(T/N: Laptop breakdown! 😭 Translations are now a ‘one chapter per day’ situation, thanks to my tablet’s…enthusiasm….Think tiny keyboard, big frustration…..Anyway.. Sorrrrrrrrry for the delay! Your patience is a lifesaver…hehe)

Chapter 71

The petals of the crabapple flowers rustled as they fell.

After Yan Chaosheng finished speaking, for a moment, he hardly dared to look at her reaction.

To his surprise, the young girl softly replied, “Mm.”

Her voice was soft and nasal.

It was the first time the two of them had directly confronted this topic.

Yan Chaosheng sat on the stone bench, raising his eyes to look at her.

She was also looking at him.

The moment their gazes met, she froze for a second, then averted her eyes, stammering as she changed the subject: “I… I should still treat your injuries.”

Her emotions affected him, and his cheeks began to burn.

Despite being so sharp-witted, he found himself instinctively responding, “Mm… okay.”

Completely forgetting that he had already refused her offer to heal him once before.

She moved behind him, and Yan Chaosheng held his breath, his entire body tensing up.

Never in his life had Yan Chaosheng experienced a moment like this—not even the serpentine instincts awakened by his original form had ever affected him so deeply.

He had always been a man of restrained emotions, even back when he was just a little demon.

During his years in the immortal realm, even when bullied and ostracized, he had remained expressionless and silent.

But now, for the first time, he couldn’t even see her face.

She stood behind him, and he even softened his breathing, afraid of scaring her away.

Gentle spiritual energy enveloped his back.

Under the power of the Huiling, his wounds healed quickly—though it did nothing to ease the agony of having lost half of his core.

Yet, at this moment, he didn’t feel any pain at all.

His fingers clenched the hem of his robe, and his lips pressed together, curling slightly upward.

Fuheng, worried, followed after him and saw this scene.

He had been with Yan Chaosheng for so long—it wasn’t as if he had never seen him smile.

But the Mountain Lord either smirked coldly or laughed mockingly.

This was the first time Fuheng had seen him wear such an expression—like someone who had feared being hurt, only to realize he hadn’t been, and was now content with that simple happiness.

A crabapple blossom landed on the Mountain Lord’s shoulder, but he didn’t brush it away.

Fuheng had arrived, yet despite Yan Chaosheng’s usual vigilance, he hadn’t even noticed.

Fuheng paused, then silently retreated without disturbing them.

—

In the Heavenly Palace, the Heavenly Prince, Feng Fuming, donned a suit of armor, preparing to lead his troops to wage war against the Demon Palace.

Bai Zhuixu’s death had been like a stone tossed into a lake.

The other three immortal realms had never been particularly obedient to the Heavenly Emperor’s decrees, and now that Bai Zhuixu was dead, Kongsang had also obtained a new spiritual vein, outright refusing to sacrifice their own disciples in the campaign against the demon race.

Meanwhile, Kunlun’s spiritual veins were in turmoil, with countless casualties.

Their young master, Jimo Shaoyou, was too preoccupied with his own troubles to spare any attention, ordering a retreat.

The only one still willing to obey was the Changliu Ji Clan.

However, the Ji Clan’s young mistress, Ji Xianghan, though a woman, was no pushover.

Just the fact that thousands of years ago, when she was still a young girl, she had schemed to cripple her stepbrother was proof enough of her cunning.

She would never submit meekly.

The Demon Palace’s defiance was an insult to the Heavenly Clan, and Feng Fuming was determined to wash away that shame with blood.

He would make an example of them—show everyone what happened to those who disobeyed.

The Heavenly Consort hurried over.

“Fuming, go see your father first. He’s coughing up blood.”

Feng Fuming raised an eyebrow and smiled.

“How timely of him.”

The Heavenly Consort glanced at him cautiously.

“He says he has something important to tell you.”

Feng Fuming sheathed his weapon, his smile gentle.

“I’ll go see him. The Demon Palace is just a ragtag bunch—they can wait a little longer.”

He strode into the main hall of the Heavenly Palace, his steps calm and refined.

The maidservants who saw him all bowed, not daring to meet the Crown Prince’s gaze.

For some reason, though the Crown Prince always wore a smile, they feared him more than they did the stern-faced Heavenly Emperor.

Feng Fuming walked to the innermost chamber, where a sickly old man lay weakly against the headboard, panting as he looked at him.

This was the ruler of the four great immortal realms—the Heavenly Emperor.

Feng Fuming approached, carefully tucking the blankets around him.

“Father, why did you summon me?”

The Heavenly Emperor said, “Fuming, do you still resent me?”

“Resent?” Feng Fuming shook his head.

“How could I resent you? I’m merely cleaning up the mess left behind by our ancestors. The prophecy left by our clan aligns with the demonic energy revealed by Kongsang’s spiritual veins. The day the spiritual veins wither will be the day the demon race rises and the royal lineage changes.”

Feng Fuming’s tone was gentle as he recounted for the Heavenly Emperor: “Grandfather assassinated the previous ruler, slaughtered the Xiangliu royal clan to the last, and usurped the throne. On his deathbed, he was filled with terror, forever fearing that a surviving descendant of the royal bloodline remained, like a startled bird. Now, the spiritual veins have already begun to wither. If I don’t kill them now and let them grow stronger, what then? To protect the Heavenly Emperor’s throne for the Feng Clan, the only solution is to exterminate the demon race completely. Otherwise, we’ll end up like you and Grandfather—living in constant fear, wondering when our heads will roll, never knowing how long we’ll keep the throne. How pathetic.”

The Heavenly Emperor’s face darkened.

But at this point, he couldn’t blame Feng Fuming.

Back when the royal clan fell, all the immortal clans had coveted the spiritual veins born of the Heavenly Dao, hoping their own people would rule the Eight Wilderness forever.

They divided the spiritual veins, creating the four great immortal realms.

The Feng Clan had slaughtered the most demons, even the monarch had died by their sword.

Feng Fuming’s grandfather had assassinated the ruler and taken the Heavenly Emperor’s throne.

It had been agreed that the next Heavenly Emperor would be chosen from among the capable leaders of the four great immortal realms, but the old Heavenly Emperor had selfishly passed it to his own son.

The current Heavenly Emperor was mediocre—he shouldn’t have been the one to sit on the throne.

But the Feng Clan’s spiritual veins were the most vast and boundless, and their people’s spiritual power was the strongest.

Thus, though the other three immortal realms were discontent, they had allowed him to keep the empty title.

As long as the spiritual veins existed, the Feng Clan would prosper forever.

The Heavenly Emperor’s eyes had already grown cloudy.

Feng Fuming looked down at him, knowing he didn’t have long to live.

The Heavenly Emperor said, “The imperial seal is in the Zheng Yuan Hall. If I die, you will succeed me as Heavenly Emperor. You must protect the Feng Clan… cough…”

Feng Fuming listened quietly, for once not arguing.

The Heavenly Emperor gritted his teeth.

He knew his son was ambitious and ruthless, but he would surely protect their clan.

There was no need to worry too much.

The Heavenly Emperor continued, “There’s something you must know—you must not slaughter all the demons.”

“Why?”

The Heavenly Emperor’s gaze darkened.

“Do you know why the Heavenly Clan’s spiritual veins have never withered?”

Feng Fuming’s lips curled, signaling that he was all ears.

The Heavenly Emperor closed his eyes.

“The Heavenly Dao demands balance. The spiritual veins were split apart to create the four great immortal realms—an act against the natural order, which is why they now face withering. The solution is to cast demon cores into the spiritual veins. Aside from the Feng Clan, no one else has discovered this secret.”

Thus, for tens of thousands of years, the Feng Clan’s spiritual veins had become rivers of blood, though their surface remained vast and clear, never withering.

No one had ever noticed—demons were lowly creatures, and their deaths went unnoticed.

Every ten years, the Feng Clan slaughtered large numbers of demons and tossed their cores into the veins.

Feng Fuming chuckled softly.

“Did you think I didn’t know? But now, the demon race has risen. They’re not so easy to kill anymore, and it’s hard to keep this hidden from the others. That’s why I gave the order—to exterminate the demons of the Eight Wilderness, to clean up the mess left by you and Grandfather.”

The Heavenly Emperor stared at him in shock.

“You… you plan to—”

So when Mi Chu had reported that demonic energy had appeared in the spiritual veins, Feng Fuming had already begun scheming.

Exterminate the demons, then merge the spiritual veins of the four great immortal realms.

This way, the demons would never fulfill the prophecy and produce a new royal clan.

Once the spiritual veins were merged, they would never wither, and the Feng Clan would maintain control, securing the Heavenly Emperor’s throne forever.

What an enormous scheme.

The Heavenly Emperor’s heart pounded.

If Feng Fuming had known all along, why hadn’t he taken the throne for himself? Why leave him alive?

Feng Fuming tapped his wrist lightly and said softly, “I was just curious—when would Father finally stop clinging to life? When would he be willing to die?”

The Heavenly Emperor’s face flushed red.

“You unfilial beast!”

Feng Fuming laughed softly and patted his back.

“No need for that. I was just watching—waiting to see if Father would still act as he did when I was a child, using arrays to steal his own child’s lifespan and talent to prolong his own life. But I suppose you’re just too pathetic—even that array can’t save you now. Otherwise, you’d never have let me live.”

Feng Fuming turned and walked out of the palace, ignoring the Heavenly Emperor’s violent coughing behind him.

He donned his gentle mask once more, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

The Heavenly Consort approached, not daring to look at him.

She was filled with guilt—she had known about and allowed what happened back then, and so she would forever be lesser in this child’s eyes.

The Heavenly Emperor had been mediocre from the start.

When he first took the throne, the other three realms had refused to submit.

But when Feng Fuming was born, he had been blessed with auspicious signs.

The Heavenly Emperor had ruthlessly used an array to transfer Feng Fuming’s lifespan and talent to himself, finally securing his position.

But Feng Fuming, who should have been born a prodigy, was left weak and sickly as a child, with a shortened lifespan.

While other immortals, like Jimo Shaoyou, could live for tens of thousands of years if they survived their heavenly tribulations, Feng Fuming might not… Having had his life stolen by his own father, he could die at any moment.

Feng Fuming patted her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Mother. He only told me he’s about to die and asked me to clean up the mess he left behind. I will live up to his expectations and ensure you live out your years in comfort.”

The Heavenly Consort’s legs weakened, and she nodded hastily.

Feng Fuming narrowed his eyes.

“Since he’s on his last legs, I’ll ascend the throne first before setting off to war.”

—

Night fell once more over the Demon Palace.

These days, everyone was on edge, fearing war under such circumstances.

Yet, for some reason, the Heavenly Clan had delayed their attack.

After using the Huiling’s power to nourish Bai Zhuixu’s remnant soul, Liu Shuang noticed that Yan Chaosheng still hadn’t entered the palace.

Over the past few days, he had sent her many treasures.

She knew the Demon Palace was impoverished now—he had to support an entire mountain of demons, yet he spared no expense for her, giving her everything.

Congxia, who had released the Flame Wasps that day, had been punished with palace construction.

For a fragile butterfly demon who only knew how to make medicine, this punishment was particularly cruel.

Liu Shuang had learned all this through discreet inquiries—Yan Chaosheng never spoke of it himself.

But this wasn’t the outcome she wanted.

Him treating her so earnestly, so foolishly well, carried an air of peaceful contentment that she hadn’t expected.

In her memories, the Demon Lord had been one to weigh gains and losses meticulously—a man of ruthless desire and icy resolve.

After settling Bai Zhuixu’s remnant soul, she pushed open the door and walked into the nearby forest.

The woods were damp—the Demon Palace seven hundred years ago hadn’t been a pleasant place.

Her immortal robes, glowing faintly with golden light, remained untouched by the dew.

Under the soft moonlight, Liu Shuang saw a massive demon bird huddled miserably, guarding someone.

She still felt a pang of discomfort seeing the bird, struggling to equate it with the majestic Qingluan of the future.

Now, it was just a dopey, oversized fledgling, its growth forcibly accelerated, its mind still immature.

Yan Chaosheng likely had nothing good to feed it now.

The man sat meditating, faint dark light flickering around him.

She sensed that Yan Chaosheng had grown weaker but couldn’t pinpoint why.

So all these days, the Mountain Lord had given her his own palace and had been living in the woods with a giant demon bird, worse off than even the little demons of the mountain—they at least had roofs over their heads.

Last night, it had rained.

He and the little demon bird must have either endured it all night or spent it under a barrier.

Liu Shuang walked over and draped her cloak over him.

Yan Chaosheng’s eyes snapped open coldly, ready to strike—until he saw it was her.

His breath hitched, and he grew flustered.

“Why are you here?”

“Have you been staying here all this time?”

She crouched to look at him.

Moonlight bathed them softly.

He pressed his lips together and said simply, “Cultivating.”

She couldn’t help smiling.

“You could cultivate in the palace just as well. Why stay outside?”

Yan Chaosheng fell silent again.

She reached out to take his hand and pull him up.

The moment she touched his ice-cold fingers, she inhaled sharply.

He tried to pull away, but she held on.

She found herself feeling unexpectedly helpless toward this young Demon Lord.

Taking his hand, she said, “Let’s go.”

Passing by Qingluan, Liu Shuang took out the Blood Spirit Mushrooms Yan Chaosheng had given her and offered them.

The bird glanced at her cautiously, then at Yan Chaosheng.

Seeing no objection, it snatched the mushrooms and devoured them ravenously.