The Great King Ordered Me to Marry – Chapter 38

Speaking of How the Fox Schemed to Disrupt the Tiger’s Heart

Beneath the bamboo hat, her eyes half-shadowed, Longming turned her head slightly, her gaze slanting behind her.

She had an inexplicable feeling—something seemed to have changed, and yet nothing had.

            

Zhuoxue looked utterly innocent, her expression natural and composed, smiling as she said, “I’m not the person he spoke of. I haven’t read any books. A tiger on the plains¹—isn’t that just a tiger taking a stroll on the plains?”

Longming had no desire to explain, and continued driving the carriage.

It was only after the carriage galloped onto the inlaid-brocade avenue of the West Market that Zhuoxue realized—this was not Pingyang.

            

Painted pavilions towered here, embroidered doorways stood row upon row, and all that met the eye was pink walls and vermilion tiles, with pearl curtains and silk gauze suspended high across the sky—no different from a celestial palace on earth.

The roads they passed were wide and straight, extending in all directions. Vendors on both sides hawked ceaselessly—looking around, there were wine houses and teahouses, stalls selling spices and face powders, merchants hawking pearl hairpins and silver ornaments.

Rare and wondrous goods were everywhere, alongside dyed cloth, flatbreads, sugar figurines, and calligraphy and paintings—truly, everything one could wish for.

            

Looking again at the tall bell tower in the distance—how it resembled the one in Zhuoxue’s memory.

This was not Pingyang. This was Yunjing.

Yunjing. A century of time had rolled on like surging river currents; elsewhere, the world must have changed beyond recognition, yet this place still bore some resemblance to the past.

            

All that bustle and splendor no longer needed to be heard from others, nor glimpsed only in dreams—it was now within reach, even more magnificent than before the plague.

Was this truly not a golden millet dream²?

Zhuoxue reached her hand out the window. A child riding with an elder on horseback happily leaned down and gave her a flower.

            

The fragrance of flowers filled her nose. It was not a dream.

Zhuoxue drew her hand back, lowered her head, and twirled the flower stem. It was a long while before she steadied her heart, and she asked, feigning ignorance, “Is this not Pingyang?”

Longming’s tone was hard to read—one could only faintly discern that longing and wistfulness were both woven through it.

            

“This is the capital of Shuyun Kingdom. Yunjing.”

“Yunjing.” Zhuoxue finished sniffing the flower stem, set it carefully on her lap, and rested her ten fingers on the windowsill. She seemed dazed by the riot of blossoms, and it was quite a while before she came back to herself.

“Is it beautiful?” Longming asked.

            

Zhuoxue said with keen interest, “So lively. I want to get down and walk around.”

Longming did not stop her, only saying, “This place is protected by all manner of gods and immortals. Once past the East Fortune Gate, you must not recklessly use demonic arts. You must hide your demonic aura securely—not a single wisp can leak out.”

“Naturally.”

            

Even if she had not understood in her past life, how could Zhuoxue not know now?

Lan Hui had told her this no less than a hundred times—saying that the mortal realm had gods and immortals everywhere, especially in prosperous, flourishing places.

Where incense burned abundantly, immortals and gods gathered in swarms. Any demon or ghost who dared approach would find only death.

            

If not for this, she would never have had to steal chickens so wretchedly, not even daring to use much demonic power—at most changing her form, having to pass as mortal, having to pretend to be an ordinary fox.

Fortunately, with Longming beside her now, she had no need to fall into such straits—afraid to breathe too small, afraid to breathe too large.

Longming pulled her bamboo hat lower, her cool gaze sweeping the surroundings. Her thin lips moved slightly: “I’ll find a place with fewer people and let you off the carriage.”

            

Zhuoxue blinked. “And you?”

“Naturally, I’ll walk with you.” Longming pulled the reins tight, forcing the white horse to take only small, measured steps forward, so as not to injure any mortals.

“Are we not going to look for the Huangliang Dream Market?” Zhuoxue lowered her voice. “Won’t that delay things too much?”

            

“The Huangliang Dream Market only appears at midnight. The sun is already high—it’s still early.” Even Longming’s posture as she drove the carriage was no different from a passing mortal. Who knew how many times she had secretly played the part of a human.

This suited Zhuoxue’s wishes perfectly. She nodded. “Good. We can stroll through the city for a long while yet.”

But a century had passed. The layout of the streets and markets was vastly different from what she remembered—there were more tall pavilions than before, the alleys and lanes had grown more labyrinthine, and some familiar shops had vanished entirely.

            

She did not want to think about what sighs she might heave, were she still only Jueguang, revisiting this old place. Since she was now a fox, she would only do as a fox did, and think only as a fox thought.

The carriage passed through the bustling market, crossed a small bridge, and came to a halt in an empty spot.

Longming stepped down from the carriage, removed her bamboo hat, and gazed into the distance. Only when Zhuoxue had also climbed down did she flip her palm and transform the white horse and precious carriage back into a slender twig.

            

The twig fell to the ground and, unable to bear the weight after all, snapped into two pieces with a creak.

Zhuoxue saw the distant mountains and could not help thinking of the old days—how she had once prayed at a mountain temple, seen overturned river lanterns by the bridge, and recalled setting river lanterns along the banks herself.

When she had not known she herself was Jueguang, she had felt such regret. But now—what regret could there be? To have lived that resplendent, vivid life—she was already profoundly grateful.

            

Past matters, future matters—one pillow, a deep sleep, and right and wrong cannot be pursued. Since it is the present, then do not fail the present.

“Where do you want to go?” Longming asked, crushing the broken twig underfoot.

Zhuoxue did not answer—she was already walking swiftly away, heading back toward the bustling market they had just passed.

            

People came and went along the street. A stallkeeper was manipulating a pair of shadow puppets, amusing himself thoroughly, while a number of children squatted before his stall, clapping and cheering in unison.

The stallkeeper looked down and said, “These shadow puppets are two copper coins a pair. Want to take them home to play with?”

The children scattered in an instant, not paying a single coin.

            

The stallkeeper shook his head in silence and continued making the shadow puppets dance. The two figures grappled with each other, going from their earlier harmony to an all-out brawl of punches and kicks.

Zhuoxue leaned in to watch. This shadow play seemed to have appeared in her memory as well, but so much time had passed that she remembered it only dimly.

Longming took out a coin purse and said to the shadow puppet vendor, “Pick out a few good ones.”

            

“I’ll pick them myself.” Zhuoxue was already sorting through them.

The vendor beamed with delight, even bringing out the gold-inlaid, jade-wrapped ones from the bottom of his chest, saying as he did, “Take your time picking, Miss. If there’s a particular style you want, why not tell me?”

Those shadow puppets were so thin—one was afraid of snapping them just holding them.

            

“Pick some pretty ones. Do you have any tigers?” Zhuoxue said.

Longming shot her a glance, wondering what trick this fox was plotting.

The vendor replied promptly, “Yes, yes, yes! We have quite a variety of tiger patterns. What else would you like, Miss?”

            

Zhuoxue casually picked out a few more pretty ones and said, “That’s all. Wrap them up for me.”

The vendor not only wrapped them but also produced a small wooden box to hold them, saying cheerfully, “Take care, Miss.”

When Longming turned around again, Zhuoxue had already slipped off somewhere else—she had nearly vanished without a trace.

            

Pedestrians jostled shoulder to shoulder, and in an instant Zhuoxue was separated from her by ten chi, but Longming was in no rush—she would hardly lose track of a fox.

Zhuoxue had stopped at a shop to look at hair flowers. The mortal realm’s peach blossoms were in full bloom right now, with a scattering of crabapple as well. The women passing by wore pink or vermilion in their topknots—spring was in full sway.

Zhuoxue did not pin flowers in her hair. Instead, she asked the stallkeeper for a small basket, and in the basket were scattered fallen petals.

            

She lifted the flower basket, gave her thanks, and caught a distant glimpse of Longming’s figure behind her. Without pausing, she slipped away again as if her soles were oiled—gone in an instant.

Longming followed at a leisurely pace, certain the fox was doing this on purpose. But she did not call out—she had not been here for a long time, and could enjoy the sights slowly.

Only, while she was taking in the sights, she truly did lose sight of the fox.

            

Longming stopped in her tracks, unable to pick out the fox’s aura from the sea of people.

Her cultivation had improved after all—the fox’s demonic aura was hidden more tightly than before, making her harder to find.

In the moment she paused, blossoms rained down from above, like sunset hues spilling over her, as if spring itself had come to meet her.

            

In that instant, Longming thought of Jueguang again. Back then, fallen blossoms had carpeted the ground within the palace walls. Jueguang had gathered them for a long while—Longming had thought she meant to bury the fallen flowers in the earth, but instead of entering the soil, the blossoms had buried her.

Jueguang had rarely shown such a radiant side. Tucking up her skirts, she had covered the tiger’s back with fallen blossoms, saying that if she were a heavenly maiden, then this was the celestial garment she had woven.

Longming had seen countless demon gods, but in that moment, she felt that all those magnificent robes and feathered garments were nowhere near as splendid as the fresh flowers on her tiger back.

            

It felt like a sudden dream. She looked up at once, and there in the window was a smiling face—one that bore only a passing resemblance to Jueguang.

It was not Jueguang. It was Zhuoxue.

Zhuoxue waved and called out, “Hanxing.”

            

Longming froze where she stood. She did not know whether it was longing so deep it had reached the bone that made her hear it so wrong.

And yet the fox waving from upstairs looked perfectly normal—her expression was natural, not teasing at all.

But in this world, who else could possibly know that name?

            

Longming, in the end, could not bear to treat Jueguang as anyone else, nor let anyone replace Jueguang. She only wanted to hear the truth.

Her dark eyes narrowed. Ignoring the waiter’s calls from within the wine house, she went straight upstairs and looked at the fox by the window. “What did you just call me?”

Zhuoxue looked puzzled. “I didn’t call you anything. I asked if the flower fragrance smelled good. Have you gone deaf too?” Flower fragrance, Hanxing³… they did sound somewhat alike.

            

Longming came back to herself and decided, for the moment, to accept that she had gone deaf.

“Going deaf isn’t necessarily a bad thing,” Zhuoxue consoled her. “That way, you won’t even hear other people’s scolding.”

Longming sat down and asked, “Why did you come up here? I thought you were going to stroll slowly down the long street, but then I looked up and you were gone.”

            

“Naturally, to eat.” Zhuoxue propped her chin on her hand and waved the waiter over, asking with bright eyes, “What are your signature dishes?”

The waiter smiled. “Our Shangwei Pavilion has been a century-old establishment. We’re known for Fresh Sauce Lotus Pork, Pear-Sliced Salted Chicken, Lotus-Scented Deer Tail, as well as Soft Rice Balls in Broth, Snowflake Cake, and Tea-Rice Pastry.”

It all sounded rather flashy—she wondered what it tasted like.

            

Zhuoxue added, “Bring us two of your best dishes, and one order of Simmered Three-Bamboo-Shoot Fried Rice, with the broth served separately.”

“Simmered Three-Bamboo-Shoot Fried Rice?” The waiter was puzzled. The establishment did indeed have a dish called Simmered Three Bamboo Shoots, but straining its broth to make fried rice would surely ruin the dish’s delicate flavor.

Simmered Three Bamboo Shoots was bamboo shoots braised in chicken broth—the shoots were neither bland nor greasy, the flavor just right. Scooping out the shoots to make fried rice with the broth was more than a little strange.

            

Longming started again, looking at Zhuoxue in astonishment. She frowned. “Where did you hear about this one?”

Zhuoxue only smiled without answering. She had ordered this dish on purpose—and on purpose right in front of Longming.

An old man nearby said, “Over a hundred years ago, the Court Chronicles⁴ of Princess Jueguang also contained a record of Simmered Three-Bamboo-Shoot Fried Rice. I heard that Princess Jueguang was devoted to it—every time she went on an inspection tour, she had to order this dish. That Court Chronicler was my great-grandmother.”

            

Zhuoxue felt a twinge of wistfulness. Just over a hundred years—and the female official who had recorded her daily life already had descendants this old.

The old man sighed, “I heard that Princess Jueguang was beloved back then, like the moon surrounded by stars. Her Court Chronicles were copied no less than a thousand times and circulated among the common people. That Simmered Three-Bamboo-Shoot Fried Rice was once all the rage, but with the passage of years and the changing of dynasties, very few people still eat it now.”

A diner nearby had been listening with relish. He turned and asked, “Is it good?”

            

“Uh.” The old man paused. “Different strokes for different folks—some like greens, some like radishes.”

“Then it’s not good,” the diner declared.

Zhuoxue looked at Longming and immediately fabricated a tale: “In the small town below Qiufeng Ridge, there’s a family surnamed Qian. They have a copy there.”

            

Far away, Grandma Qian—still waiting in line at the reincarnation path—suddenly sneezed, having no idea who had just spoken of her.

Longming lowered her eyes and said nothing, only finding it all very strange.

Perhaps it was being in Yunjing—Jueguang’s shadow was everywhere, and everything reminded her of Jueguang.

            

The great demon, now transformed into a black-haired mortal woman, swirled her tea with dark, heavy eyes. Even without her overwhelming aura, she remained as cold as frost—unapproachable, like a figure in a painting that could only be admired from afar.

Zhuoxue treated it as admiring a painting, and could not help composing a poem in her heart.

Who twirls longing into ash?
‘Tis a heartbroken great white tiger.

            

A fine poem. A fine poem indeed.

The old man from earlier could not help sighing again, “It’s a pity I was born too late. I never had the chance to see Princess Jueguang’s immortal face.”

“Neither did I,” Zhuoxue agreed casually.

            

The old man continued, “The Court Chronicles say that Princess Jueguang was graceful and noble. She normally ate delicacies from the mountains and drank celestial dew, yet no one knows why she willingly went on inspection tours so often—and every tour, she had to have that Simmered Three-Bamboo-Shoot Fried Rice.”

“Perhaps because they didn’t have it in the palace,” Zhuoxue said, studying Longming.

Longming took a sip of tea and said coolly, “That was because Jueguang’s heart was with the people. She willingly visited the poor and inquired after their hardships, observing the conditions of the common folk.”

            

Zhuoxue hesitated. “What if… she simply preferred that one flavor?”

“You—” Longming started, then stopped. She did not know what had gotten into this fox today, insistently stirring up the dust in her heart.

After a while, the waiter brought the dishes. Zhuoxue cheerfully served Longming a bowl, her manner exceedingly generous, and even urged, “Since we’re here, you should try some too. Let the rice remind you of an old friend.”

            

She paused slightly, then lowered her voice, “But then again, you probably haven’t tried it either. Mortal tigers only eat meat. The Princess surely wouldn’t have fed you rice.”

Longming held her chopsticks, then after a long while set them down on the table, forcing calm. “You eat.”

“Really not going to try?” Zhuoxue coaxed. “The fried rice is so fragrant, and the chicken broth is fresh. No wonder Jueguang had to have it on every inspection tour.”

            

The black-haired woman took a sip of tea, then after a moment, picked up the chopsticks after all.

“Is it good?” Zhuoxue asked at her leisure.

Longming said nothing. She chewed each grain of rice carefully, trying to swallow that endless, relentless longing into her belly.

            

“Do you miss Jueguang even more now?” Zhuoxue leaned across the table, not wanting to miss any subtle change on Longming’s face.

Longming looked up and met her gaze.

Zhuoxue slowly looked away and murmured, “And who am I doing this for?”

            

Longming had no desire to quarrel with this fox in Yunjing. Without a word, she ate every grain of rice in her bowl.

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Note: “Past matters, future matters—one pillow, a deep sleep.” — Wu Shunxuan 【Song】

            

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