The Great King Ordered Me to Marry – Chapter 34
by Little PandaSpeaking of the Fox Peering Into the Destiny Register in Detail
First came the two dark, heavy characters for Yunjing, the ink shifting and drifting like phantoms, gaping and closing—then a swath of blank white, the brushwork grinding to a halt.
Zhuoxue’s eye twitched and her heart jolted. She seemed already able to glimpse the true face of her past life, everything laid bare.
She flipped swiftly through the pages, the leaves rustling—not like butterflies beating their wings, but like a waterwheel spinning.
But the Destiny Register was thick, and she feared missing something, unable to reach the end for the moment.
Where were the characters? Where had they gone?
Her gaze swept across the pages, daring not to blink, terrified that missing even a stroke or two of ink would mean missing her past life entirely.
Nearly reaching the end of the thick volume, Zhuoxue was utterly disappointed, about to skim the last few dozen pages and call it quits—when, at that very moment, she caught sight of a crimson thread.
The thread extended from her palm, as though drawn from her flesh and blood. Look closely, and it pulsed faintly, in rhythm with her heartbeat.
This thread, dark red as blood, snaked toward the register, connecting to some page further in.
Zhuoxue hurriedly flipped through page by page. When she lifted the pages in sequence to the other side, the pressed-down crimson thread seemed freed, floating up lightly.
On the page connected to the crimson thread, a dense mass of ink characters covered every inch.
The individual characters had originally been scattered and overlapping, but the instant the page was opened, they crawled back to their proper places like ants.
The ink characters rearranged themselves in sequence, the text becoming coherent and orderly.
Zhuoxue stared, transfixed. She stroked the ink characters on the register, then rubbed her eyes in disbelief.
The characters had not changed. Nor had she misread them.
“Shuyun1, Chaoyu Palace2, Year Yihai of the Tianqu era, the sixteenth of the Lotus Month3, born at the third quarter of Chen4 hour, mortal flesh and blood, named Moqi Jueguang.”
Her eyes burned hot at the corners. She frantically flipped through several more pages, but the pages beyond remained empty of text—only Jueguang’s life story was visible to her.
The other end of the crimson thread clearly connected to the two characters for “Jueguang”—but before she could take another look, the thread slowly dissolved and shrank, vanishing into nothing at her palm.
She was Jueguang?
Zhuoxue felt an inexplicable sorrow. Tears spilled from her burning eyes, and her chaotic thoughts finally found peace in this moment, as though dust had settled.
She was not some cat or dog within the palace walls of a century ago, not a palace maid, or anything else—she was Jueguang.
No matter how great the differences, no matter how inconceivable, she was Jueguang.
Jueguang’s life story spanned only a few pages; a few pages that wrote the entirety of her life.
The Destiny Register recorded what blessings and calamities befell her in which year, which month, which place—every major disaster and minor illness was on record, each bout of illness reducing her lifespan, never increasing it.
And the merits Jueguang had accumulated in her lifetime were also roughly recorded: rescuing cats and dogs on the road counted as merit, rewarding servants counted as merit, even sharing the pastries on her table with a beggar child counted as merit.
But these merits added together fell far short of the threshold for immortal ascension. Could it be that for Jueguang to ascend, the merits of her past life had to be counted as well?
Yet on the very first page of Jueguang’s life, not even a so-called “preface” could be found.
Zhuoxue sensed something was wrong. Looking more carefully, some years of accumulated virtue were separated by vast gaps, as though a stretch in between had been forcibly erased.
Lan Hui had once said that a volume of the Destiny Register in the Yellow Springs Bureau had been burned—it had to be this one.
What Tianji and his cohorts had schemed to hide was precisely the merits Jueguang had accumulated over the years.
Unfortunately, the other pages and registers were completely empty. Zhuoxue could not read anyone else’s life story, nor could she find any trace among those connected to Jueguang.
A mere handful of pages—truly, a life as thin as paper.
Zhuoxue flipped back and forth, still unable to summon the courage to read the final page closely.
Her spirit was adrift. She could not yet fully accept Jueguang as herself—it was as though her soul had split in two, each half with its own destination.
But she could not cleave her soul in two. Even the dark characters on the Destiny Register reminded her of this at every moment.
In the words of others, Jueguang was a living immortal who delighted in charitable deeds—multitalented, steeped in learning; in the hundred years the mortal realm had seen, only one such figure had ever emerged.
This went beyond being as rare as phoenix feathers and qilin horns5—she was revered by mortals as the very incarnation of the phoenix and qilin.
Zhuoxue mused that she and Jueguang shared only a passing resemblance—both had two eyes and one mouth, and that was about it.
No wonder Longming had asked her that day whether she could play the qin, whether she could dance with a sword—it turned out she had truly seen Jueguang’s shadow in her.
For some reason, Zhuoxue’s thoughts tangled again, and an indescribable shame welled up within her. That fairy-like princess was actually the same person as her—it seemed like a waste of the common people’s reverence, and a squandering of the merits Jueguang had accumulated over the years.
But as a saying in the mortal realm went: gold is never pure, and no one is perfect. Even a fairy-like princess was not flawless in every way.
In an instant, Zhuoxue was no longer ashamed. A thought surfaced at the tip of her heart—
She wondered whether Longming’s longing would suddenly shatter.
Longming, you are truly doomed. Even you have your day coming.
The fox grinned one moment and furrowed her brow the next, then gritted her teeth and simply took the final line of text into her eyes.
“Plague-ridden, body failing, Year Dingsi of the Tianqu era, the twentieth of the Orchid Month6, perished at Chaoyu Palace.”
That single short line became a sharp blade, carving a bloody gash across Zhuoxue’s heart.
Those century-old memories suddenly transformed into a torrential downpour, drenching her to the bone.
Zhuoxue’s eyes grew moist, tears streaming down her face. These tears were paste, binding her and the two characters for “Jueguang” tightly together, obliterating the crack in her soul that had never truly existed.
She braced herself against the desk in a daze, vaguely hearing the clamor of carriages and horses, the din of bustling crowds.
Jueguang, born in the sixth month, was like tuberose7—noble and refined, her fragrance enchanting, so pure, and so passionate, beloved by all since childhood.
While other flowers bloomed in daylight, only she bloomed brilliantly in the dark—so few people could ever see her true self.
She only let others see her goodness. Day after day, she spoke and acted with care, treading as if by a deep abyss and on thin ice. Even those aspects of her true nature that were harmless, she buried at the very bottom of her heart.
At that time, in the marketplace, someone was whipping a blood-drenched white tiger in a cage while countless bystanders cheered.
“What is happening over there?” Jueguang, traveling incognito, asked her maid softly.
The maid went to investigate and returned: “It is a hunter surnamed Sun. He caught a white tiger in the mountains last night. The tiger is vicious by nature, and he is trying to whip it into submission.”
Jueguang frowned. “That white tiger is already half-dead. This is not taming—it is sheer cruelty.”
“This servant will go stop him at once,” the maid said.
No matter how faint the white tiger’s breath, she still bore that enraged demeanor—she snapped at the iron cage, her sharp teeth more lethal than swords and spears, actually biting through the iron bars.
The maid’s steps faltered, hesitating.
Jueguang took out a purse and placed it in the maid’s hand, saying gently, “Go and buy that white tiger.”
“B-but it…” The maid began to shiver.
The white tiger paused for a moment, then lunged violently, sending the cage rocking side to side.
“What good will buying it do? This white tiger is covered in wounds. Even if released, it will not survive,” the maid said.
“Bring it back to the palace.” Jueguang approached slowly.
The onlookers recoiled in fear from the white tiger, but she alone stepped forward without hesitation.
The maid’s voice trembled: “It could harm Your Highness.”
The hunter waved his hand: “This beast hasn’t eaten meat in a day, it’s starving. If you don’t want to die, back away!”
The maid feared the tiger, but she could not tolerate this man speaking so rudely to Jueguang. She hefted the purse and said, “My master wishes to buy this white tiger. I suggest you think carefully before you speak.”
The hunter opened the purse, his eyes filling with genuine gold and silver. He stammered, “This little one was rude. This is… rather too much.”
“What my master has given you, she hopes you will mind your words and actions in the future.” The maid followed nervously behind Jueguang. “If you persist in such cruelty, do not be surprised when your good days are spent as well8.”
The hunter forced a smile and agreed repeatedly.
The white tiger bared her fangs again and bit at the cage.
“You beast, how dare you be so insolent!” The hunter raised his arm to bring down the whip.
But the whip never fell—the maid caught it with her bare hands.
Jueguang stood before the cage and leaned forward slightly, frowning. “You have suffered. Let me take you back and tend your wounds, all right?”
The white tiger seemed to understand human nature. At the sound of her voice, she actually paused.
So the maid hired a cart, and the white tiger, still in her cage, was loaded aboard. After that, the white tiger did not go mad again.
After Jueguang and the maid walked away, someone murmured hesitantly: “That veiled woman… she looked like… Princess Jueguang!”
“It must be Princess Jueguang. The princess understands beast speech—she tamed that white tiger.”
The hunter’s legs gave way, and he fell to his knees with a thud. “How could I have spoken such vulgar words and committed such cruel deeds? I have not only dirtied Princess Jueguang’s ears but also defiled her eyes!”
Zhuoxue returned to her senses. Her tears fell onto the Destiny Register—fortunately, they did not smear the ink, and the water marks simply vanished.
She traced the two characters for “perished” with her fingers. The joys and sorrows of a century ago filled her chest to the brim.
Her anger and joy were real, her grief and happiness were real—she truly was Jueguang.
Suddenly, another scene of light appeared before her eyes. What she saw was no longer the marketplace, but the palace—her vision filled with ornate painted pillars and carved beams.
It turned out that Jueguang had risen from her sickbed, insisting on sitting by the window to bask in the sunlight.
Jueguang muffled a few coughs, squinting as she caught sight of the vermilion palace walls. A cat was sprawled on the glazed roof tiles, suddenly rolling over to reveal a snowy-white belly.
A palace maid stood trembling at her side, seemingly terrified of catching the plague, pressing her cloth mask tightly over her face.
The white tiger was right at Jueguang’s feet, silently tilting her head to look up at her.
Jueguang suddenly smiled. She stepped barefoot onto the white tiger’s back, and the White Jade Lily-of-the-Valley on the red cord around her ankle swayed gently.
The palace maid said, “Your Highness, it is time for your medicine.”
The wrist Jueguang raised was nothing but skin and bone. She took the medicine bowl and asked, head bowed, “Can you weave bamboo strips?”
The palace maid hesitated. “I can weave simple things. What does Your Highness want?”
Jueguang blew on the medicine in the spoon. The glance she cast over was remarkably lively, as though lit by a final radiance before death. She said cheerfully, “Can you make a cat? I have heard that in ancient times, the tiger learned from the cat as its teacher. Let us make a little cat for Hanxing to play with.”
The white tiger looked thoroughly disdainful, both eyes slowly drifting shut.
The palace maid was stunned. She had served Princess Jueguang for ten years. In those ten years, Her Highness had studied and practiced diligently every day. As a child, she had never flown kites, never played with dove carts9, never even played with a bamboo grasshopper—and now…
Now she was asking whether she could weave a cat.
Was this truly not the final glow before death?
The maid forgot her fear, no longer even keeping the cloth mask over her face. Tears falling, she said, “Please wait a moment, Your Highness. This servant will go fetch bamboo strips.”
Jueguang drank her medicine quietly. From the corner of her eye, she saw the white tiger feigning sleep, so she gently rested her pale toes on the tiger’s large head.
The white tiger opened her eyes and yawned.
“I never asked before—did the place where you used to live have green waters and verdant mountains?” Jueguang asked.
After a long while, the white tiger gave a soft howl.
Jueguang understood. A longing smile crossed her face as she whispered, “No mountains at all, only water? How wondrous. I thought white tigers should live in the mountains.”
Because it was Wugou Stream—Wugou Stream naturally had no towering mountains, only water, stretching as far as the eye could see like a boundless expanse.
The white tiger had not spoken these words, yet Zhuoxue instantly grasped her unspoken meaning.
So Jueguang truly understood beast speech—even she, immersed in the memory, could hear it so clearly.
Jueguang said again, “Then the sea surely has no walls this high, and even the sky is open—you can come and go freely, doing whatever you wish.”
The white tiger said nothing.
Jueguang finished her medicine, set the silver bowl aside, and folded her arms on the windowsill, gazing up at the sky. “If one were free from all constraint and had nothing to worry about, even the grass and trees could grow wildly. I want to live like that in my next life.”
After a while, the palace maid hurried back with the bamboo strips, smiling. “Your Highness, if I do not weave it well, please do not be angry.”
“Just weave it. It is for Hanxing anyway—good or bad, she will not know the difference.” Jueguang truly seemed lit by a final radiance—even her temperament was more spirited than usual.
The maid held back tears and bent to her weaving for a long time. She was not very skilled—whenever she made a mistake, she had to start over. After several attempts, her fingertips turned red.
Jueguang did not rush her. She simply watched in silence.
When the last bamboo strip was woven into place, the maid presented it like a treasure: “Your Highness, the cat is finished!”
Jueguang picked up the bamboo cat and examined it, feeling that it did not look like a cat at all—it looked like a fox.
Slender limbs, a big tail, and on closer look, the snout seemed rather long too. If it was not a fox, what was it?
Jueguang placed the bamboo cat on the white tiger’s head, smiling. “Hanxing, this little trinket is yours. Carry it home in your mouth in the future. Remember to learn from it as your teacher—you absolutely must not turn the natural order on its head10.”
The white tiger let the words go in one ear and out the other. She sat perfectly still, balancing the bamboo cat on her head as though wearing a hat.
Jueguang smiled for a while, then stopped. She grew so still, it was as though she had already departed as an immortal.
“Your Highness?” The maid called to her cautiously.
Jueguang looked down at her feet and said, “If I die, whether you return to the mountains or the sea, do not be like me—constantly restraining yourself. Even if you exhaust every scheme, you still cannot see through the truth and falsehood of people’s hearts.”
As if waking from a deep dream, Zhuoxue shuddered throughout her body and suddenly returned to her senses.
By some twist of fate, she had become a fox—exactly fulfilling the wish of her past life.
The Jueguang that others saw was only what Jueguang wanted them to see. She was like a bamboo shoot wrapped in a thousand layers—only she herself understood her purest, most hidden longing.
And so she was Jueguang, and Jueguang had become her.
Zhuoxue closed the Destiny Register and opened it again, opened it and closed it again. Those characters kept repeating before her eyes.
She found bitter amusement in her misery, thinking: Longming, you are truly doomed. Your departed white moonlight11 has come back.
Footnotes
- Tianqu is the reign era of Shuyun Kingdom during Princess Jueguang's lifetime. Chinese reign eras mark historical periods under a specific ruler.
- Chaoyu Palace is the royal residence in Yunjing, Shuyun Kingdom, where Princess Jueguang was born and died.
- Lotus Month (heyue) is the traditional Chinese name for the sixth lunar month, when lotus flowers bloom.
- Chen shi is the traditional Chinese time period from 7 to 9 AM. A ke is approximately 15 minutes, so the third quarter of Chen hour falls around 7:45 AM.
- Chinese idiom fengmao linjiao, meaning exceedingly rare; literally 'phoenix feathers and qilin horns.' The next sentence extends the metaphor by calling Jueguang the incarnation of these mythical beings.
- Orchid Month (lanyue) is the traditional Chinese name for the seventh lunar month, when orchids bloom.
- Tuberose (wanxiangyu, Polianthes tuberosa) is a night-blooming flower prized for its intense fragrance. The metaphor links Jueguang to a flower that only reveals its true beauty in darkness.
- The original Chinese puns on the character shi, meaning both 'to inflict' in shi bao (commit violence) and 'to give away' in shi chuqu (spend or squander), linking the violence one inflicts to the fortune one fritters away.
- A jiuche is a traditional Chinese push-toy cart shaped like a dove, given to children in ancient times. Its mention here underscores Jueguang's austere, joyless upbringing.
- Chinese idiom daofan tiangang, meaning to reverse the natural order or invert hierarchies; literally 'to overturn the heavenly constellations.' Jueguang playfully references the folk tale in which the cat teaches the tiger all its skills, making the cat the tiger's shifu (teacher).
- Chinese web novel slang baiyueguang ('white moonlight'), referring to an idealized, unattainable lost love—someone forever cherished but forever out of reach.
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