Chapter 204: Sleeping Beauty

Chapter 204: Sleeping Beauty

The next day, the Elven King delivered the divine decree. The licentious acts committed by the Succubus and the female elf Lena were forgiven. However, as punishment for their unauthorized intrusion, the Succubus was required to perform six months of mandatory service among the elves before he could regain his freedom.

Considering his frail physique—incapable of patrolling, hunting, or constructing—the Elders debated at length before reluctantly assigning him to weaving.

When the sentence was announced, the Succubus was led out from his cell, eyes brimming with disdain. He tauntingly glared at Percy. "Do you think I’m some cowardly, death-fearing succubus? Go ahead—drowning, stoning, do whatever you like."

Percy gave him a glance, then pressed him down in front of the loom. "This mound of yarn is your workload for the month."

As a beginner, the Succubus wasn’t given expensive silk to squander. Instead, he faced coarse hemp threads usually used for outer garments, burlap sacks… and even the bedding the Elven King had been scorned for by the deity.

Succubus: "?"

He stared blankly at the mountain of hemp before him, his innate allure completely gone, replaced by dumbfounded shock.

The Succubus muttered, "Huh? This is your idea of punishment? I don’t know how to weave. Even if I did, I’d turn it into a tangled disaster, wasting your materials and leaving you with nothing usable."

"I’ll arrange for someone to teach you," Percy replied. "And as for turning it into a tangled disaster—you’re welcome to try, but..."

A sudden sense of foreboding gripped the Succubus.

Percy continued coldly, "Lena is an outstanding warrior among our people, though not skilled in weaving. I will assign her close friend—another elf named Rylis, who excels in both archery and weaving—to instruct you and conduct a rigorous assessment of your progress."

Succubus: "...?"

His peach-blossom eyes widened until they nearly turned almond-shaped.

In his eyes, the refined and handsome Elven King had suddenly become devious and vile—and the “vile” Percy wasn't done yet:

"If Rylis finds you slacking, failing to complete your work properly, or too inept to handle even simple tasks, I imagine she’ll advise her dear friend to reconsider this marriage. What say you to that arrangement, Mr. Succubus?"

Succubus: "…"

Behind the Elven King, a tall, dignified female elf stepped forward, a longbow at her waist and bracers on her wrists. Sternly, she said, "Please take a seat at the loom, Mr. Succubus."

Though the elf was slender and not particularly muscular, the Succubus had no doubt that the massive bow she carried could pummel him dead in two blows.

The Succubus capitulated.

Thus, the Succubus took up residence among the elves.

The elves never mistreated prisoners. Outside of work, the Succubus was free to wander the clan. As a bard, he often played the lyre under the moonlight, singing ballads and reciting tales from across the continent.

At first, the elves harbored deep misgivings about this outsider. But with the deity’s silent assent, they gradually grew accustomed to coexisting with an outsider.

Besides, Mr. Succubus was an excellent storyteller. As a bard, he had countless poems and tales to share—from human emperors and their concubines, to dragons and Heroes, to merfolk and sailors by the sea.

His stories were always filled with amorous escapades. At first, young elves only dared to listen in secret. But after the Elven King repeatedly passed by without reprimanding them, their courage grew, and they began openly gathering beneath the trees to hear Mr. Succubus’s tales.

Percy paid no mind. Elsewhere in thought, he was preoccupied with something else.

The deity was slumbering ever more deeply.

Elu had taken lodging in the Elven King’s dwelling. He went to bed early but woke late, spending his days at Percy’s desk.

The two notebooks Percy had kept in the treetops now lay on the desk, scrawled with intricate runes. The deity had scratched out and rewritten entire pages, already filling several more notebooks.

Beyond that, Elu lay lost in slumber most hours.

At first, Percy simply thought the deity enjoyed sleeping, but gradually, the deity began sleeping during daytime too.

The silver-haired beauty curled up on the bed, half-buried in the pillow, his satin-like hair spilling carelessly onto the floor. Even the pine mountain dust seemed to avoid the deity, never daring to stain his locks.

Percy had to tread carefully to avoid pressing against him.

Elu's waking hours shrank—from entire days to half-days, until finally, only a few hours remained.

The Elven King expressed concern, but the deity merely shook his head, giving no answer.

Meanwhile, border Forest Wardens kept reporting good news—the spreading Withering had been suppressed, steadily receding. Even the great abyss appeared weakened, as if restrained by some force.

One day, Percy returned home to find the deity not in bed, but lounging on a wicker chair on the second floor, gazing idly into the distance.

Following his line of sight, Percy saw the succubus beneath a tree, strumming and singing, telling some story or another.

Propping his head with one hand, the deity listened intently, clearly intrigued.

Percy pressed his lips together.

A strange, uncontrollable feeling welled up in him. The succubus was undeniably attractive and charming, but Percy said nothing. Standing behind the deity, he said offhandedly, "Ah, that one—he’s Lena’s husband. Lena’s out hunting. After finishing his weaving, he plays music for the clan."

The deity showed no interest in the succubus’ identity; his eyes fixed on the instrument instead. "What kind of lyre is that?"

"A lute favored by wandering minstrels and footloose poets," Percy replied flatly, his tone neutral. "Meant to charm naive young maidens."

"No skill—the playing's weak and lifeless. Many in our clan could play far better."

Elu nodded. "Hmm."

The deity wasn’t listening for the music. The Elven King’s music was already divine—he had no need to hear others. What caught his attention was: "His stories are interesting."

The elves had no romantic novels, no grand legends or dramas. They lived peacefully in the embrace of the pine mountains, untouched by exile or war, without stories of avenging princes or inheritance feuds. Yet that didn’t stop Elu from finding such tales fascinating.

That day, unusually, the deity remained awake well into the night. While the Elven King gathered his hair, carefully combing it smooth, Elu suddenly said, "Percy, I’m going to sleep."

Percy's eyebrow twitched, but he suppressed his unease. "Now? The bed is already prepared."

Elu shook his head. "Soon, but this time… it’s different. I’ll be sleeping for a very, very long time."

So long it would be counted in years—just like the time Percy had misunderstood before.

"..."

The Elven King remained silent, continuing his task. To keep the deity's hair from tangling while he slept, he had taken to braiding it every night—a single thick braid draped loosely over one shoulder—with Elu’s permission.

Elu paused. This wasn’t his first long slumber. Before the elves were born, in his earliest days as a fledgling deity, he'd often fallen into long sleeps. Yet only now did he feel a pang of sorrow.

Percy asked softly, "Where will you sleep?"

Elu: "In the canopy. There’s a barrier there. In slumber, I’ll be vulnerable."

An injured deity in slumber was vulnerable—briefly stripped of power, so defenseless even a child could hurt him. He couldn’t sleep in the Elven King’s treehouse.

Percy was silent for a long moment before murmuring, "Then… may I still play for you beneath the tree?"

Elu: "Of course. You can even come up to see me. I’ll weave a hidden path through the branches with vines, leading straight to where I rest."

The Elven King hesitated, as if he had more to say.

Elu saw his hesitation immediately. "You want to ask why I'm not worried about you hurting me?"

A deity in a weakened state should be cautious around everyone, including the Elven King.

"Because you would never hurt me."

Just as the deity had said, he had never misjudged anyone. Neither two lifetimes of indifference nor suffering had changed his elf—Percy wouldn't turn bad.

"Before I go to sleep, have the elders gather under the tree."

Percy did as he was asked.

Elu had no intention of revealing the full truth to the Elder Council. He couldn’t be certain that every elf had unquestionable loyalty. So instead, the deity simply perched high on a branch and gave his divine instruction.

"All of you, I will go investigate the heart of the Withering. From now on, whether it's the Full Moon Festival or any other ceremony, I won't be appearing. All matters within the clan will be handled by the Elven King."

Percy bowed with the others, kneeling on one knee, his left hand pressed tightly against his chest—beneath his ribs, the heart the deity had made throbbed violently.

The deity had never said goodbye before entering slumber. Percy naturally understood what Elu meant.

His deity was worried—worried that after falling asleep, the Elven King might face blame, endure grievances, or repeat past mistakes. This extra step was taken purely out of the deity’s special care.

He wasn’t just an elf the deity liked—he was an elf the deity favored.

A strange warmth filled his chest, as if his entire body were submerged in warm water, burning almost painfully.

Then, the deity descended from the branch, coming to stand before the Elven King.

The elders stood behind them, assuming the deity was giving final instructions regarding clan affairs. None objected.

In reality, Elu reached up to tousle the hair of his favorite elf, messing up the pale golden strands before whispering in a voice only they could hear: "Percy, goodnight."

Just like every night before, when he held the elf close while drifting off to sleep.

Percy replied softly, "Goodnight."

And so, when midnight came, the Songshan Mountains fell into silence, and the arms of the Andromeda constellation rose once more above the horizon—the deity finally fell asleep.

From then on, Percy visited every night, coming right on time with his harp.

He found the path Elu had prepared for him.

Vines hidden among the thick leaves formed steps leading up to the canopy. The deity had given control of the barrier to 66. Whenever the moon rose high and the system spotted Percy through the barrier, it would give a sleepy yawn and let the Elven King inside.

It watched listlessly as Percy sat by the soft bed, gazing at the sleeping deity all night, grumbling inwardly, *"Strange elf. Elu's been asleep this whole time—how can he stare for half the night? What's even interesting to look at?"*

66 silently mourned its score, but glancing between Percy and Elu—both so beautiful—it shrugged and curled back up.

*"Might as well let the beautiful ones be,"* it muttered.

Percy came every night. Sometimes he played soothing nocturnes; sometimes he sat lost in his thoughts. Before long, he brought along a book of folk tales.

66 squinted and realized the stories were written in Percy’s own handwriting.

The Elven King had secretly gone to listen to the succubus’s stories, hiding far behind a tree to avoid being seen by the younger elves. Then late at night, he would retell them to the deity.

The system closed its imaginary eyes and thought, *"Strange elf."*

Elu’s condition was pretty much like that of a coma patient. Reading stories to someone like that—that was so like Percy.

Whenever the Elven King read passages of flowery romantic prose in his cool, unhurried, and almost rigid tone, 66 would break out in goosebumps just thinking about how he had once hidden beneath trees, jotting down the Succubus’s ramblings with academic-level precision. It silently edged away a bit, thinking to itself, "Elves in love are truly terrifying."

Although neither Percy nor Elu had admitted they were in love—or even realized it—66 knew from experience that this was exactly what it was.

The system mused idly, "Should I guess who’ll be the first to figure it out?"

Two such dense logs falling in love really is kind of a hassle.

The turning point came one evening.

That day, the Elven King brought yet another story from the Succubus. He sat on the chair before the spirit as usual, reading in a soft, mechanical monotone. Most words went in one ear and out the other—but today, at a certain line, he suddenly paused.

"Do you know the story of Sleeping Beauty? The prince fell in love with the sleeping princess. Even though she couldn't respond or speak, he pined for her day and night."

"If you can’t stop thinking about someone—their warmth, their embrace, every little thing about them—you can’t bear to be apart for even a moment. Even if they don’t respond, don’t engage with you, or simply keep sleeping forever, just looking at them brings you joy."

"Don’t doubt it. That’s love."

So declared the Succubus.