Chapter 72

Liu Shuang patted Qingluan’s large head, and it let out an affectionate chirp.

“By the way, how did you revive the Qingluan?” Liu Shuang asked.

“After coming out of the Demon Suppression Tower, it seemed to have hatched.”

When she had fished Qingluan out of the lake, it had been nothing more than an egg devoid of life.

Did Yan Chaosheng already possess the ability to revive a dead demon at this point?

“Qingluan?”

Yan Chaosheng glanced at her, tacitly accepting the name she had given the little demon bird.

Unwilling to admit that he had used his own heart’s essence to sustain its life, he merely said, “By a stroke of fate, I found an opportunity in the Demon Suppression Tower that helped it hatch.”

The two returned to the bedchamber, which was much warmer than the outside.

The glow of luminous pearls illuminated the gauzy canopy, and Liu Shuang could feel the hand she held growing increasingly stiff.

What was Yan Chaosheng thinking?

Even so uncomfortable, he still hadn’t pulled away from her.

But she decided to be a little kinder to him, just as he had once done for her in the demon palace.

Liu Shuang withdrew her hand.

Yan Chaosheng paused for a moment, lowering his gaze.

Though his palm was now empty, it seemed to still carry the lingering warmth of her touch.

However, this brief sense of loss soon vanished when she pointed at the carved bed and said, “Go to sleep. You were injured just a few days ago—you need proper rest.”

There was only one bed in the chamber.

Yan Chaosheng’s throat felt dry.

No need. My demon physique is resilient—I don’t require sleep. I’ll spend the night in the cold pool.”

Now that his true form had stabilized, spending a night in the frigid waters would turn him into ice by morning.

She frowned sternly.

“You’re injured. You can’t sleep in the cold pool.”

For some reason, Yan Chaosheng’s wounds still hadn’t healed after all these days.

Whenever she drew near, she could catch a faint scent of blood.

She pushed him toward the gauzy canopy.

“Alright, go to sleep. It’s been a long night—Zhan Xueyang just finished healing me, and I should rest too.”

With that, she walked to the outer chamber.

Yan Chaosheng’s wildly pounding heart finally settled when he saw the small couch outside.

What had he been thinking just now? How could he have imagined she would share the bed with him?

Liu Shuang had somehow procured a small couch and placed it in the outer chamber, draped with soft cloud brocade.

Earlier, his attention had been entirely on her, so he hadn’t noticed it at first.

Yan Chaosheng remained standing by the canopy, watching her as she climbed onto the couch and closed her eyes contentedly.

He lay down on the bed, resting his head on his arm as he gazed outward.

Perhaps because Liu Shuang had slept here for several days, the entire space carried the fragrance of her presence.

Yan Chaosheng was badly injured, his body aching all over.

Yet now, sharing this quiet space with her, the sandalwood incense curling through the air, he no longer felt the pain.

He could sense her beginning to care for him—applying medicine for him, trusting him enough to let him stay in the palace.

Though Yan Chaosheng knew well that, since childhood, those who showed him kindness had never meant well—the demon who pretended to be his mother only to try to cook him, the female demons who flattered him with ulterior motives, the rogue immortal who sought to gouge out his eyes.

Even Mi Chu, who had gifted him immortal armor—they had all harbored ill intentions.

But now, he didn’t want to think about any of that.

He deliberately avoided wondering what Liu Shuang might want from him.

If he remained as suspicious and guarded as before, even this last sliver of hope would slip away.

Yet the little immortal seemed rather clueless about how to treat a man properly.

He glanced at the cloak by the bedside, then at the small couch where she slept.

It was usually the man who would wrap a woman in his cloak, offering her the bed while he took the lesser space.

But she had reversed the roles, treating him as if he were the one to be pampered.

Bathed in the soft glow of the luminous pearls, he watched her from a short distance away.

As the night deepened, Yan Chaosheng rose from the bed and walked over to her.

She lay on her side, one hand curled slightly near her cheek.

He bent down and gathered her into his arms, carrying her to the bed.

Now that Liu Shuang had regained her immortal form, the movement stirred her awake, though drowsiness still clung to her.

Perhaps it was the warmth of the light, but when she opened her eyes to look at him, they held a soft, melting warmth.

He patted her back gently.

“It’s alright. Sleep.”

Compared to the small couch, the bed was far more comfortable.

Having spent so many nights here, Liu Shuang instinctively nestled deeper into the warmth, closing her eyes.

She severed her spiritual consciousness, allowing herself to drift off completely.

Yan Chaosheng stepped out from the canopy and went to the small couch.

Originally meant for Liu Shuang, the couch was barely larger than a woman’s frame.

For Yan Chaosheng’s tall stature, it was a cramped fit—his long legs had to bend awkwardly to accommodate it.

When Liu Shuang awoke the next morning in the carved bed, Yan Chaosheng was already gone.

Sitting up, she took in the surroundings—both familiar and strange—and recalled some memories of Yan Chaosheng from her past life.

In a way, Yan Chaosheng had always been diligent, leading by example and enduring hardships without complaint.

That was why, seven hundred years later, after marrying her—a delicate immortal plant—he had teased her for being pampered and difficult to care for.

She needed soft, beautiful lighting, wind chimes that danced with the breeze, exquisite glass lamps, and supple cloud brocade.

Back then, before they had consummated their marriage or moved to the Ghost Realm, they had lived here together in the demon palace.

Though seven centuries later, the place had become far more magnificent—vast and grand, no less imposing than the Heavenly Palace.

Yan Chaosheng’s quarters had been stark and cold, while hers were luxuriously comfortable.

Though he had been accustomed to austere conditions, she had eventually dragged him into her room, onto the cloud brocade.

“How is it?” she had asked eagerly.

Yan Chaosheng had narrowed his eyes, pausing before replying, “Not bad.”

She was overjoyed and pressed him down, refusing to let him rise, forcing him to sleep there.

His expression was strange—those dark eyes fixed on her.

At the time, Liu Shuang didn’t understand his meaning and even touched her own face in confusion.

“What’s wrong?”

He closed his eyes and turned away.

“Nothing.”

Later, the mighty Demon Lord, corrupted by her, grew “indulgent and decadent.”

When there was no war to fight, he would lie with her on the cloud brocade.

If the weather in the demon realm was fine, the view from her chamber would stretch to a sky half-painted with sunset, breathtakingly beautiful.

Though newlywed, the two of them had fumbled through their interactions like friends.

Even though they later parted on bitter terms, Liu Shuang had to admit—those days in the demon palace had been warm and carefree.

In truth, Yan Chaosheng had long told her why he married her.

Once, half-asleep, she had murmured, “Husband… why did you marry me?”

A ruler of two realms—why would he wed a mere little immortal plant? She couldn’t fathom it.

At his station, what kind of immortal beauty couldn’t he have?

Instead of answering, Yan Chaosheng countered, “Why did you marry me?”

Eyes still closed, she replied without thinking, “Because I like you.”

I like you so, so much.

He fell silent for a long time, never answering her question.

But then, a cold, large hand brushed her cheek.

Just as she was about to drift off completely, he said coolly, “Because I wanted your heart.”

Back then, seven hundred years ago, she had naively taken it as sweet nothings whispered in the dark—her heart fluttering, just as when she confessed her love.

Yet little did she know, he had meant every word.

Liu Shuang pressed a hand to her chest.

In this life… does Yan Chaosheng still want this Huiling’s heart?

The letters she had sent out these past few days dissolved into streaks of light, flying beyond the palace.

The demon guards stationed at the barrier intercepted them and sought Yan Chaosheng’s instruction.

“Where are they headed?” he asked.

“The Kongsang Immortal Realm, it seems. Should we confiscate them?”

Yan Chaosheng paused.

“No need.”

He released the letters, and they transformed into paper cranes, vanishing in the blink of an eye.

The guard hesitated.

“Don’t you wish to read them?”

Yan Chaosheng didn’t.

Instead, he turned back to strategizing with Fuheng about the demon palace’s future.

Autumn had come to the mortal realm, and word arrived from the Heavenly Palace—the Heavenly Emperor was dead.

Feng Fuming had ascended, taking his place.

Unlike his father, who had been content to merely survive, Feng Fuming’s first act as emperor was to muster troops and march straight for the demon palace.

For the demons, this was dire news.

Though their numbers had grown, they lacked training and stood little chance against the immortal army.

Worse, they couldn’t retreat. They had to fight—and they had to win.

Only victory would prove to the long-oppressed, cowering demon race that they truly had the power to strike back.

But if they lost? The demons’ spirits would shatter like scattered sand.

Nor could they hide behind the barrier forever.

Though the Taichu Mirror was resilient, relentless assault by immortal soldiers would breach it within months—and fear would spread like wildfire.

Feng Fuming, newly enthroned, still underestimated Yan Chaosheng—even after Bai Zhuixu had fallen to his blade.

For the first battle, he sent a renowned general at the head of his forces.

As the immortal army approached, the sky darkened, and grim tension settled over every face.

Yan Chaosheng had no intention of waiting for them to batter the barrier—that would only seed despair before the fight even began.

Instead, he planned to meet them a hundred li away, before they arrived.

When Liu Shuang stepped out, she found Yan Chaosheng fully armed, leading a vast, shadowy legion of demons.

They didn’t even have enough armor, clad instead in garments woven from their own fur and scales.

At their head stood Yan Chaosheng, gripping Zangtian, his dark-red robes a striking contrast against the ragtag demon forces. As their Mountain Lord, his commanding presence alone made him impossible to overlook.

(T/N: I will put Yan Chaosheng’s weapon name as ‘Zangtian’ from now on, instead of translating it into English..)

His army was truly destitute this year.

Liu Shuang had seen him at the height of his power, awe-inspiring and unshakable.

Now, watching this younger, untested Yan Chaosheng prepare for battle, she felt as though she were witnessing the first bricks of a glorious palace being laid—one that would one day tower in splendor.

Though lacking proper armor, his soldiers stood in neat, disciplined ranks, obedient in a way that surprised her.

The demon palace housed all kinds now—even children, clinging to their mothers, watching fearfully as their lord led the army to face the immortal troops.

As Yan Chaosheng passed one child, he reached out and ruffled its hair.

Strangely, Liu Shuang caught a glimpse of something tender in the gesture.

Fuheng murmured, “Mountain Lord, the immortal fairy is here.”

Yan Chaosheng turned.

Sure enough, Liu Shuang stood apart, watching.

After a moment’s silence, he ordered, “Lead them ahead. I’ll join you shortly.”

With Yan Chaosheng’s speed, catching up would be effortless.

Fuheng obeyed and marched the army onward.

Yan Chaosheng approached Liu Shuang.

This time, before she could painstakingly produce the armor she had prepared in her storage bag—another ploy to win him over—his large hand, the same one that had touched the child’s head, now cupped her cheek.

Startled, she looked up.

His dark eyes held something she finally recognized—real tenderness, softer even than when he had comforted the child.

His thumb brushed her cheekbone as he said abruptly, “Leave. You’ve stayed long enough. Return to Kongsang. The barrier is open—you may go whenever you wish.”

She blinked, wondering if she’d misheard.

He’s letting me go? After shattering the Taichu Mirror and extracting Bai Zhuixu’s soul, all he asked was for her to stay a few meaningless days in the demon palace?

“Yan Chaosheng?”

Then, without allowing refusal, he bent and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Go,” he said coldly.

His lips were cool, the touch fleeting.

Liu Shuang pressed a hand to her forehead, stunned.

This was the same man who stiffened at mere hand-holding—yet now he’d done this? She stumbled back a step, staring up at him.

Yan Chaosheng met her gaze, his own unguarded for once.

Something in his eyes burned too openly now.

Hesitant, she didn’t step forward.

Compared to the emotion in his gaze, anything she said would feel inadequate.

The armor in her storage bag remained undelivered.

With one last look—inscrutable to her—he turned and strode after his army without a backward glance.

For some reason, Liu Shuang’s gaze drifted to the demons left behind—the elderly, the weak, women and children.

Every able-bodied fighter had gone to war.

These were the outcasts, the unwanted.

Yet Yan Chaosheng had taken them all in.

She even spotted an ancient willow demon, its teeth nearly gone, no different from a mortal elder.

In this era, for a demon to live to old age was a rare blessing.

Now, they huddled together, uneasy.

“Can the Mountain Lord win?”

“They say the Feng Clan’s immortal soldiers are mighty.”

“Will something happen to him? To my A’nan? Ah…”

Few believed Yan Chaosheng could stand against Feng Fuming.

The immortal clans were like towering, deep-rooted trees—while the fledgling demons were but fragile reeds.

Liu Shuang knew better.

Yan Chaosheng will win.

He won’t die so easily to Feng Fuming’s army.

What she didn’t know was that, unlike in her past life, not even Yan Chaosheng was certain he would return.

With only half a core left, his cultivation had dwindled to a shadow of its former strength.

The last thing he did was release her—send her home.