Chapter 81

Lu Shuang pressed her lips together.

The immortals were arrogant—aside from her and Shaoyou, no one believed that the Demon God was born from suffering and misfortune.

Even Chishui Chong wouldn’t believe it.

In his eyes, all that mattered now was the throne of the Heavenly Lord, so close he could almost grasp it.

She would not kill Yan Chaosheng.

Not just for Canglan, but also for the innocent smiles of the demon children, for the young demon lord who had once walked through blood and blades just to embrace her.

The blue gemstone from the little Sandman in her sleeve felt cold against her fingers.

She had hesitated for a long time—should she believe that Yan Chaosheng would stop at nothing for the power of the Huiling, or should she trust the sincerity of his youth?

At her most bitter, she had thought of revenge—making him suffer just as he had made her suffer.

But after staying in the demon palace, she slowly realized that the young Yan Chaosheng was not the cold-blooded demon lord of the future.

He had done nothing wrong yet.

His heart-scale armor, his leap into the Weak Water, his soul extraction in the Taichu Mirror, those nights when his robes were damp with dew—all of it had been real.

Even if her own sincerity had once been trampled upon, she refused to become the same kind of person.

Unlike Zhan Xueyang and Su Lun, her Huiling heart told her to trust Yan Chaosheng.

Even if she tortured him to the brink of despair, the one she would be tormenting was not the future enemy she had known.

She would no longer hold Yan Chaosheng accountable for crimes that had yet to happen.

She was willing to let go of the past, to stop clinging to her own grievances, all for the sake of finding the best path forward—for Kongsang, Kunlun, and the Eight Wilderness.

Lu Shuang gazed at the Fuxi Divine Seal from above.

She had freed herself, and in doing so, she had freed Yan Chaosheng.

He would live.

Tens of thousands of years later, when the seal broke, he would awaken—perhaps by then, she would be old and frail, or perhaps she would no longer exist in this world.

But he would still be alive.

Even if his cultivation dissipated within the seal, the world that awaited him might be one of peace and prosperity.

A world where demons were no longer oppressed.

Only their story, the entanglement of two lifetimes, would come to an end.

This was good.

This was for the best.

—

The soul-binding ceremony was prepared with startling speed—so fast that when Mi Chu heard of it, she could hardly believe it.

“She… she’s really going to bind her soul with Jimo Shaoyou?”

This would completely disrupt Feng Fuming’s plans.

Should she inform the Heavenly Lord?

After a long hesitation, Mi Chu took out the paired love hairpin from her robes.

The hairpin was originally a set, capable of transmitting messages across vast distances—a treasure from Mount Buzhou.

The day Feng Fuming gave it to her, he had smiled and said, “A betrothal gift.”

But Mi Chu was no fool.

She knew exactly what Feng Fuming wanted from her.

With her status, if she didn’t prove her worth, she would never be a credible Heavenly Consort.

There were four immortal realms, but only one throne.

After much deliberation, Mi Chu paced her chamber.

Her father’s prophecy couldn’t be wrong—even if the two spiritual veins merged, they would still wither in the end.

The rise of the demon race was inevitable, and the Feng Clan was the most reliable—their spiritual vein had never dried up.

They must have their own secrets.

She thought of the drop of blood in her treasure chest—Feng Fuming’s heart’s blood, infused into a spiritual essence.

This was his promise of the Heavenly Consort’s position.

If not for that, she wouldn’t have been foolish enough to betray Kongsang.

But since her future husband was Feng Fuming, she had to inform him of such an important matter to avoid disaster.

Mi Chu activated the love hairpin and relayed the news.

“Oh? A soul-binding?”

Feng Fuming’s low chuckle came from the other end.

“This is unexpected. But perhaps it’s not entirely bad news—it might even be good.”

“What?” Mi Chu didn’t understand.

Feng Fuming’s voice was gentle.

“Soon, you’ll see.”

The humiliation of the immortal soldiers’ defeat at the hands of the demon army would be washed clean on the day of the ceremony.

If he remembered correctly, aside from himself and Chishui Lu Shuang, there had been one other person who had leaped into the Weak Water that day.

The demon generals had called him “Mountain Lord”—someone Feng Fuming had completely overlooked at the time.

But now, recalling it, Yan Chaosheng—his flesh corroded to near bones—had had eyes only for one person: the little immortal maiden of the Chishui Clan.

How amusing.

The Demon Lord had fallen in love with an immortal.

If he had dared to jump into the Weak Water to save her, then he would surely stop at nothing to crash this wedding, wouldn’t he?

The path there was already lined with traps Feng Fuming had prepared for Yan Chaosheng.

Though the setup wasn’t complete, if Yan Chaosheng came to steal the bride, he would walk straight into the net.

The battlefield would become his grave—nothing could be more fitting.

—

Qingluan flew back to the demon palace in a panic, chirping frantically at Yan Chaosheng.

His expression darkened.

He had never expected the news he’d been waiting for to be Liu Shuang’s soul-binding with Shaoyou.

“Soul-binding?” He laughed in fury, his voice still laced with amusement.

Qingluan shrank back in fear, hopping behind Fuheng for cover.

As if Fuheng could hide its massive frame.

Su Lun tapped his folding fan.

“Lord, don’t panic. The bird said it’s just a temporary measure to preserve Kunlun’s spiritual vein. You’ve both eaten the oath fruit—according to the immortal, it’s likely just a fake ceremony.”

Fuheng shot him a cold look. “You can understand Qingluan’s speech?”

Qingluan stared at Su Lun in shock.

“Ah, I’ve been exposed.”

Su Lun feigned embarrassment.

No one bought it—his face was thicker than the demon palace walls.

Fuheng’s attempt at reassurance only poured oil on the flames.

Yan Chaosheng glared at him.

“Have you finished rebuilding the palace? Need more work?”

Su Lun chuckled.

“Kongsang and Kunlun are uniting in marriage. What does the Mountain Lord plan to do?”

“What do I plan to do?” Yan Chaosheng said coldly.

“I’m going to crash the party. If she dares to actually bind her soul with Jimo Shaoyou, just wait and see!”

A soul-binding ceremony required the merging of heart’s blood and spiritual essence—an intimacy akin to physical union, with sensations amplified tenfold.

The mere thought made his eyes burn red with fury.

He wanted to strangle her.

Was this the only way to help Jimo Shaoyou?!

He was so angry he could kill someone.

Did she think he was dead?

Knowing the ceremony would proceed quickly to defy Feng Fuming, Yan Chaosheng wasted no time and set off immediately.

Going to Kongsang was dangerous, and this was his personal affair—he hadn’t planned to bring anyone.

But the moment he stepped outside, he found a crowd of demon generals waiting.

Yan Chaosheng shot Su Lun a death glare.

Su Lun raised his hands innocently.

“I was just worried for your safety.”

The ox demon thundered, “Exactly! This concerns our lady. Charging into enemy territory alone? No way!”

“I’m coming too! The lady once gave me medicine!”

“And me! The Mountain Lord’s business is ours. If you go alone, we’ll stop you right here. There are enough of us to hold you back for a while.”

Yan Chaosheng was too furious to waste time dealing with Su Lun.

The sly fox had already vanished into the crowd of earnest, blockheaded demons.

Fuheng, ever the slow reactor, was no match for his speed.

The ox demon thumped his chest.

“Don’t worry, Mountain Lord. We won’t let that Ji-what’s-his-name defile our lady!”

Yan Chaosheng’s expression darkened further.

No time for arguments.

“Let’s go.”

The demons, thrilled at the prospect of a wedding raid, set off in high spirits.

Under a blood-red sunset, the horde of great demons marched forth—a grand, menacing spectacle.

“Where are the silkworm maidens?”

They emerged, holding a purple wedding dress.

Spring in the mortal realm was still some time away, but by the time he and the demons arrived, it might be close.

Yan Chaosheng had promised to bring her back for their wedding.

Before that, he would tear off that ill-omened white bridal gown and replace it with their demon wedding robes.

Traveling light, Yan Chaosheng tucked Liu Shuang’s wedding dress into his storage pouch and secured it beneath his battle armor.

Aside from this splendid purple gown, he carried nothing else.

Only after Yan Chaosheng left did Su Lun dare to step out, watching as he and Qingluan vanished.

“Old friend,” he murmured.

“Will it really turn out as you said?”

When he returned, would he have transformed into the ruler they all desired? Pushing their lord toward certain danger was cruel and risky—but if it achieved their goal, any sacrifice would be worth it.

Yan Chaosheng had held back against Kongsang for Liu Shuang’s sake, but would Kongsang show him the same mercy?

The demon race had waited too long for their day of glory.

They needed a ruthless, peerless sovereign.

—

Yet no matter how Su Lun calculated, he couldn’t have foreseen Feng Fuming’s trap—a net of heaven and earth already laid outside the demon mountains.

Nor could he have known that within Kongsang, Mi Chu had already informed Feng Fuming.

With her tip-off, Feng Fuming easily pinpointed Yan Chaosheng’s route.

There was no need to wait for battle—he could annihilate Yan Chaosheng on the road.

The demon mountains had risen too quickly, less than a year old.

No matter how great Yan Chaosheng’s prestige, it couldn’t outweigh the lure of power.

Since the day Bai Zhuixu died, Feng Fuming had planted countless spies among the demons.

Where there were righteous demons, there were also sycophants.

He wanted to know—what exactly was Yan Chaosheng?

A mere demon, reaching such heights in just a few years? Surviving a leap into the Weak Water? Feng Fuming himself had cultivated for ten thousand years.

Yet the reports claimed he was just an ordinary snake demon.

An ordinary snake demon with such power? Impossible.

Feng Fuming’s instincts told him this man was connected to ancient bloodlines.

He was a patient hunter, waiting for Yan Chaosheng to slip.

He had watched, smiling, as his father extended his own life at Feng Fuming’s expense—and done nothing.

He could afford to wait.

Bai Zhuixu’s death was no small matter for the Eight Wilderness.

Feng Fuming knew well—the fall of a commander meant Kongsang would never obey him again.

And everyone would reassess Yan Chaosheng’s strength.

Kongsang’s rebellion didn’t trouble him.

A dog that would bite its master sooner or later was better put down early.

Rotting flesh must be cut away before new flesh could grow.

It didn’t matter.

The four immortal realms would all fall into his hands—he just needed patience.

Still, even Feng Fuming hadn’t expected his immortal soldiers to lose.

So many demons dead, yet the immortal army had fled in disarray.

The demon corpses and souls, meant for the Feng Clan’s spiritual vein, had been incinerated by Yan Chaosheng’s ghostly flames, their souls reincarnating in the underworld.

Useless fools.

The day he heard the news, he had laughed in fury.

From then on, he had begun his preparations—pretending to focus on Kunlun’s unstable spiritual vein while secretly setting up formations near the demon mountains.

Demons were scarce in this world, destined for extinction.

He couldn’t waste a single one—each must die meaningfully, nourishing the Feng Clan’s spiritual vein for millennia.

If all went well, in another month or two, the next battle would see the demon army utterly annihilated.

Their bodies and souls would be directly transferred via the grand formation to feed the Feng Clan’s vein.

Everything had been proceeding smoothly.

The demons had only seen the immortal soldiers from Ji Xianghan’s clan, unaware of the hidden formation miles beyond their mountains.

But now, before those two months had passed, an even better opportunity had arisen.

If Yan Chaosheng went to steal the bride, he would walk straight into the trap with his most trusted followers.

Feng Fuming wanted to see for himself—what exactly was Yan Chaosheng? He was deeply curious whether any descendants of that ancient bloodline remained unexterminated.

—

Yan Chaosheng sensed something amiss and narrowed his eyes.

“Fall back. It’s an ambush.”

“Hahaha! Sharp instincts. But today, none of you are leaving.”

From the sky, immortal soldiers materialized.

At their head stood a man in white robes embroidered with silver clouds, a jade crown upon his head.

He smiled down at Yan Chaosheng.

“Last time, I dismissed you as a mere beast, unworthy of my attention. Yet you’ve surprised me—killing Bai Zhuixu, decimating my immortal army.”

“You’re the beast!” the ox demon roared.

Feng Fuming’s smile remained, but a cold glint flashed in his eyes.

With a flick of his wrist, a sword aura shot toward the ox demon’s throat.

Just before it could sever his head, a silver halberd intercepted it.

Yan Chaosheng’s gaze turned icy.

Feng Fuming was wielding the Xuanyuan Divine Sword.

The ox demon paled—he hadn’t expected the seemingly young Heavenly Lord to be so formidable.

Feng Fuming’s lips curved.

“The Xuanyuan Sword hasn’t tasted blood in a long time. Today, you’ll be its offering. Don’t worry—I’ve already prepared a resting place for your souls!”

He descended, and the immortal soldiers began forming their battle array.

Every demon’s heart sank.

How had Feng Fuming appeared here, lying in wait with an army?

Yan Chaosheng had brought only a few hundred men, while Feng Fuming commanded tens of thousands.

In a fair battle, they might have stood a chance—but this was a death trap.

And without half of his golden core, Yan Chaosheng was no match for Feng Fuming wielding the Xuanyuan Sword.

They exchanged blows—Feng Fuming’s swordplay sinister and venomous, Yan Chaosheng’s halberd ruthless and decisive.

Yet in terms of divine weapons alone, Yan Chaosheng was at a disadvantage.

The Xuanyuan Sword slashed down.

“What? Still unwilling to reveal your true form?”

“Mountain Lord, watch out!”

The ox demon threw himself in front of Yan Chaosheng, taking the full force of the strike.

Blood splattered across Yan Chaosheng’s face.

Suddenly, he remembered his youth—the demons who had followed him, one by one, to their deaths.

Their tragic fates overlapped with the ox demon collapsing before him.

His eyes burned red.

Knowing escape was impossible, he unleashed his true form.

A colossal shadow blotted out the sky as he lunged at Feng Fuming.

His form was now a mix of gray and silver—not yet fully matured as a Xiangliu royal—but under the heavens, it loomed ominously.

Feng Fuming, having forced Yan Chaosheng’s transformation, still couldn’t place his bloodline.

With the Xuanyuan Sword, he fought Yan Chaosheng to a standstill.

But as time passed, Feng Fuming smirked.

“I can afford to wait. Can you? By my calculations, Chishui Lu Shuang’s soul-binding is about to begin.”

Yan Chaosheng’s eyes burned crimson.

The demons were falling one by one.

The secret he had meant to keep until the final hour could no longer be hidden.

Yan Chaosheng’s black pupils turned silver.

“You’re dead.”

Feng Fuming’s smile faded as recognition dawned.

Coldly, he said, “So a descendant of the Xiangliu royal bloodline still lives!”

The pressure of an ancient Eight Wilderness royal lineage sent waves of terror through the celestial soldiers, who began retreating.

Feng Fuming, holding the Xuanyuan Sword, remained largely unaffected.

Yan Chaosheng shielded the wounded demons.

“Go.”

“Go?” Feng Fuming sneered.

“By my order, slaughter every demon here! Any who retreat will die by my hand!”