should be the angry one. How could Longming call her a pig!
The grease-covered fox followed on the silver-haired demon lord’s heels, no longer caring about the last piece of meat in the pot.
At the sleeping hall, the silver-haired demon lord pointed behind the hall and said plainly, “There’s a cold spring out back. It not only washes away filth, it also boosts cultivation.”
The fox’s ears perked up, confused.
Longming continued, “If you want to break the restriction, you can’t rely on external force alone. Your demonic power is too shallow—your magic is weaker than a child’s. Go soak for two shichen10 first.”
Zhuoxue took the blow and slunk dejectedly behind the hall. Sure enough, she found a limpid spring.
Clear water washed over stones, murmuring in cascading tones.
Zhuoxue’s heart lifted. She shifted into her tall human form, tucked her skirt hem up to her chest, tested the water with her toes, and slowly stepped in.
The water was so cold.
The instant she stepped in, Zhuoxue nearly sprang right back out—but a surge of demonic power struck from behind, mercilessly pushing her in.
Water splashed in all directions. The glow-grass along the edge shed its dust and lit up like candle flames.
Zhuoxue had just escaped the pot, and now she was plunged into the pool. She swallowed a mouthful of spring water before she knew it, her lungs freezing as if frost were crystallizing inside them.
Fortunately, the water was sweet. Vast spiritual energy seeped into her heart and soul. She became like the dust-covered glow-grass—her body cleansed, her mind clear.
No wonder Longming had so readily given away that remarkable flower vase—Lingkong Mountain had something even more remarkable.
Too remarkable, in fact. In an instant she was submerged by spiritual energy, dizzy and disoriented in the water.
Years of cultivation, and she’d been like a headless fly, unable even to find the bottleneck. Now, washed by spiritual energy, the obstacles she’d failed to penetrate turned to translucent glass, laid bare before her.
Zhuoxue sank slowly, forgetting she was in water. Only when she nearly suffocated did she frantically surface.
Over a dozen years, she’d never been able to break through her cultivation realm. Could it be not only because the restriction suppressed her, but also because the spiritual energy at Qiufeng Ridge was too thin to sustain her?
Zhuoxue slumped against the pool’s edge, coughing hard several times, then shivered.
Cold seeped into her body—gentle yet irresistible, the ceaseless spiritual energy of the spring.
She became like a whirlpool of unknowable depth, drawing in all the spiritual energy around her.
Zhuoxue hurriedly closed her eyes to examine her Lingtai11. To her surprise, the spiritual energy filling her body couldn’t enter her demonic core12—it was blocked by a barrier.
What should she do?
She’d never broken through before, but over the years she’d often heard Lan Hui’s oral instructions. To break through, one must first…
Zhuoxue understood. She quickly found a foothold in the water and sat cross-legged.
First, she had to absorb the spiritual energy as her own. While circulating her demonic power, she gradually drew it into her meridians.
Once the spiritual energy merged into her meridians, she guided it to gather at the Lingtai, to nourish the Lingtai’s demonic core. She must not rush—slowly and steadily, guarding against impatience and arrogance.
This was Zhuoxue’s first realm breakthrough. Cold sweat blurred in the spring, black hair floating, her face pale as a ghost.
Just as the spiritual energy slowly converged, trickling like a stream into the Lingtai, the back of her neck began to burn without warning.
This time, the burning was like boiling water poured on skin—so painful she nearly screamed.
Fortunately, she was in the cold spring. She only needed to submerge a little deeper, and the burning nape could be fully covered by the spring water, taking the heat with it.
Pain—
Zhuoxue clenched her teeth, unable to hold back a muffled groan. She simply held her breath and sank deeper underwater.
The suffocation was unbearable, and compared to it, the pain in her neck became less noticeable.
She became a fish caught between ice and fire—unable to live, unable to die, in so much pain that she wanted to stop right there. If she could just spend the rest of her life in a daze, she’d accept it.
But in the end, she had some fight left in her. She was a fox—not a slab of fish on a cutting board, unable to live or die.
The fox trembled in the water, and the surface rippled ceaselessly, light glinting off the waves.
After a long while, the Lingtai was full to the brim, filled with spiritual energy.
The demonic core within the Lingtai seemed to awaken from a dream, quaking as cracks split across its surface.
Still so painful—
The spring that should have been calm heaved and churned, as if a fierce dragon lay coiled within, on the verge of soaring to the heavens.
Water surged repeatedly onto the bank, soaking all the glow-grass. From a distance, the spring’s edge was brighter than daylight—blindingly bright.
Footsteps approached at a measured pace. By the shimmering ink-wash mountain pattern on the hem of her robes, it was Longming’s conjured garment.
But the fox in the water was senseless, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. Her clenched teeth suddenly loosened, and a string of bubbles glugged upward.
The slender human form sank slowly, becoming a limp strand of algae.
Zhuoxue tried again and again—each time, she was just a hair’s breadth from breaking through. The spiritual energy couldn’t crack the hard shell on the demonic core, and with each additional attempt, the burning in her neck grew more unbearable.
Just then, the back of her neck seemed to be gently wrapped in silk. The burning that had been seeping into her flesh was devoured, bit by bit, until it was gone.
The pain wasn’t so bad anymore.
“Focus your mind. Break through.”
Through the cold spring, a low voice reached her ears—not a gong, not a horn, colder and clearer than the spring water itself, awakening her slumbering spirit.
Zhuoxue was lifted by demonic power. A hand covered the back of her neck. Though that hand did nothing else, it seemed to sweep away the obstruction for her.
She broke through.
The Lingtai, washed by spiritual energy, had been gray as though covered in dust. Now it was clear and luminous, radiant.
The demonic core, gorged on spiritual energy, swelled by a full size, its outer shell cracking and peeling away to reveal intricate, exquisite demonic runes within.
Some demons’ demonic cores were plain and unadorned, because their Lingtai couldn’t bear more—their spirit and demon veins were both mediocre, and no matter how they cultivated, they would never see a day of breakthrough.
Zhuoxue’s demonic core was different. But even now, having broken through, it was still dim.
It shouldn’t be. No matter how many impurities a demonic core held, it shouldn’t look like gray stone. It seemed cold and heavy, yet inside it clearly hid another world.
The hand on the back of Zhuoxue’s neck slowly released. The concealed rune gradually came into view.
But this time, Longming didn’t pull down the thin collar to examine the rune’s full extent. She remembered it clearly enough already.
Zhuoxue’s realm had broken through. No more spiritual energy flowed into the Lingtai. The invisible cage around the demonic core quietly reformed, driven by the restriction.
With that, the heat faded from the restriction, and its light gradually extinguished.
Zhuoxue hadn’t yet regained her senses. In a daze, she felt she couldn’t be separated from that hand. Her eyes still closed, her arms reached forward and wrapped tightly around it.
Longming tried to withdraw her hand from the cold spring. The fox clinging to it surfaced from the water, arms wound tighter than vines.
The moonlight was dim, but the glow-grass hadn’t extinguished, illuminating Zhuoxue’s furrowed brow and hunched shoulders with stark clarity.
Longming paused, startled, and looked down for a long while. Sometimes she could see Jueguang’s shadow; sometimes she couldn’t.
“Awake?”
The fox’s tightly shut eyelids fluttered now and then, her arms unwavering in their grip, but she didn’t answer.
“Anyone would think you were caught by a nightmare.” Longming’s voice was flat. “Fortunately, the Nightmare Tribe won’t come barging into Lingkong Mountain unannounced now.”
Zhuoxue had fallen fast asleep. In her dreams she was terrified beyond measure, wanting to bind Longming’s hand to her very bones.
Half her body was still submerged in the spring, wet clothes clinging to her, every inch of fabric pressed tight—even the rise and fall of her chest and waist with each rapid breath was clearly outlined.
Soaked in cold water, her hands and feet were impossibly white—like that string of White Jade Lily-of-the-Valley.
Longming withdrew her gaze, then pressed her palm against Zhuoxue’s abdomen.
The palm was warm. The sleeping fox sought the heat source and leaned into it, pressing those slender fingers even more flush against her skin.
Beneath the abdomen lay the Lingtai, and within the Lingtai, the demonic core.
Longming secretly channeled spiritual power and peered into Zhuoxue’s Lingtai again. This time she saw more clearly—she could tell at a glance that this was not the fox’s true demonic core. The restriction had to be broken.
But the timing wasn’t right. The fox had just broken through her realm and was still weak. She absolutely couldn’t probe forcefully—at most, she could smooth out the chaotic demonic energy within the fox.
After smoothing them out, the chaotic demonic energy returned to its proper course, and the fox slightly loosened her knitted brow.
“Feeling better?” Longming raised an eyebrow.
Who knew what the fox mumbled—presumably she was feeling better.
She’d already helped to the fullest extent. In truth, Longming could have used her demonic power to push the fox away, but somehow, inexplicably, she drew the fox into her arms, soaking her front.
The fox looked too pitiful—having broken through her realm, she still couldn’t sleep peacefully. Who knew what she was afraid of, her body trembling.
Longming thought, Never mind. She blew a breath of demonic power at the glow-grass by the spring’s edge, extinguishing the light.
Walking back to the hall, Zhuoxue mumbled now and then, still unintelligible.
Who knew this fox not only had poor hearing but a clumsy tongue—she couldn’t even articulate a few words clearly.
Longming leaned down to listen twice, understood nothing either time, and simply let it pass like wind past her ears.
Then she rotated her wrist, conjuring a wisp of wind that carried away all the moisture from her and the fox’s bodies.
If she’d been in beast form, the fox in her arms would have been fluffier than a cotton ball. But the fox had long limbs all hanging loose—not fluffy, though just as soft as cotton.
The floor cushions in the room hadn’t been laid out. Longming glanced around, then simply set the fox on the bed. She casually cast a Silence Spell on the silver bell, to keep it from jingling incessantly.
And so the silver bell wouldn’t ring, and the night fell quiet.
Zhuoxue slept comfortably, finally relaxing her guard and silently shifting back into beast form.
Longming cast a glance her way, turned to snuff out the lamp. Her crimson eyes stayed open in the dimness.
After a long while, she crooked her index finger. A wooden cabinet across the room sprang open.
Demonic power brushed forward, bringing the silk wrapping and the White Jade Lily-of-the-Valley within it into her hand.
The next morning, just before dawn.
Zhuoxue started awake from a dream, feeling warmth in her Lingtai, then remembered that last night she’d amazed everyone with a single cry, breaking through a realm she hadn’t broken through in over a dozen years.
Giddy with joy, she didn’t question for a moment how she’d gotten back to the sleeping hall, and couldn’t resist digging at the bedding on the spot.
But the moment she started digging, her tail was stroked—from root to tip, thoroughly, not an inch spared.
A wind whistled through the window, sending up a flurry of white fur, drifting like dandelion seeds.
It was late spring—the season when foxes shed their winter coats. She hadn’t touched the tiger’s buttocks13, but the tiger had plucked her instead.
Then came a knock at the door. A lesser demon said cautiously, “Demon Lord, the demon envoy from Wugou Stream has arrived.”
Footnotes
- A Chinese idiom meaning to make outrageous, greedy, or exorbitant demands—literally 'a lion opening its huge maw.'
- A traditional Chinese unit of length, approximately 0.33 meters.
- A traditional Chinese card game played with painted paper or leaf cards, considered an ancestor of modern playing cards.
- Shuanglu is an ancient Chinese board game similar to backgammon, played with dice and pieces on a divided board.
- An allusion to Bai Juyi's famous poem 'Pipa Xing' (Song of the Pipa), in which a musician half-conceals her face behind a pipa lute. Used here to describe hair partially veiling one's features.
- Ranxie is a traditional Chinese resist-dyeing technique similar to tie-dye, where fabric is folded and bound before immersion in dye to create rippling patterns.
- A traditional Chinese unit of distance, approximately 0.5 kilometers.
- In Chinese cultivation fiction, duoshe ('seizing the body') is the act of a powerful entity taking over another's body, suppressing or expelling the original soul.
- The Five Grains (wǔgǔ) are the staple crops of ancient China. In Daoist cultivation, abstaining from the five grains (bìgǔ) signifies spiritual advancement beyond mortal sustenance.
- A traditional Chinese time unit, approximately two hours.
- The 'spiritual platform' or 'spirit altar'—the inner seat of consciousness and soul within a cultivator's mind, where spiritual energy and the demonic core reside.
- The core of a demon's power, which expands and sheds its outer shell upon a cultivation breakthrough to reveal internal demonic runes.
- A Chinese idiom meaning someone is too powerful or sensitive to be provoked—literally 'a tiger's buttocks cannot be touched.'
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