4045-chapter-33
Chapter 33
The original Liu Shuang always understood what kind of heir her father wanted, and she knew she was nothing but a disgrace to them.
She heard tales of the Crown Prince of the Feng clan, Fu Ming, born amidst the roar of a celestial dragon, and the young master of the Kunlun Jimo clan, whose birth turned the mountain’s Sishui River into a spiritual spring.
These descendants of ancient bloodlines were favored by the heavens, each possessing extraordinary immortal powers.
Only she was born ordinary, with an incomplete soul.
Madam Zi spent a long time awakening her spiritual consciousness, teaching her to speak patiently, guiding her in forming immortal seals, and showing her how to fly.
But she was always causing trouble—and now, she had harmed Madam Zi so gravely.
Liu Shuang felt the deep sorrow and guilt of the original host, a crushing sense of helplessness and self-reproach.
It was as though she were a fledgling eagle attempting to fly, only to repeatedly crash, battered and bruised, until she realized she was nothing more than a sparrow with broken wings.
That night marked a turning point for the original host.
Unable to distinguish truth from lies or good from evil, and fearing she might harm Madam Zi or Chishui Chong again, she turned into someone who trusted no one.
She became suspicious, irritable, and quick to anger.
This small body spent most of its time secretly training, even though the young girl’s efforts bore little fruit.
In the memories, Liu Shuang also saw Mi Chu.
After the Chishui spiritual veins began to dry up and crack, they required constant guarding and repair.
The patriarch of the Lou clan volunteered to defend the Southern Immortal Territory’s heavenly spiritual veins.
His only request was that the lord and lady take care of his daughter, Mi Chu.
When Mi Chu arrived at Kongsang, she won the love of everyone there.
She was intelligent, kind, graceful, and diligent.
The first time Liu Shuang saw Mi Chu in the original host’s memories, she almost mistook her for someone else!
This version of Mi Chu was completely different from the one Liu Shuang had known.
While still possessing a celestial beauty, she bore no resemblance to Liu Shuang herself.
Liu Shuang faintly recalled that Feng Fu Ming once said Mi Chu hadn’t always looked like that.
Before her eyes, Mi Chu warmly approached the original host, but the little immortal was both fearful and yearning.
Though she repeatedly drove Mi Chu away, Mi Chu remained undeterred, teaching her fascinating spells.
Over time, the little immortal eventually accepted her as a friend.
But no matter how hard the original tried, she could never master those spells.
Seeing her disappointment, Mi Chu softly speculated, “Perhaps passing the thunder tribulation is the key to unlocking your potential. Could it be that your stagnant cultivation is due to the absence of such a trial?”
The little immortal looked at her with wide eyes.
Mi Chu smiled gently.
That night, the original host stepped outside, trembling as she held a Heavenly Thunder Banner.
Liu Shuang wanted to stop her, to warn her that Mi Chu’s suggestion was malicious, but she held back.
She feared that interfering might prevent her from witnessing the rest of the original host’s past.
Sure enough, the little immortal went to Nine Thoughts Pool, locking herself on the Lotus Platform as she wielded the Heavenly Thunder Banner.
Bolts of lightning rained down, and Liu Shuang, trapped within this body, felt every prickling sting of pain.
The little immortal collapsed weakly on the Lotus Platform, staring at her bloodied reflection in the tranquil waters.
Her empty gaze reflected her thoughts: “I’ll become better. I won’t harm Mother anymore. I’ll protect Kongsang. I can do it…”
If not… Her eyes dimmed further.
“Then let someone else do it.”
Father was right. With the spiritual veins of Kongsang on the brink of collapse, anyone could be the heir—Brother Zhuixu, Yuxiao, or even Mi Chu.
As long as they could safeguard Kongsang, spare father from worry and mother from further harm, it didn’t matter who became the heir.
She would willingly give up the spiritual essence of the Chishui lineage within her to that person in exchange for them protecting her home.
Liu Shuang sighed.
Fortunately, the Heavenly Thunder Banner didn’t summon true heavenly thunder, only earthly storms.
She watched as the little heir endured the injuries on the Lotus Platform and saw her grow day by day.
Everything seemed calm, but Liu Shuang felt uneasy.
She remembered she was in the Valley of Eight Sufferings—a place too sinister to allow her a peaceful life.
As expected, the fateful day arrived: the original host’s betrothal to Shaoyou.
Liu Shuang braced herself.
It was coming—the part of the story she was familiar with.
In her memory, the original host was supposed to travel to Kunlun to annul the engagement.
Yet what unfolded before her eyes was entirely different—
In the Valley of Eight Sufferings, the original host, brimming with hope, married Shaoyou.
Upon learning of the engagement, the original host thought, “If I cannot protect Kongsang, perhaps someone stronger can.”
What unfolded next diverged entirely from Liu Shuang’s recollection.
The spiritual-binding ceremony was carried out smoothly.
Before her eyes was a scene awash in vibrant red, yet Liu Shuang felt an inexplicable sense of unease despite the smiling faces of the immortal guests.
Beside her stood the familiar figure of Shaoyou.
As part of the ritual, the original host prepared to offer her heart’s blood.
Liu Shuang’s unease deepened.
Suddenly, Shaoyou beside her sneered coldly and struck, forcibly extracting her spiritual essence!
With a flick of his hand, he thrust his sword forward.
No one anticipated this outcome.
The original host was utterly powerless, staring in terror at Shaoyou.
His sword pierced through her chest—
But it didn’t harm the original host at all.
Liu Shuang stared blankly, her heart sinking.
Blood spread across the ground as the sword struck Madam Zi.
In her final moments, the original host’s mother shielded her daughter.
****
Shaoyou caressed the sword, chuckling lightly.
“Who would marry a foolish immortal maiden with a broken soul just to halt the depletion of spiritual energy? With the Kunlun spiritual veins in our hands, Kunlun will only grow stronger.”
Behind him, countless Kunlun soldiers stormed in, clad in armor, and celestial beings prepared for battle.
An internal war among the immortal realms was on the verge of erupting.
Shaoyou squatted down, gripping the original owner’s chin as he sneered, “Thank you, O esteemed young miss of Kongsang.”
The last few words dripped with biting sarcasm.
Before Liu Shuang could react, the original owner’s heart wrenched in pain, almost unbearable, like the soul being torn apart.
Something was forcibly extracted from within her, a crushing despair and pain as heavy as a mountain, leaving her breathless.
Liu Shuang fought to stay conscious but could only helplessly watch as the Sorrow Soul and Fear Soul were stripped from her body.
The process felt both endless and fleeting.
After fainting from the pain, Liu Shuang opened her eyes again.
Raindrops continued to fall rhythmically from the sky, and the wind stirred the gauzy curtains.
She bolted upright from the bed, finding herself back at the very beginning.
She looked down at her small hands and petite frame.
Sure enough, the maids began gossiping again.
“Is the young miss still asleep?”
Drenched in cold sweat, Liu Shuang finally grasped the terrifying nature of the Eight Sufferings Valley.
If this went on, not only would her Sorrow and Fear Souls be lost, but her Joy, Anger, Love, Hatred, and Desire would also separate, leaving her unable to preserve her three spiritual souls.
She would perish in the Eight Sufferings Valley, consumed by the original owner’s fears.
The original owner was haunted by the fear of her inadequacies causing Kongsang’s downfall, just as her youthful recklessness had led her mother to suffer injuries—even death—for her sake.
In the Eight Sufferings Valley, these fears materialized endlessly, cycling through nightmares until the soul was utterly destroyed.
As her body moved again toward Madam Zi’s chamber door, Liu Shuang bit her lip hard, trying to seize control of the body.
This is all fake. Shaoyou is still waiting in the Eight Sufferings Valley! He would never do something as heinous as stealing spiritual marrow and veins.
Liu Shuang suddenly understood why the original owner had broken off the engagement with Shaoyou.
It wasn’t due to infatuation with Feng Fuming but because someone had used underhanded methods to induce nightmares like these.
When she awoke, the original owner was desperate to end the engagement at all costs.
Liu Shuang gritted her teeth.
Mi Chu!
Yet now, within the Eight Sufferings Valley, Liu Shuang found her assumed control slipping.
She was like a puppet manipulated by invisible strings, endlessly repeating the original owner’s nightmares.
As Liu Shuang’s red and blue souls began to dissipate, they were intercepted by a furious Yan Chaosheng, who gathered them into his embrace.
When Yan Chaosheng returned, he thought grimly, If she’s going to die, she won’t do it here. She’s a descendant of Chishui, after all. Swallowing her would at least make it worthwhile. If she’s so determined to follow that hypocrite Jimo Shaoyou to her death, she might as well die for a purpose, repaying me for the cultivation I’ve lost because of her.
But upon arrival, he found Liu Shuang’s Sorrow Soul and Fear Soul, drifting weakly from the Eight Sufferings Valley, pitiful and panicked like frightened children.
Terrified of the surrounding horrors, they flung themselves into his arms.
Souls don’t perceive warmth or cold, nor do they retain memories.
They only sense good or ill will.
In the ghost realm, the two souls could feel no malice from him, so they sought refuge in his embrace.
They collided with his chest, near his heart.
Light as a feather, the impact brought no harm, yet it struck him in a way that left his simmering rage inexplicably stifled.
He grabbed the souls in his hand.
One was whimpering pitifully, while the other trembled uncontrollably.
Yan Chaosheng sneered, drawing them close.
“Stay put.”
Below the stage of shadows lay a pitch-black abyss, the resting place of countless fallen souls—Eight Sufferings Valley.
The so-called eight sufferings encompassed birth, aging, illness, death, unfulfilled desires, resenting those you meet, parting from those you love, and the flourishing of the five aggregates.
No one could endure them all, whether mortal or immortal.
Everyone had weaknesses.
Yan Chaosheng’s expression darkened.
Such a place—he shouldn’t have come here.
His ambition and desires burned too brightly; there was no way he could withstand the torment of the Eight Sufferings Valley.
His brows furrowed tightly.
He should turn back.
He must have gone mad to venture here.
Turning back wouldn’t leave him empty-handed.
With these two scattered souls in hand, consuming them was better than nothing.
Why risk entering the valley to retrieve her?
Yet, what had emerged was her Sorrow Soul and Fear Soul, bitter and astringent, devoid of any sweetness.
Standing outside the Tomb of the Ghost King, Yan Chaosheng covered the weeping souls in his arms.
Why cry? It’s annoying.
At that moment, a faint pink soul floated out.
Instinctively, Yan Chaosheng reached out to catch it.
To his surprise, the naive soul carried a warm sensation as it darted toward his face, recklessly colliding with him like a mischievous rogue.
It brushed his face with a fleeting warmth, like a dragonfly skimming the surface of the water.
Gritting his teeth, Yan Chaosheng swiftly tore it away.
This… was her Love Soul.
Among the three scattered soul, the pink one was the most annoying!
It seemed completely oblivious to his disdain and dissatisfaction.
While the other two fragments conveyed fear and suppression, this one acted like a child, rubbing itself incessantly against his clothes.
Several times, it brushed against his cold, scaly skin.
Yan Chaosheng was on the verge of madness.
He grabbed it and growled ferociously, “Do you believe I’ll swallow you first?”
The pink soul didn’t understand.
It coiled around his fingers, continuing its affectionate antics.
He stared at it.
There wasn’t much to see—it was just a scattered soul fragment, barely taking a discernible human form.
After a long moment, Yan Chaosheng realized there was nothing remarkable about it.
He shoved it back into his chest.
“Only because of the other two souls,” he muttered, pressing his lips into a thin line.
“It’s definitely not for you.”
He stepped into the Ghost King’s Tomb, letting the swirling, frigid air whip through his robes.
Yan Chaosheng didn’t resist, allowing the winds to carry him into the Eight Sufferings Valley.
He stabilized his footing as he landed, his demonic eyes flaring open.
The silver gleam was eerie and cold.
The scene before him fell into his sight—white, resentful energy saturated the valley, stripping souls of their fragments upon contact.
The Eight Sufferings Valley, he pondered, inflicted every conceivable torment on its victims, trapping them in perpetual agony.
If that was the case, perhaps the only way to avoid the valley’s tortures was to inflict pain faster and harsher than it could.
Would it then relent?
Yan Chaosheng closed his eyes briefly.
A dagger appeared in his palm, and he ruthlessly sliced into his arm, stripping away large swathes of his dark snake scales.
The black scales fell away in chunks, but Yan Chaosheng remained silent, navigating the valley.
The method worked—the Eight Sufferings Valley didn’t react to him.
Every so often, he sliced off another piece of scale as he pressed forward.
Finally, he saw her.
A girl lay on the ground, wrapped in an invisible, cocoon-like shell of white energy.
Her breathing was faint, barely perceptible, and with three souls missing, her consciousness was likely already in disarray.
Yan Chaosheng rushed to her side and tried to cut through the cocoon with his dagger.
It was unyielding, and his blade bent, its edge curling uselessly.
Yan Chaosheng frowned.
Unlike those well-resourced immortal lords who had an arsenal of divine treasures, he, as a mere gatekeeper disciple at Kongsang, didn’t even own a decent immortal sword.
He stared at her in silence.
The love soul in his chest seemed restless, rubbing against him again.
Yan Chaosheng nearly crushed it in frustration.
“Stop it,” he hissed.
It was no use.
Just then, an orange soul floated out from the girl’s body—her joy soul.
Yan Chaosheng’s expression darkened as he yanked out his protective heart scale.
Ripping off the protective scale from his chest made him shudder in pain.
This scale was arguably the most beautiful part of him—unlike the slimy, revolting smaller scales, this one glimmered with a faint sheen of black and gold.
Pale-faced, Yan Chaosheng pressed the scale against the girl’s white cocoon.
Blood dripped down, and sure enough, his protective scale, the most precious part of his demon body, proved sharper than most immortal swords.
When he finally freed the girl from the cocoon and cradled her in his arms, the effort nearly drained him.
Yan Chaosheng knelt, gasping for breath.
His head buzzed with pain.
He knew he couldn’t linger—retracing his steps was impossible.
If he faltered, both of them would die in the Eight Sufferings Valley.
Only one path remained.
Yan Chaosheng lifted his gaze, his icy silver eyes fixed on the domain ahead.
Behind her was the tomb of the Ghost Kings, shrouded in chilling ghostly energy.
Gritting his teeth, he carried her forward.
Under the oppressive ghostly air, the torment of the Eight Sufferings Valley finally ceased.
Yan Chaosheng let out a muffled groan, collapsing to the ground.
The unconscious girl’s body fell on top of him, pressing against his injuries and making him shudder.
He lacked the strength to push her away.
Surrounded by corrosive ghostly energy, he flipped her over, shielding her beneath him.
He’d spent his life wandering through mass graves; this was no different.
While the ghostly energy would harm her scattered soul fragments, he could withstand it.
Yan Chaosheng had never done something so foolish in his entire life.
She lay beneath him, her breathing shallow.
Her veiled face revealed long, curled lashes.
In this light, she wasn’t entirely unpleasant to look at.
He should have felt anger—he was gravely injured and should have been furious at his own recklessness.
But as he protected her, dragging her out of the Valley of Eight Sufferings, blood poured from his chest, his silver eyes reflecting her figure.
The four scattered souls stirred in his arms, yet strangely, he felt no regret.
With great effort, Yan Chaosheng released the four souls.
The souls returned to their host, merging into her body.
Her pallor softened slightly, her fingers twitching as if in the throes of a nightmare.
Under her veil, she murmured faintly, her voice carrying a name.
A demon who had lost his heart’s protection scale was left fragile and defenseless.
Blood continued to seep from his chest, his back exposed to the encroaching ghostly energy.
In the quiet, he heard her whisper in her dreams.
“Shaoyou…”
Yan Chaosheng’s face instantly turned pale with cold indifference.