Chapter 85

Yan Chaosheng’s death drove the demon race to the brink of grief and fury.

Fuheng, who had followed Yan Chaosheng through his struggles, knew exactly what kind of resolve his lord had carried as he fought his way through blood and fire to reach Kongsang—only to die in the very trap set by the woman he loved.

Fuheng’s heart was torn between agony and hatred.

Gritting his teeth, he spat, “Chishui Liushuang, spare us your false kindness!”

These sanctimonious immortals would never let them go.

With Qingluan also in dire straits, Fuheng knew they stood no chance of escape.

Yet Liu Shuang didn’t even glance at him.

The veil of her soul-binding ceremony had been blown away by the winds of the Abyss, revealing a delicate face—pale, devoid of smiles, cold as ice.

She said, “Father… you promised me…”

Chishui Chong remained silent.

He had promised her—that today’s formation would only trap Yan Chaosheng, not harm the other demons.

But given the circumstances, how could they let these demons go? What would the other immortals think?

Chishui Chong dismissed Liu Shuang’s plea as childish stubbornness, blind to the bigger picture.

In his mind, slaughtering these demons was the only way to protect Liu Shuang and preserve Kongsang’s untarnished reputation in the Eight Wilderness.

With a wave of his hand, he ignored her—issuing the order to execute.

Bai Yuxiao, standing nearby, obeyed and lunged at Fuheng.

But before his sword could strike, an ice-blue Jiangzhu Umbrella materialized, shielding the demons.

With a sharp clang, the umbrella deflected the immortal blade.

Bai Yuxiao met Liu Shuang’s gaze.

Of all those present, everyone knew that Bai Yuxiao harbored the deepest hatred for demons—then, and even more so now.

His elder brother had died surrounded by them.

Now, as their weapons crossed, Bai Yuxiao stared down at the girl who barely reached his shoulders—her face pale, lips pressed tight in defiance—and after a pause, he glanced at the demons she shielded and smirked, transmitting his voice to them:

“Still here? Waiting to die?”

The demons exchanged glances, realizing this immortal youth had no real intention of killing them, and quickly fled.

The path they had taken to lure Yan Chaosheng here had been deliberately left unguarded—now, it became their escape route.

Liu Shuang looked up at Bai Yuxiao, her lips trembling as she whispered, “Thank you.”

Bai Yuxiao said nothing.

He withdrew his weapon and turned to Chishui Chong.

“I’ll pursue the remnants.”

The other immortals exchanged uneasy glances, unsure how to react.

The ceremonial official stood awkwardly in the hall, uncertain whether the interrupted soul-binding ritual should continue.

Chishui Chong had no intention of pushing Liu Shuang too far.

Yan Chaosheng’s death was already an unexpected victory.

He gave a tacit nod of approval.

At that moment, Shaoyou stepped forward. “My apologies to all. Please return for now. The soul-binding ceremony is postponed.”

His intervention sent murmurs through the crowd.

Some couldn’t help but wonder—what did Jimo Shaoyou mean by this? Having secured the spirit vein, was he now backing out of the marriage? And why had Liu Shuang spared those demons?

Shaoyou ignored the whispers and the darkening expression on Chishui Chong’s face.

He walked toward the lone figure of the girl in the hall.

“Liu Shuang,” he said gently, “come. Let me take you to rest.”

He took her hand, guiding her like a child who had turned her back on everything.

Her entire body trembled slightly—whether from the impending chaos or from the grief of Yan Chaosheng’s death, he couldn’t tell.

Side by side, they walked away, devoid of any romantic undertones, simply bearing the weight of the crowd’s disapproval together.

Sometimes, doing what is right means going against the world, inviting scorn and condemnation.

But so what?

Every prodigy born into the Eight Wilderness, every descendant of the ancient bloodlines among the four great immortal clans—they were born with extraordinary gifts, bestowed the finest of everything, yet burdened with even heavier destinies.

Not just him and Liu Shuang.

Feng Fuming, Ji Xianghan—everyone was the same.

Including Yan Chaosheng.

In this era of immortal-demon strife, no one was truly free.

But one day, the seas would calm, the rivers clear—and the Eight Wilderness would usher in a new golden age.

—

Yan Chaosheng was dead.

He died before spring could arrive in the mortal realm.

When Feng Fuming received the news, he arched a brow, neither surprised nor unsurprised.

That day, Yan Chaosheng had fought desperately to escape with a few subordinates, grievously wounded.

Feng Fuming’s spies later reported seeing him in the demon palace.

This made the ever-cautious Feng Fuming hesitate to act.

Only after the soul-binding ceremony ended did Mi Chu find an opportunity to relay the news.

Feng Fuming smiled.

With the last bloodline of the Xiangliu royal family gone, his era had truly begun.

Lazily, he ordered, “In that case, slaughter everyone in the demon palace.”

The demon palace’s resilient barrier held for only three days.

On the fourth, the Taichu Mirror was on the verge of shattering, unable to hold any longer.

Su Lun sighed, retracting the cracked mirror.

“Run. As many as you can, as far as you can.”

A glance back revealed Congxia’s eyes brimming with sorrow.

“You should go too,” he said.

Congxia bit her lip.

“Do you think… the Mountain Lord is really dead?”

She refused to believe it.

Su Lun lowered his gaze.

“Yes. He’s really gone.”

Immortal soldiers stormed in, leaving devastation in their wake.

A belated snowfall drifted down, covering the demons’ bloodstains.

—

Shaoyou took Liu Shuang back to Kunlun.

The situation had spiraled beyond anyone’s expectations.

With Liu Shuang insisting on sparing Fuheng and Qingluan, staying in Kongsang was no longer an option.

Chishui Chong’s generation had held power for too long.

Hearing the prophecy of the demon race’s resurgence, none were willing to relinquish their grip.

Shaoyou had expected Liu Shuang to grieve for a long time.

On the day of the ceremony, she had seemed utterly broken.

“Rest for a while,” he said gently.

“There may still be a way to turn things around.”

“Shaoyou, don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”

Was she, really?

Even from afar, Shaoyou had found Yan Chaosheng’s death horrifying to witness—let alone for Liu Shuang, who had been at the center of it.

He knew she hadn’t meant for it to happen, but the world didn’t.

The demons would hate her as fiercely as they hated Feng Fuming.

Shaoyou had a feeling Liu Shuang wouldn’t stay in Kunlun for long—that she would exhaust every means to atone.

Sure enough, the next day, upon hearing of Feng Fuming’s assault on the demon palace, she resolved to leave.

“Liu Shuang,” Shaoyou called after her.

“Don’t go. Whatever you need to do—let me do it.”

She paused, then shook her head with a faint smile.

“I want to go myself. Even if the Demon God’s descent is inevitable, I want to be ready. Shaoyou, I may be gone for a long time. Take care of yourself. If Kunlun ever needs me, call for me anytime.”

She was like a flower clinging to a cliff’s edge—roots damaged, stem broken, yet standing unyielding, reaching for the sun.

Shaoyou sensed that after Yan Chaosheng’s death, something in her had changed.

He didn’t know what Yan Chaosheng had truly meant to her.

But he had seen the demon’s love—reckless, desperate, like a moth to flame.

Few could remain unmoved by such devotion.

For the first time, Shaoyou felt a pang of envy toward Yan Chaosheng.

He never thought he’d envy a demon.

Ever since his mother “betrayed” Kunlun and his father perished to heavenly retribution, Shaoyou had not lived a single day for himself.

He envied Yan Chaosheng’s ability to love so openly, so fiercely—to die for Liu Shuang without hesitation.

But he knew Kunlun needed him more than Liu Shuang, who was growing stronger by the day.

If he ever died, it would be for Kunlun—fighting to his last breath.

He could never love someone the way Yan Chaosheng had—unreservedly, madly, with every fiber of his being.

Liu Shuang waved at him and left.

—

She was gone for three years.

Shaoyou often sent her letters, and the returning paper cranes gave him glimpses of her life.

She was nurturing Bai Zhuixu’s soul while searching for Yan Chaosheng’s scattered soul—with no success.

Once, she even asked Shaoyou for ancient texts on demonic ghosts.

Finally, he couldn’t help but ask:

*”Do you still want to save him?”*

Days later, she replied:

“Just… trying.”

He didn’t press further.

Was it for the sake of the demon race’s fate? Or for the blood and tears he had shed at her feet that day?

“Alright. I’ll help you look.”

After Yan Chaosheng’s death, the demon palace fell into chaos.

Yet before Feng Fuming could exterminate them, many demons vanished without a trace—as if spirited away.

Shaoyou divined the signs.

The omens pointed to the Ghost Realm.

Somehow, he suspected Liu Shuang was behind it—though on the surface, the orchestrator appeared to be a demon girl named Congxia.

Shaoyou erased these traces.

Only the Jimo clan possessed innate divination gifts.

If he stayed silent, Feng Fuming would never know.

Fuheng never returned.

After escaping Kongsang, he and the others disappeared as well.

Feng Fuming began slaughtering demons across the land.

Those who hadn’t fled in time perished without a sound.

Time moved swiftly in the mortal realm.

Flowers bloomed and withered, another year passing in the blink of an eye.

Yet for immortals, it was but a fleeting moment.

With no demons left to hunt, Feng Fuming turned his gaze to the immortal realms.

His first target was Changliu’s Ji Clan.

He didn’t intend to share spiritual veins—instead, he demanded they surrender theirs, merging under the Heavenly Clan’s rule as vassals.

Everyone expected Ji Xianghan to resist.

Yet she surrendered without a fight, agreeing to all his terms.

It made sense—Changliu’s spirit vein was nearly depleted.

But no one anticipated her capitulation to be so absolute.

Overnight, a great immortal realm vanished, absorbed into Feng Fuming’s dominion.

The news sent shockwaves through the immortal clans.

*Who’s next? Kunlun? Kongsang?*

It was then that Chishui Chong demanded Shaoyou submit to him—to unite against Feng Fuming.

When Wojiang heard, he laughed bitterly.

“Has every immortal realm now learned Feng Fuming’s shamelessness? At least in the past, they bothered with pretense. Now, it’s like rabid dogs fighting over scraps—everyone wants a taste of being the true Heavenly Lord. Young Master, what do we do?”

What could they do?

Liu Shuang had been right.

With the demon race fading from history and Feng Fuming’s rise, the Eight Wilderness would soon spiral beyond control.

Immortals, plagued by inner demons, would become no different from the monsters they despised.

Where the old Heavenly Lord had been timid, Feng Fuming was ruthless.

In recent years, though the demons had gone into hiding, those left behind had met gruesome fates at the hands of Feng Fuming’s soldiers.

Shaoyou set down the records, his voice cold.

“If it comes to it, we fight.”

A last resort—but the only path left.

Merging spiritual veins wasn’t the same as surrendering them.

Handing them over meant entrusting their clan’s fate to another’s whims.

No one understood Ji Xianghan’s choice.

If Feng Fuming willed it, Changliu could be wiped out in an instant.

Shaoyou didn’t trust Chishui Chong.

He would never surrender Kunlun.

As Kunlun prepared for war, Feng Fuming had already subjugated dozens of minor immortal realms.

A foreboding settled in Shaoyou’s heart.

After the ancient war, the four great immortal clans—endowed with spiritual veins—had risen as the mightiest.

They depended on these veins, yet their power was unparalleled, granting them lifespans of tens of thousands of years.

The lesser realms, lacking spiritual veins, had shorter-lived denizens—some even recruiting mortals with potential to sustain themselves.

There were about a hundred such minor realms.

And now, all had bowed to Feng Fuming’s tyranny.

A friendly minor realm’s lord sent a panicked message:

“Feng Fuming is not the man he once was. In just a few years, he has somehow cultivated power rivaling the ancient greats.”

The news stunned the Eight Wilderness.

Shaoyou’s heart sank.

There was no need to consider alliances now.

When one side grew too powerful, catastrophe was inevitable.

Was this the price the Eight Wilderness had to pay for Yan Chaosheng’s death?