The White Deer's Cry - Chapter 3

Locked in the Demon Domain, I was starving.

Jing Ziyan seemed so busy fighting that he’d forgotten I needed food and water.

On the tenth day without so much as a drop to drink, someone finally came in.

I clung to the bars, my vision swimming, drool dripping from my mouth.

“Brother, could you lend me those chicken feet of yours? Just for a nibble?”

The visitor crouched in front of me and reached one of those “chicken feet” through the bars. He caught my chin and forced me to look up at him.

Now I could see who it was.

Jing Ziyan.

He wore silver-scaled battle armor, and golden blood stained the handsome line of his cheek.

His true form belonged to the black dragon clan. Their blood was gold.

Which meant he was hurt.

His eyes were dark and turbulent, full of cold, bloody violence.

He was nothing like the stingy dragon I remembered, the one who’d turned on me over a piece of candy.

He really had changed.

He had a Demon Lord’s savagery now. His cruelty.

I shuddered and said meekly, “My mistake, my lord. I didn’t recognize your noble hands. I won’t eat them.”

His lips curled in distaste. “You have fifteen minutes. Wash yourself and get out.”

Released from the Domain, I trailed after him, fumbling for words.

“My lord, I haven’t returned the demonic power you gave me.”

He gave a short laugh. “Don’t want it. Keep it.”

To be fair, nourished by that power, my injuries had healed quite a bit.

I just didn’t know whether giving it away had affected him.

“My lord, did you… win?”

“When have I ever lost a fight?”

“Oh.”

Still, I had the feeling he was badly hurt.

Blood had already soaked his cuff gold.

“Hungry?” he suddenly asked.

I nodded.

He changed back into his elegant civilian clothes. “Come on. I’ll take you to the mortal world for a meal.”

At the boundary between the demon realm and the mortal world, the sky was clear and bright.

Jing Ziyan’s profile looked rather stern, all sharp, clean lines. A gold crown held his black hair high. He looked just like the young generals I’d seen in illustrated storybooks.

A strange little flutter began to stir inside me.

Without realizing it, I blushed.

He happened to look over. His brows drew together.

“What are you staring at?”

I hastily ducked my head. “Oh… Nothing.”

A bit fierce, this one.

He took me to a small frontier town.

People filled the streets. The warmth and bustle of everyday life washed over us.

After so long in the celestial realm, every little thing seemed fascinating.

Jing Ziyan held a sky-blue bamboo umbrella. Beneath it, his skin looked pale and luminous, his beauty almost crystalline. Passing girls kept turning to look.

“I hear the mutton soup is good here.”

He caught me staring dreamily at a stall of sugar paintings, hauled me back, sat down at a food stall, and ordered a basin of soup.

Looking up to find me still standing, he frowned. “What’s on your mind?”

“I don’t eat sheep,” I said, not very confidently. “We milu deer… don’t.”

I wasn’t trying to be difficult. Or deliberately challenge his authority.

I thought he might get angry, but he only gave an indifferent hum.

“I eat everything.”

Suddenly, I remembered our parents sitting together when we were little, joking about having him marry me.

I’d pulled a face.

“He’s ugly.”

But there was nothing ugly about him now. He was absurdly good-looking.

My ears grew hot. I didn’t know where to look.

He left two taels of silver on the table, came outside, and caught my hand.

“What do you want to eat?”

“Grass.”

“Swear at me again. Go on!”

I shrank into my collar. “Grass. I eat grass.”

Even without seeing his face, I could feel how speechless he was.

We walked from one end of the street to the other before finally finding someone selling animal feed beside an inn.

He gave me a hesitant look.

“I’m not picky,” I said at once. “Really.”

And so, under the stableman’s astonished gaze, Jing Ziyan bought me a bag of grass.

It was growing late, and he had no intention of going home. He took me into the inn next door.

Apparently, he hadn’t brought money. I had to pay.

I grudgingly asked for one room. Under his murderous stare, I added, “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

But the moment we got inside, he began taking his clothes off.

I clapped my hands over my eyes. “What are you doing?”

He sounded a little exasperated. “I’m injured. Change the dressing.”

Through the gaps between my fingers, I saw the wound.

It ran diagonally across his back, up to his shoulder blade, then wound down his arm. Golden blood kept dripping along the contours of his muscles.

I was horrified.

He’d acted as if nothing were wrong all day. Didn’t he know how to make a sound when something hurt?

Change the dressing…

I went behind him and took a deep breath. Then I pressed down on his shoulders, bent over, and gently licked the wound.

The pale gold blood had little metallic tang, though I couldn’t exactly call it tasty.

Jing Ziyan went rigid. His demonic energy seemed to be straining against some pressure, seeping out through the very gaps in his bones.

“Lu Bai.” His voice was hoarse, the words forced through clenched teeth. “What are you doing?”

“Healing you,” I said, puzzled.

Then, quite naturally, I bit down on his shoulder again.

For generations, my people had licked one another’s wounds. They healed wonderfully fast that way.

He turned his head just then, and our eyes met.

His gaze was so dark it seemed almost liquid. His throat bobbed.

“Idiot. Let go. Were you planning to lick the whole thing?”