Chapter 70

Time had passed for so long, yet that deep, aged voice seemed to still linger in her ears.

Liu shuang still remembered Grandpa Tree saying: “Liu shuang! Something terrible has happened! Someone has used a divine artifact to set up a barrier around Canglan Lake—it lets creatures in but won’t let them out. I have a feeling the Calamity Fire will arrive early. Whatever you do, don’t come back, understand? If possible, beg the Demon Lord for help. Only he can save all the lives in Canglan Lake.”*

Someone had deliberately trapped all the living beings of Canglan Lake just before the Calamity Fire descended.

At that time, she had just severed her spiritual bond with Yan Chaosheng.

For the sake of Canglan’s inhabitants, she returned to plead with him—she was even on the verge of kneeling—only to be stopped outside the Ghost Realm by Fuheng.

No wonder the Demon Lord refused to help her.

Even when she offered treasures in exchange, she couldn’t move him in the slightest.

Because what he wanted, from the very beginning, was the lives of all Canglan’s creatures.

He wanted the Huiling Power.

So, from the moment he married her, it had all been for the sake of carving out her heart.

He had deceived her time and again into drinking those heart-tempering medicines, coldly watching as she writhed in agony.

Why hadn’t he gone through with it in the end?

Was it because she had severed their bond and defied him, making him unable to wait until she endured the final heavenly tribulation?

Impatient, he had slaughtered Canglan instead.

But none of that mattered now.

She had been given a second chance—not to watch the same despair play out again and again.

Today, he killed Bai Zhuixu.

Tomorrow, would it be Bai Yuxiao? Chishui Chong?

No.

None of them deserved to die.

The only one who did was him.

—

Yan Chaosheng agreed to give Bai Zhuixu’s remnant soul to Liu shuang.

He was never one to drag his feet—in the next moment, with a single thought, he forcibly extracted that wisp of pure-white remnant soul from the Taichu Mirror.

Liu shuang saw that his forehead was drenched in cold sweat.

His expression, however, remained calm, betraying nothing.

He said, “I have matters to attend to outside. Rest well.”

He left the chamber, though where he went, she didn’t know.

Liu shuang carefully cradled that faint remnant soul.

For mortals, three souls and seven spirits were necessary to live—the same was true for immortals.

Bai Zhuixu was already dead, with only this wisp of a soul left.

By all logic, he shouldn’t have been able to return.

His remnant soul wasn’t warm like the man himself had been.

It lay cold in her palm.

Liu shuang whispered, “Don’t be afraid.”

Just as he had always stayed by her side when she was young.

She formed a seal with her fingers and guided it into her heart, nurturing it with  Huiling Power.

Before long, the butterfly demon named Cong Xia walked in, reluctantly saying to Liu shuang, “Drink your medicine.”

Liu shuang took it and downed it in one go.

Seeing her drink so readily, Cong Xia sneered, “And here I thought you were some lofty immortal. Yet you lie shamelessly in a demon’s bed. Let me tell you—I poisoned the medicine.”

Liu shuang settled back under the covers and said, “If you poison me, I won’t die. But you will. So will Yan Chaosheng. If you do this, you’re the one who’ll suffer.”

Cong Xia didn’t understand.

Why would Yan Chaosheng die if she poisoned Liu shuang?

The immortal on the bed tilted her head, those disaster-inducing eyes gazing at her.

“He’d die of heartbreak.”

Cong Xia’s face turned nearly green.

Was this the same immortal who had first arrived here, at odds with the mountain lord, braving the Weak Water with unyielding determination?

Since when had her skin grown so thick?

But Liu shuang was utterly unruffled.

Back when she was a little immortal grass, if she hadn’t been thick-skinned, she wouldn’t have married Yan Chaosheng or dared to love him so boldly.

Now, if she weren’t thick-skinned, she wouldn’t have gotten Bai Zhuixu’s remnant soul back.

At the very least, she had to pretend to care for Yan Chaosheng—to act possessive, so that he would fall deeper.

Sure enough, Cong Xia stormed off in a huff, replaced by another servant.

Or perhaps, a spy.

Yan Chaosheng still hadn’t returned.

Where he had gone, no one knew.

It wasn’t until dusk the next day that he finally came back to the Demon Palace.

Cong Xia immediately lodged a complaint, embellishing Liu shuang’s words to the mountain lord, who had just returned.

“Lord, that woman has no sense of propriety! She presumes to interpret your feelings, even claiming that one day, she’ll have you wrapped around her finger—begging for her!”

Yan Chaosheng was silent for a long time.

Whether he believed it or not, he said nothing and walked into the chamber.

Cong Xia watched his retreating figure, smug.

That woman is done for.

—

When Yan Chaosheng returned, Liu shuang had just bathed.

Her hair was loose, and she sat cross-legged, reading one of his books—a travelogue chronicling a wandering immortal’s journey through Mount Buzhou.

The writing wasn’t obscure; in fact, it was quite lively.

Liu shuang noticed that Yan Chaosheng had made notes in certain sections—all about the Feng Clan’s terrain.

He was preparing for war, though the resources at his disposal were limited.

Yan Chaosheng, born a demon, had taught himself cultivation and even literacy—remarkable, given that most lesser demons couldn’t read.

“You didn’t leave?”

Yan Chousheng finally spoke.

“I thought you would go, now that you have Bai Zhuixu’s soul.”

Liu shuang looked up earnestly.

“I promised to stay with you. I won’t break my word.”

“Where did you put Bai Zhuixu’s remnant soul?”

He glanced around but sensed no trace of it.

“That’s a secret,” she said.

“What about you? Where have you been these past few days?”

He didn’t answer.

This was how he always was—when he didn’t want to discuss something, or when he refused to lie, he simply fell silent, his gaze turning icy to deter further questions.

Liu shuang didn’t press.

Noticing how tall he was, his shadow engulfing her as she sat, she scooted inward and patted the space beside her.

“Want to come up?”

Outside, the wind rustled.

The future Yan Chaosheng—the ruthless, arrogant Demon Lord—would have climbed up without hesitation.

But this version of him wouldn’t.

Young and fiercely protective of his first love, he treated her as something rare and precious.

Sure enough, he said, “No need. I’ll stay in another place.”

Liu shuang didn’t call him out.

The Demon Palace was already overcrowded.

The little maids who brought her medicine had grumbled that there wasn’t even space for newly arrived demons—some had to sleep under eaves, while others were busy building new quarters.

Even Cong Xia and Fuheng had to share rooms.

The most spacious and luxurious place in the entire mountain was Yan Chaosheng’s own residence.

No wonder Cong Xia dreamed of climbing into his bed.

Now that his chamber had been given to Liu shuang, if he left, he’d have to squeeze in with Fuheng and the others.

Liu shuang stole a glance at him, stifling a laugh.

She truly couldn’t picture it—the future Demon Lord, sleeping on a communal pallet with his subordinates.

Forget dignity; he’d lose all authority.

“Do you mind if I read your book?” she asked.

“Do as you like.”

He was still studying her, searching for any trace of hatred.

Had returning Bai Zhuixu’s soul really allowed her to start anew, to go back to how things were before the Demon Suppression Tower?

Back then, Chishui Chong hadn’t yet tried to kill him, nor forced him to reveal his true form.

She had been kind to him.

Her eyes held no hatred now—just clear, bright curiosity as she looked up.

“Do you want to read with me?”

“No. Rest.”

He turned to leave.

Liu shuang listened as his footsteps faded, but his shadow lingered outside the door for a while before finally disappearing.

—

Yan Chaosheng didn’t go to Fuheng.

He stood in the cold wind, unsure how things had come to this.

Behind him was his own palace, his territory—he was the lord of this mountain.

Yet after all his efforts, he had nowhere to go.

Liu shuang had made space for him, and he had reflexively refused.

No other demon would have made the same choice.

He couldn’t seek out Fuheng.

If he did, rumors would spread like wildfire by morning, undermining his authority.

So Yan Chaosheng took his halberd and went to meditate in the forest.

It was quiet, and no one would see him.

This was where the demon birds nested.

A little demon bird toddled over, tilting its head as if puzzled—Why has my master been reduced to staying with me?

After cultivating for a while, Yan Chaosheng clutched his core, his face paling.

Blood seeped from his lips.

The little demon bird chirped in alarm.

“It’s nothing,”* he said.

“I’m just… not used to it yet.”

Not used to cultivating with half a demon core.

When he had extracted Bai Zhuixu’s remnant soul from the Taichu Mirror, he had replaced the damage with half of his own core, sealing the cracks to ensure the ancient artifact’s barrier remained unbreakable.

His demonic body had once been impervious to blades.

But now, with half his core gone, most of his ten-thousand-year cultivation had vanished with it.

Exhausted, he sat as the night deepened, his robes damp with dew.

The demon bird circled him anxiously.

“Stop pacing. You’re making me dizzy. Go away—I need to rest.”

He didn’t usually sleep, but losing half his core had drained him.

The bird obediently retreated.

The next morning, he rose as usual to oversee the demon soldiers’ training.

His troops had once been a disorganized rabble, but demons were born fighters—they learned quickly.

The only problem was discipline.

Under his command, however, they obeyed.

Bai Zhuixu’s death had made the Demon Palace a target.

Yan Chaosheng knew the Heavenly Clan was already plotting against them.

If they didn’t fight now, they would die.

Still, there were advantages.

More and more demons were flocking to his banner, and gradually, he had gathered a force of considerable strength.

One of the soldiers—a hulking ox demon—shouted, “Lord, spar with me!”

He was a brute of a demon, straightforward in nature, and unusually powerful thanks to his ancient bloodline.

Once a minor mountain lord himself, he had joined Yan Chaosheng’s ranks but remained rebellious, constantly challenging him.

Yan Chaosheng had beaten him down multiple times, yet he never gave up.

Among demons, refusing a challenge was unthinkable.

Yan Chaosheng took up his halberd and entered the arena.

—

Liu shuang arrived just then.

The duel between two high-ranking demons was a spectacle.

To avoid damaging the palace, neither used spiritual energy, relying purely on physical prowess.

The ox demon fought with all his might, each strike carrying crushing force.

The training grounds trembled under his blows, the ground cratering.

Liu shuang watched Yan Chaosheng’s halberd, thinking how, in the end, even his weapon was the same as in their past life.

The ox demon prided himself on his strength, and Yan Chaosheng didn’t evade—he met him head-on.

Tall and lean, Yan Chaosheng moved with lethal precision.

His halberd came down, and the ox demon blocked with a meteor hammer—only to be forced to one knee under the pressure.

The demons roared in approval.

Yan Chaosheng spotted Liu shuang.

His gaze flickered to her before he looked away.

The atmosphere was lively, and Liu shuang, setting aside her thoughts, clapped along, laughing freely.

Few noticed the pallor of Yan Chaosheng’s lips.

Then Cong Xia’s wrist twitched.

A swarm of  Scarlet Flame Wasps shot out.

These were ancient demonic insects—tiny in size, but after feeding on blood, they could grow as large as houses.

They landed on the ox demon.

To others, they were harmless, but to him, they were mortal foes.

He bellowed in panic, losing control.

His meteor hammer went flying—straight toward Liu shuang.

Few could block a high-ranking demon’s weapon, and even the ox demon couldn’t reel it back in time.

With a thud, it struck the young man who had thrown himself in front of her.

Yan Chaosheng asked, “Are you hurt?”

She stared, then nodded, her eyes fixed on his face.

The ox demon was still rampaging.

Yan Chaosheng flicked his fingers, and dark mist snuffed out the wasps.

Only then did the ox demon calm down, humbled.

This time, he didn’t dare make trouble, submitting with a whimper.

Yan Chaosheng turned to leave.

Fuheng, sensing something amiss, moved to follow, but Liu shuang hurried after Yan Chaosheng, waving Fuheng off.

After a moment’s hesitation, Fuheng stayed behind.

—

The two walked along a path lined with plants—the demons had been busy transplanting flora lately.

A crabapple tree bloomed vibrantly overhead.

“Yan Chaosheng!”

He didn’t turn.

“What?”

She caught up, stepping in front of him.

His face was pale, his brow furrowed.

“If you need anything, tell Fuheng.”

Liu shuang shook her head.

She reached out, touching his back—

He stiffened, grabbing her wrist, but it was too late.

Her fingers came away wet with blood.

His demonic body had been damaged.

No wonder she had smelled blood earlier.

“What happened to you?”

“Nothing.”

Liu shuang sighed softly.

“Stop walking away. Let me heal you. I won’t kill you.”

She led him to a stone bench.

Yan Chaosheng watched her.

Since the Demon Suppression Tower incident, after learning of his feelings, she had kept her distance.

This sudden closeness left him dazed.

He didn’t shake her off, allowing her to guide him down.

As she focused on healing him, he caught her hand.

“Don’t waste your spiritual energy. It doesn’t hurt. It’ll heal on its own.”

He recognized this power—Huiling Power.

Using too much would force her to undergo the Bloodline Tribulation.

“It really doesn’t hurt?”

“No.”

“You didn’t have to shield me,” she said.

“I’m an immortal—being hit wouldn’t have hurt me. But you… your true form is injured.”

She pressed her lips together.

“I’m sorry. This is the second time. Last time, you shielded me from the collapsing tower, and I just watched you walk away wounded. That was my fault.”

He studied her.

Could he really trust her?

Like before, when she had entered the Demon Suppression Tower to restore his cultivation—had she cared for him then?

If not for everything that happened, might there have been something between them?

There had never been true hatred between them.

He was willing to forget how her father had tried to kill him.

He had even given half his core for Bai Zhuixu’s soul.

Was the only barrier between them his identity as a demon—and his own distrust?

In the future, he would grow stronger, surpassing even  Jimo Shaoyou and Bai Zhuixu.

And now, she was even teasing Cong Xia.

Could he… dare to hope again?

The young demon lord, like a snail tentatively extending its antennae only to retract at the slightest pain, finally spoke in a hoarse, unguarded voice—no more barbs, no more lies.

“I never blamed you,” he said.

“I just… wanted to be good to you.”