After the cold winter, the leaders of all the tribes, big and small, rushed to the royal court to pay homage to the Demon King.
Since ancient times, every royal court meeting has been bloody.
This was a secret competition, not only between the king and the leaders, but also among the leaders themselves. The three powerful tribes were waiting for an opportunity to act, while those scattered small tribes needed to find a good camp for themselves…In short, it’s a big headache for the Demon King.
Hun Yao was preparing on one side, and every night he tirelessly admonished Langmuir not to wander around the window for nearly a month.
“You have to realize your excessive beauty,” the Demon King never skimped on praise for this, “If those foreign leaders see you, I don’t know what trouble it will cause me.”
Langmuir immediately nodded slightly, showing a very well-behaved look.
Hun Yao was very satisfied, and the next day he threw a few bundles of thin ropes and a bone piece in front of him, letting him weave to pass the time.
There were not as many exotic treasures in the abyss as there were in the human world, and the demons mostly wear bone ornaments.
Brightly colored stones were ground into beads, then added with animal bones, shells, and even the remains of ancestors. These were strung together with ropes and hung on the chest, or tied in the braids.
Langmuir had never personally woven such a thing, he held those bone pieces without knowing how to start, and asked, “Can my King allow this slave to go to the craftsman for advice first?”
Hun Yao: “This is unlikely either.”
Langmuir: “This slave really doesn’t know.”
As a result, that day, Hun Yao stayed in the palace and taught him to weave bone ornaments for an afternoon.
For a while after that, the Demon King could always see his slave seriously doing crafts.
Langmuir would braid his silver-gray hair like a demon, kneel barefoot on the ground, and the simple hemp clothes could not hide his radiance.
Sometimes, he accidentally got cut by the sharp bone pieces. He frowned and put his finger in his mouth, using his tongue to stop the bleeding. After a while, he carefully confirmed that it was no longer bleeding, then picked up a new bead.
…Cute. The Demon King secretly watched and thought.
He watched for about half an hour, suddenly feeling inappropriate: How could he find his enemy cute every day?
Langmuir fiddled for a long time, but there was one knot that he just couldn’t tie. He hesitated for a moment, then lowered his head and awkwardly bit one side with his lips, switching to tying with both hands.
Hun Yao decided not to struggle anymore. Cute was cute, which was as undeniable as being beautiful. He hated Langmuir, but it didn’t prevent him from admitting that this person was cute.
Langmuir learned quickly, and his aesthetic sense was many times higher than that of the vulgar demons. By the time the leaders of the various tribes appeared in the royal court one after another, he was already able to make very beautiful ornaments.
He presented the most exquisite bone ornament necklace to the Demon King and smiled, “You can hang the bone key in the middle.”
Hun Yao frowned greatly, thinking that this slave was really cunning. If he made the bone key into a necklace to wear, wouldn’t he have to take the bone key out every day? That would be equivalent to taking Langmuir out every day…
This guy, pretending to be well-behaved on the surface, actually still wants to go out!
–The Demon King seemed to have no idea that Langmuir had never said that he hoped he would wear this bone ornament close to his body every day.
****
The next day, Langmuir was taken by Hun Yao to the grand ceremony of the royal court.
When the Demon King stepped into the solemn stone hall with his human slave, countless leaders and guards below saw Langmuir and couldn’t help showing a look of amazed admiration.
“My god, My King Hun Yao.”
Leader Zhenzan was the first to exclaim, “Your human slave is really beautiful…”
Hun Yao laughed loudly. “Of course!”
– He was so happy inside that he could hardly stand it. He had never felt such a great sense of satisfaction even when he established his own royal court. He had to work hard to maintain his dignity and not wag his tail in front of the leaders.
The customs between the tribes of the demons were very different. Some leaders paint their scales in colorful colors, some tie bone bells that jingle on their tails, and some insert bird feathers on their horns…But without exception, they were all strong, majestic, and fierce demons.
The high priest Tada struck the drum and shouted, “Leaders from afar, pay homage to the King of the Royal Court!”
The leaders all roared in unison, knelt down halfway, cut open their foreheads and smeared blood on their scales.
“My King!!”
Their voices were like thunder, “My King!!”
In Langmuir’s view, the ceremonies of the demons were without exception, all full of wild and barbaric atmosphere.
The young priest brought up the hot wine, the Demon King first drank with the leaders, and then entered the food sharing session.
The attendants offered the heart of the witch bone tiger, the liver of the dead wolf, and the lungs of the wildebeest in turn – it was said that they symbolize bravery, wisdom, and unyielding – and then the Demon King personally selected three to five tribal leaders and bestowed them with the honor of sharing food with the king.
Langmuir stood behind the Demon King’s bone throne, staring at those bloody organs, feeling numb all over.
He couldn’t help but ask in a low voice, “…Eat it raw?”
Hun Yao had just picked up a tiger heart dripping with blood, and when he heard the words, he turned his head and squinted, “Want a taste?”
Langmuir’s face turned pale, and he shook his head quickly.
Hun Yao laughed, he reached out, casually smeared his blood-stained thumb on the human’s lips, leaving a soul-stirring crimson, “So delicate.”
In the next ten or so days, Langmuir’s mind became a mess because of the impact of receiving too many new things.
For example, he didn’t understand how one moment it was a one-on-one wrestling match, and the next moment two tribes would rush up and fight to the death, with a group of demons excitedly cheering on the side;
He also didn’t understand why the demons would start mating in the wild at the drop of a hat, the bonfire illuminating the entangled slippery figures brightly, and the unrestrained cries could be heard from far away.
This extremely barbaric killing and mating stimulated Langmuir’s nerves. Another problem followed: he couldn’t eat raw meat with fur and blood, nor could he drink the strong alcohol of the demons, but there was no other food or drink during the homage period.
Fortunately, Hun Yao took care of him, and in the intervals of dealing with those leaders, he could remember to get him some cooked food, sheep’s milk, and coarse bread.
“How do you feel, isn’t it more comfortable to stay in the palace?”
At night, the demons gradually dispersed. Hun Yao sat by the crackling bonfire with Langmuir in his arms.
“…..will adapt.” Langmuir shook his head, his face showing signs of fatigue, but his expression was very calm, “This slave is already in the abyss. One day, this place will become a place I deeply hate and deeply love.”
Hun Yao stopped talking.
He stared deeply at the human’s profile in the firelight, the purple scale under Langmuir’s eye corner shimmered in the firelight, bright as a teardrop.
“Remember to stay by my side at all times.” The Demon King said in a low voice, “Don’t run around, don’t cause trouble…Just bear with it for a few more days, and it will be over.”
****
At that time, Langmuir didn’t understand what “causing trouble” meant in Hun Yao’s mouth.
Until four days later, the demons began a physical combat gladiator fight to show off their strength.
When Hun Yao stepped onto the gladiator arena and started fighting with another burly demon, Langmuir suddenly felt…a demon’s scale claw touching him with ill intentions.
He turned his head with a sideways glance and saw a leader with a wicked smile on his face, his eyes like an eager snake.
And not far away, the demons from different tribes were all laughing and pointing with a look of watching the excitement.
“What a beautiful human skin pig.”
Those demons whispered, “Our King is too unkind. Back then, he didn’t let us bring human slaves into the abyss, but he raised such a charming little guy…”
Langmuir could hardly believe what he was experiencing. The leader’s claw went down from his back, pinched his waist hard, and then was about to slide down towards his legs.
His face cooled, and he instinctively wanted to stand up, but was pressed back by the demon using brute force.
“You’d better not make a sound, you cheap pig.” The leader said with a wicked smile, “If our beloved broken horn Demon King, distracted by his slave, dies in the gladiator arena, that would be interesting.”
“…”
Langmuir stared at the short knife on the leader’s waist.
What came to mind, however, was Hun Yao’s emphasis on “don’t cause trouble”.
He silently lowered his eyes and thought: What counts as causing trouble?
If the Demon King’s slave was forcibly taken away by a leader for mating, would that be a bad thing?
Or would it be worse if the king’s slave pulls out a knife and stabs a leader who has come to pay homage?
The Demon King’s subordinates were not far away, but they were indifferent to the commotion here. In the abyss, is it normal for slaves to be treated like this?
He promised Hun Yao that he “will adapt”, is this now also within the scope of “adaptation”?
Langmuir suddenly felt very confused. His understanding of the abyss, the royal court, and Hun Yao…was still too lacking. He didn’t know what to do.
But that big demon didn’t have time to really do anything to him.
Hun Yao ended the fight faster than they had expected, and when they saw the Demon King coming this way, the evildoer and a few laughing demons quickly scattered like birds and beasts.
Only Langmuir was still sitting stiffly in place, his silver hair disheveled, and his eyes looked blankly at the figure standing in front of him.
“King…” he said softly.
Hun Yao pulled Langmuir up by the arm, looked around sternly, “Who just touched him?”
The surroundings were silent as death.
The Demon King asked his slave, “Why didn’t you call me?”
Langmuir thought for a moment, feeling that if he told the truth that he was worried about affecting him, Hun Yao would definitely be annoyed. So he said softly, “Adapting.”
Langmuir couldn’t perceive the power behind this sentence, and only after he said it did he realize that the Demon King’s face had instantly become gloomy, and a hint of red was creeping into his eyes.
Hun Yao gritted his teeth, his breathing heavy, “You…”
The Demon King’s heart was bitten by a pain he had never felt before.
He didn’t know why, was it because he felt that his clam shell should not be brutally pried open, or because he felt that the once noble and holy enemy should not succumb to such an insult?
It didn’t matter what it was anymore.
Hun Yao’s Adam’s apple rolled, and he asked in a deep voice, “Who was it?”
Langmuir looked at the leader just now.
The big demon looked a bit embarrassed, but didn’t take it as a big deal, and laughed awkwardly, “Oh, don’t blame me, my King, your slave doesn’t understand the rules, he–yes, he was seducing me with his butt!”
He whistled to the surroundings, “Right, you all saw it.”
The demons laughed uproariously, nodding their heads.
When Hun Yao walked towards that leader, the latter was still shrugging, “My King wouldn’t be too harsh on your blood brothers for a human slave, would he…”
Before he finished speaking, the Demon King’s scale claw pierced his neck with a “puchi”.
Langmuir gasped, his whole body and face drenched in blood. Then, the dozen or so personal guards of that leader let out mournful screams, and they all drew their swords and rushed up.
Now everything was in chaos. Hun Yao pushed him back and met them head-on without blinking. The guards on the Demon King’s side saw the fight and joined in, and soon there were bodies all over the ground.
When the fight was over, the leader hadn’t died yet, he was lying on the ground, clutching his bleeding neck. Hun Yao went up again, stepped on this unlucky guy, and slowly tore off his limbs and scales, before he was willing to let him go.
…Langmuir had never seen such a bloody and abrupt slaughter, his face was pale, and he almost vomited.
The demons from the foreign tribes were all scared out of their wits, shivering and not daring to move.
In the midst of countless fearful gazes, the blood-soaked Demon King walked up to the human.
“Langmuir, what you need to adapt to is this.”
Hun Yao hatefully smeared the blood in his palm on his cold, sweaty face, neck, and arms, as if it was a punishment, and as if he wanted to wipe away something unclean with it.
“It’s me,” Hun Yao stared at him obsessively, “not those scum. It’s me.”
****
That night, Langmuir started to persuade from the moment the bonfire was lit, and he kept persuading until the bonfire was extinguished, finally managing to dissuade the Demon King from the idea of beheading those subordinates who had initially watched the show.
Then, Hun Yao grabbed the human and bathed him in the pool, washing him three times over and over again, until he couldn’t smell the stench of blood.
Langmuir also lifted his arm to smell himself, and thoughtfully said, “Demons seem to have a bit of a blood smell, and you do too.”
Hun Yao: “You’re not a demon.”
Langmuir, helpless: “…Then why are you smearing blood on me?”
Hun Yao didn’t make a sound, took a towel and dried Langmuir’s long hair, and then heard the slave ask worriedly, “What are you going to do next?”
The leader and his personal guards of the tribe, all died in the royal court, just for a human slave–Langmuir inferred according to common sense, and thought that this must be a big trouble.
But Hun Yao obviously didn’t think so, he even thought that Langmuir was asking how to properly dispose of the bodies, so he answered, “You can burn out the bones and hang them in my treasure room.”
“…..”
Langmuir had a hard time responding, so he had to close his mouth and count the water droplets falling from the hair in front of his forehead. They were round and shiny, and looked like black pearls through the night.
Suddenly, Hun Yao leaned over and sniffed behind his ear again, saying, “Alright, you still need to be clean.”
It’s strange. Many years later, whether it was the nauseating obscenity or the overly glaring killing, Langmuir couldn’t remember.
But he still remembered that night in the bath, Hun Yao was wiping his hair from behind.
When the seventeenth crystal clear water droplet fell in front of his eyes, the blood-soaked Demon King seriously said behind his ear, he needed to be clean.
