The Seventh Year the Demon King Captured the Holy Monarch

Langmuir’s consciousness seemed to be soaked in water, hazy, as if separated by a layer of something.

At first, he saw dark shadows in front of him. A tall demon lifted him onto a horse, saying that the Demon King wanted to see him–strange, he thought he should have been dragged there.

Langmuir was vaguely puzzled, he was so weak that even the jolting of the horse felt like a hypnotic spell, causing him to faint for a few minutes. When he dismounted, he woke up again, seemingly entering a tent. There was light in front of him, but his vision was still blurred into clusters of shadows.

That demon walked quickly with hurried breaths, Langmuir vaguely felt himself being placed into a soft place, warm layers of cloth pressing down on him.

The demon seemed to lower his head, anxiously rubbing his cold chest and hands and feet. “Don’t sleep, don’t sleep. Do you hear me?”

“Are you thirsty? Do you want to drink water? I’ll go get you some water, stay awake and wait for me, okay?”

Langmuir opened his mouth in a daze.

How…strange, his mind was upside down, unconsciously clutching the quilt under him, how… why…

His sluggish brain couldn’t support thinking, only a vague thought of “something seems a bit off” kept circling. Dizziness swept over him again, and everything in front of him went completely dark.

……..

The attendants in the big tent were the second wave of unlucky ones to be shocked after the soldiers guarding the prison cart.

They watched their King stride in, in his arms–although wrapped in a large cloak, the exposed white toes still revealed its identity–was that human.

The Demon King put Langmuir on the bed furthest inside, first asked why the witch doctor hadn’t come yet, then ordered the attendants one by one to make human food, to move the fire stone stove, to fetch fine silver, to urge the witch doctor…

With each command, the faces of the group of demons became more colorful, finally showing an expression like they had swallowed a stone, and they walked away rustlingly.

The big tent became quiet, and only then did the Demon King take a water pouch and quickly return inside.

When he lifted the curtain and looked towards the bed, his breath hitched.

Between the layers of quilts, the Holy Monarch was lying on his side, his face resting on his disheveled golden hair, his eyes were unfocused, his lips were cracked and slightly open, he was frozen and motionless as if he had fainted.

Hun Yao knelt on the bed, carefully cradling Langmuir in his arms, repeatedly wiping his lips with a wet cloth, softly coaxing him to wake up.

After a while, Langmuir lightly furrowed his brows and coughed, unconsciously holding the wet cloth in his mouth.

The Demon King finally let out a sigh of relief, hurriedly bringing the sheepskin water pouch to his mouth, “It’s water. Open your mouth, you need to drink some water.”

The wind outside made the tent cloth crackle. The big tent was quiet for a moment, then small sounds began to ring out.

Langmuir was exhausted, with each swallow, he would fall into a brief state of confusion due to fatigue, unable to hold the clear water that flowed from the corner of his mouth. It took a while for him to recover, before he could swallow the second mouthful.

Hun Yao held him, patiently feeding him water. Langmuir slowly drank five or six more sips, his eyelids lifted slightly, as if remembering something, he stopped and said something to him.

Hun Yao quickly leaned down to listen, hearing him say a “Thank you”.

The Demon King’s hand shook, almost dropping the water pouch.

Then his chest sank. Langmuir leaned his head over, slowly closed his eyes, and fell into what was probably his nth faint of the night.

The surroundings once again returned to silence, even the footsteps of the patrolling soldiers outside the tent, the neighing of the horses, and the noise of dry branches and fallen leaves being swept away by the wind could be heard clearly.

What was that old guy Duogu doing? He was too slow. Hun Yao was anxiously waiting for the witch doctor, while once again condensing healing incantations.

…Before today, the Demon King didn’t really understand the truth of what the Holy Monarch had suffered when he first entered the abyss.

Back then, he didn’t care enough, didn’t pay enough attention. And Langmuir was always reluctant to talk.

That guy would always find ways to change the subject, using a bit of coquettish tactics, like rolling into his arms like a little fox, lying on his back with his knees as a pillow, smiling brightly and pressing his neck down to kiss him.

So, no matter how much Hun Yao regretted in private, he could only face the vague shadow he had pieced together.

But on this dreamlike and bizarre night, he saw with his own eyes that low prison cart, and the slave hunched down inside the cart.

Hun Yao brushed Langmuir’s golden hair aside, quietly gazing at that young face.

After a few healing incantations were cast, Langmuir’s eyebrows finally relaxed, his eyelashes drooped, his breath shallow, it seemed he was feeling a bit better.

But what about back then?

Back then, there would be no one to relieve his pain, no one to feed him water. No one would take his cold body out and put it into a warm quilt.

At the end of the torment in the prison cart, there was the honey gold dagger that pierced his chest, and the even more endless first year.

………

When the old witch doctor Duogu arrived at the big tent, he thought the Demon King’s old injury had acted up.

Until Hun Yao emotionlessly pulled him to the side of the bed, pointing at the human buried in several layers of quilts, and said, “Heal him.”

“Him!?”

“Yes, him.”

“Does my King mean, heal!?”

“Don’t you understand?” Hun Yao sneered.

Understand, understand. Duogu nodded dumbly, like a pecking chicken.

He had just opened his medical box and cleaned his hands when he suddenly heard the Demon King shout, “Wait!”

Then he lowered his voice, “Don’t let him suffer.”

Duogu: “???”

Annoying, how to explain this…Hun Yao struggled for a while, finally choking out, “Cough, I want to restore him to perfect condition, then crush him with my own hands.”

“Before that, he can’t hurt, can’t get injured, can’t get sick, not at all, do you understand?”

Duogu: “.”

The old witch doctor’s face was full of bewilderment.

Alright, who made you the Demon King, listen to you.

The old witch doctor nodded in agreement, was about to start, when Hun Yao shouted again, “Wait!”

“…I want to torment him for a long, long time,” Hun Yao cleared his throat, expressionless, “Don’t use those strong medicines that will damage his physical foundation.”

Duogu’s eye twitched: Wait, can the word “long, long time” be used to describe torment?

“What are you dazed about! Do you understand?”

“Understand, understand, understand…”

Thus, under the urging of the neurotic Demon King, Duogu tossed and turned all night. It wasn’t until morning that it ended.

Duogu wiped his sweat and drooped his tail, preparing to take the brewed medicine and poured it into the human.

Hun Yao quickly held him down, “Good, leave the medicine here, you can go now.”

“My King! What on earth were you…” Just as Duogu finally couldn’t help it, plucked up the courage to complain a bit—

There was a sudden movement on the bed. Langmuir unconsciously turned his head, his fingertips moved, and then slowly opened his eyes.

“Cough…”

The Holy Monarch’s expression was still dazed, his purple pupils moved, his gaze drifted around, as if he didn’t know where he was.

Hun Yao didn’t care about Duogu at all, he rushed over hurriedly, “Langmuir!”

Langmuir blinked again, this time he was awake.

At least, he recognized the tent, the bed, the quilt, and the smell of herbs…Huh.

“?”

The Holy Monarch furrowed his brows in confusion, he felt that the way he woke up seemed a bit off.

His gaze circled around, and in the end, it inevitably landed on the broken horn of the black-haired demon in front of him.

“…Demon King?”

Langmuir tried to prop himself up with his elbow, wanting to sit up.

Hun Yao was startled, quickly held him down, blurted out, “Be good! Don’t move, don’t move…”

Langmuir: “?”

Duogu: “??”

Be good???

This was interesting, a word exploded out, Langmuir was stunned, Duogu was stunned, even Hun Yao himself was stunned.

One human and two demons stared at each other in a daze, in the end, it turned into Langmuir and Duogu staring straight at Hun Yao together.

—Demon King, who are you calling “be good”?

“My King,” the old witch doctor plucked up his courage, tremblingly pointed at his head, “how about, I also give you, a check-up?”

Hun Yao: “…”

The Demon King was silent for a moment, grinding his teeth and lowering his head, supporting his throbbing temple with his palm.

Habits, habits are really a terrible thing!!

****

An hour later.

“Demon King.”

Langmuir leaned on the bed, hesitantly speaking, “I feel, this isn’t quite right.”

His silky, beautiful deep golden hair was simply tied up by Hun Yao, hanging behind his pale neck. The patient had changed into soft, close-fitting clothes, his wounds were bandaged, and the head and foot of the bed were piled with fine silver to suppress the erosion of miasma.

At this moment, the rumored cruel and cold Broken Horn Demon King was sitting by the bed, holding a bowl, feeding him porridge little by little.

Hun Yao scooped up a spoonful of porridge with a wooden spoon and handed it over, “Your Majesty the Holy Monarch, tell me, what is your identity now?”

Langmuir obediently ate it, then answered seriously, “Your slave.”

“So, do I listen to you, or do you listen to me?”

“I listen to you.”

“Good. I don’t think there’s anything wrong.”

Hun Yao decided to let it go. It didn’t matter, after all, he was originally a self-willed and nasty Demon King, the kind that would bully humans terribly.

He even went further, “Be good, have another bite. Is it good?”

“You…why do you want to…”

“First, is it good?”

“It’s good, but why do you want to…”

“It’s good, that’s right,” Hun Yao laughed loudly, “I made it. There aren’t many demons in the abyss who can cook human food, if you behave in the future, I will also bake cakes for you.”

Goddess, the situation was too strange, too outrageous.

Langmuir was at a loss for what to do, he stuttered, but stubbornly finished his sentence, “Thank you, but, why do you want to do this…”

The Demon King who had decided to let it go completely found the feeling of controlling the situation, he squinted his eyes, “Then what do you want?”

“It’s not what I want!” Langmuir was a bit anxious, he felt he couldn’t explain clearly, “You hate me, you said you wanted to torment me…”

“Torment you?”

Hun Yao looked at him deeply, a smile in his eyes.

The Holy Monarch of this year was still very young, in Hun Yao’s words, he was easy to deceive.

This person, not afraid of torment and humiliation, not afraid to step on the road of no return, not afraid to bear the sins of two races for two hundred years alone.

But sudden kindness could make him like a helpless teenager.

“Do you prefer me tormenting you over me taking care of you?”

“Not that I like it.” Langmuir straightened up, his eyes were bright and clean, calm but stubbornly corrected again, “It’s what you once said.”

Look, that’s just the kind of person he is.

Hun Yao half sighed and laughed, “Your Majesty.”

He reached out his hand, lightly stroking the golden hair that fell on Langmuir’s forehead, “I should have told you earlier, you are really cute.”

Langmuir: …???!