Chapter 89

Feng Fuming let go of the little girl.

She collapsed limply after having her soul forcefully searched, completely unconscious.

Immediately, a palace maid stepped forward, picked the girl up, lowered her head, and carried her out of the hall.

The immortals inside the hall witnessed this scene, and their hearts grew unbearably heavy.

These two, the ghost cultivator who wiped out an entire sect, and this Feng Fuming standing before them, both of them were straight-up maniacs.

One annihilated a whole clan and even arrogantly left survivors to announce his deed to the whole damn world.

The other wouldn’t even spare the orphaned child of the deceased.

Everyone knew, once a soul was forcefully searched, there was almost no chance of survival.

Even if they did survive, they’d just end up as some hollow-brained idiot.

An immortal lord hesitantly said, “Your Majesty, the Heavenly Lord… do we still fight Kunlun?”

That ghost cultivator was too wild.

Just like how they used to bully those little demons with no backing, now the tables had turned.

This guy appeared and didn’t leave a shred of hope for the immortals.

Feng Fuming said coldly, “Fight. Why wouldn’t we? Let me think.”

He tapped his fingers against the armrest.

After a moment of initial shock, an icy clarity settled in his heart.

Those with weaknesses never live long.

If he could design a trap to kill him once, he could do it a second or third time.

The only question now was does that so-called soft spot still count for anything in Yan Chaosheng’s heart? What about that Chishui Liushuang from the past?

Feng Fuming’s eyes curved into a crescent as he let out a soft chuckle.

No rush.

Let’s just wait and see.

He wasn’t who he used to be—this wasn’t the past.

Even if the royal bloodline of Xiangliu revived, so what? What could they possibly do to him now?

All eight wilderness are in his hands.

Just a mere little spawn of misfortune, what’s it going to do?

Yan Chaosheng returned on the hour of his birth.

Su Lun and Fu Heng, along with the others, were waiting in front of the Ghost Gate for him.

From afar, someone called out in a low and eerie tone, “The Demon Lord returns. Open the gates.”

Fu Heng saw him and let out a long breath of relief.

Back when the Mountain Lord—wait, no, they should already be calling him the Demon Lord now, decided to go alone and flatten the Qianren Sect, everyone was pretty damn worried.

His body had just barely recovered.

Could he really pull it off?

All of them had witnessed just how Yan Chaosheng clawed his way back from the edge of death.

Three years ago, there wasn’t even a whiff of his presence left in this world.

Then one day, like some spirit fire guiding them, Qingluan picked up the faintest trace of his soul.

She used the life pulse inside her body to forcefully cry blood and drag back a shred of his broken soul.

Fate plays cruel jokes.

Who would’ve thought—the love he had for Liu Shuang was what killed him, and that same love was what gave him one last shot at life.

If it hadn’t been for that demon bird being dumb enough to split her life pulse and give it to another demon, there would’ve been no way in hell he’d be coming back.

Under Su Lun’s plan, they hid at the ruins of Penglai, waiting for this pitiful scrap of a soul, so fragile the wind could blow it away—to pull itself together.

They waited and waited.

Back then, Yan Chaosheng was as weak as a newborn.

A bit of cold wind, and that remnant soul would start sobbing softly.

A bunch of big burly guys stood around their feeble lord, stressed out of their minds.

Later, they snuck over to You Mountain and got help from Zhan Xueyang.

Things finally improved a little, he could at least catch a breath.

When Zhan Xueyang first saw Yan Chaosheng, his eyes went wide and he muttered, “How did he even survive this long? That woman really didn’t hold back! A soul shredded by a divine weapon still clinging to life. It’s like something out of a damn fairy tale.”

Luckily, some unseen force kept his fragile soul barely tethered.

All the demons had racked their brains trying to help him.

But truth be told—

Sigh.

This time, Yan Chaosheng was really dead for good.

Not to mention anything else, just gathering the pieces of that soul would take at least a thousand years.

A whole millennium! By then, that turtle bastard Feng Fuming’s brat could probably march into battle already.

There wouldn’t be a scrap of space left for demonkind.

Everyone lost hope.

Even Zhan Xueyang and Su Lun were ready to give up.

No one expected that one stormy night, lightning lit up the sky, thunder roaring like a beast, bam, eighty-one bolts of heavenly tribulation thunder dropped out of nowhere and nearly blasted You Mountain to rubble.

All the demons stared with their eyes about to pop out of their heads, looking at the purple-black lightning bolts as thick as tree trunks.

Someone couldn’t help but curse out loud, “What the hell! Who the fu*k is transcending their tribulation?!”

It had to be someone becoming a god.

That kind of heavenly wrath—this was punishment-level stuff, the heavens themselves chasing someone down to kill them.

They followed the direction of the lightning and felt their hearts plummet, it was coming from the very spot they’d been guarding, feeding that fragile soul.

Speaking of which, that leftover wisp of soul that was more delicate than a baby, it used to cry just from a drizzle.

Now with this giant storm of lightning?

Yeah, no chance in hell it was making it through.

Even Su Lun’s face turned ghostly pale, eyes full of despair.

“We’re screwed.”

Nobody dared go near it.

They just stood there waiting for the lightning to stop, so they could collect what was left of Yan Chaosheng’s corpse.

Their dream of reviving the Xiangliu royal line, the dream they’d clung to for tens of thousands of years, died right there.

You Mountain was torn apart, rain and wind howling.

The last bolt of thunder struck, and the mountain was razed to the ground.

Zhan Xueyang crawled out of the rubble, shivering.

He looked down at his own hands in disbelief, then looked out at the vast land before him.

Someone as usually cool-headed as he was now looked like a stunned child.

“You Mountain’s gone? I… I’m out?”

Back then, what had the ancestors promised? That the day the Xiangliu royal bloodline returned, when they pacified the seas and conquered the eight wilderness, becoming the true king and leading demon race to rise again. Only then could You Mountain be broken.

And now? Just a few bolts of divine thunder, and the prison that had shackled his bloodline for generations… broke just like that?

Why?

Zhan Xueyang stared wide-eyed at the place where the soul had been offered.

What he saw was that the once-fragile wisp, long thought to be dead, had somehow become a thick, pitch-black mist.

Inside that mist, a figure was slowly forming.

That face—familiar beyond belief.

It was Yan Chaosheng!

Everyone stood frozen in shock as he slowly opened his eyes.

His silver irises burned red.

He raised his hand and gripped the neck of the person closest to him.

His voice was like frost: “Where is my wife?”

That great demon was being strangled so hard his eyes were bulging.

“You… you haven’t married or fused souls yet… no wife…”

Yan Chaosheng seemed completely blank, as if he had no mind left at all.

He tightened his grip.

The demon looked like he was about to die—

And then Yan Chaosheng slowly closed his eyes again.

Ever since then, every half a month, he’d wake up once—always on the first or fifteenth day of the lunar month.

Each time he woke, he’d go off like a lunatic, raving like a snake demon possessed, muttering words no one else could understand.

“I don’t even want your heart anymore. Where did you go?”

“Scoured the heavens, descended into the Yellow Springs—why do you never show yourself to me?”

“Shuangshuang, I’ve tried everything. I really don’t have any other way left.”

“I know I was wrong. But I don’t regret it. If you still hate me, come back. Come back and kill me with your own hands. Let that ease your hatred.”

By the time he got to the end, sometimes blood tears would well up in his eyes, but his face still contorted into something ghastly:

“I don’t regret it. I never will…”

…

At first, everyone racked their brains trying to figure out what he meant.

But later, they realized—it was all stuff that had never happened.

Probably he’d gone nuts, had a dream where he soul-bonded with that brokenhearted immortal, Liu Shuang, and then un-bonded.

That was where all the weird talk came from.

They got used to it.

After a while, nobody paid it any mind, just figured their demon lord was snarling gibberish in his sleep.

And so, day after day, they kept this madman of a lord holed up in the ruins of old Penglai, a place now long abandoned and devoid of spiritual energy.

They’d go around catching small wicked spirits and toss them to him for slaughter, just to let him blow off steam.

They were scared he might end up killing his own people otherwise.

At least with ghosts, he could spout his nonsense without hurting anyone real.

This madness went on for a long, long time, until one day, when Fuheng brought in some ghosts for his cultivation.

He stood before the window, dressed in a silver robe threaded with gold.

His eyes were cold and clear, gazing outside with a stillness that made him look like a figure in a painting.

Fuheng was still hesitating when Yan Chaosheng turned his head.

This time, he didn’t seize anyone, didn’t demand to be pointed toward his demon consort.

His eyes flickered with a swirl of complex emotions.

Then he smiled faintly:

“You’ve worked hard.”

The corners of his eyes shimmered with tiny, beautiful silver scales, not like a demon at all, more like some peerless god of ancient times.

He brushed a hand over those scales, seeming a bit disdainful, and gave a grim smile:

“Heaven’s retribution, huh?”

Fuheng dropped to his knees with a thud.

After three years, for the first time, he felt the urge to cry.

He knew that his mountain lord, the one who had once pulled him out of fire and water, had finally come back.

Yan Chaosheng stayed in Penglai for another half a year. One day, he suddenly said lightly:

“Let’s go. Back we go to see if killing a few people changes anything.”

His tone was as casual as someone commenting on the weather.

As soon as they returned, they bumped into the little butterfly demon, Cong Xia, tailing a squad of heavenly soldiers.

After killing the soldiers and wiping out the Qianreb Sect, it was only Yan Chaosheng who lifted a finger.

That’s when everyone finally started to believe it for real—our lord was truly back.

Just the night before, he’d gone alone to the Qianren Sect.

In everyone’s minds, he was still that weak, teary remnant soul.

They were terrified the demon lord hadn’t recovered fully and would get killed all over again.

People forgot—he wasn’t in his old indestructible body anymore.

He was a ghost cultivator now.

Chilling yin energy wrapped him from head to toe—a ghost cultivator, cold as death.

If he died again, there’d be nothing left.

Not even a chance to reincarnate.

They were all walking on eggshells.

He’d gone out at midnight.

No one expected him to return already by morning.

And when he did, he brought back the reek of blood and killing—no telling how many he’d slain.

Su Lun gave him one look.

Yeah, he’d changed.

Really changed.

The young man who used to seem all fierce but was actually easy to handle, who wouldn’t kill unless someone stepped on his tail.

He was gone.

Now, however people treated him, he’d repay them twice over.

Cold. Ruthless. No hesitation.

That kind of aura was exactly what the demon race, suffocated by years of despair, desperately needed.

Su Lun lowered his head, a smile tugging at his lips.

All their efforts—wasn’t this the very ruler they were trying to bring back?

The butterfly demon Cong Xia was there too.

Still the same as before, seeing Yan Chaosheng, she rushed to fawn over him, eyes dripping with flirtation.

Yan Chaosheng glanced at her, and all the memories of this life came flooding back.

If not for this butterfly demon, the demon race probably would’ve been completely wiped out by Feng Fuming.

Yan Chaosheng had always been generous to those who had done him favors.

That had been his personal code for hundreds of years as the demon lord.

So, for once, he didn’t kick her out.

He even asked her about the state of the demon race.

She answered eagerly:

“Everyone’s doing fine! I got there just in time and brought them back. No one’s really suffered in the Ghost Realm. We’ve all been waiting for your return, my lord—just waiting for your order to take down Feng Fuming!”

“Mm.”

Yan Chaosheng said.

“You’ve worked hard.”

“It was nothing.”

Cong Xia was over the moon.

The bliss was almost too good to be true.

The returned demon lord was deeper, more unreadable but much nicer to her than before.

She was giddy, eyes blooming like peach blossoms.

This recognition was all thanks to her “safeguarding the demon race.”

Now she was beloved among the demons, and even the demon lord looked at her differently.

Good thing, she thought.

Good thing she hadn’t abandoned the others and run off before he came back.

But the memory of that woman, who spent three years braving wind and rain to rescue the demon race flashed through her mind, and she felt a sudden pang of guilt.

Can’t let the demon lord find out.

Right now, in his heart, that woman was the one who killed him, and she, Cong Xia, was his savior!

Thinking about the glory to come, and all the praise she’d enjoyed these past three years, she hardened her heart.

Putting on a look of concern, she said:

“Now that my lord has returned, you must take revenge on the woman who tried to kill you!”

You can’t blame her.

The way of the demon race, it’s every being for themselves.

If you don’t look out for yourself, the heavens and earth will wipe you out.

That man crossed a thousand mountains, carrying nothing but true love and a bridal gown and was struck down by Liu Shuang of Chishui with a divine weapon, never to be reborn.

From then on, barred from the cycle of reincarnation.

He lowered his gaze, voice eerily calm.

He was staring at his own hands—hands drenched in sin, stained with blood from too many killings.

These weren’t a young man’s hands anymore.

The bones were long, the fingers lean, saturated with the scent of blood.

He had personally dragged her into hell.

And to this day, he still wouldn’t repent.

He’d walked a road with no turning back, regret was never in the plan.

He’d met Liu Shuang at the wrong time.

Even if he had another chance, he would’ve done the same.

He’d been a mad beast, giving her the worst of everything including his love.

Good thing, at least, that the boy he once was clean and untainted had the right to throw himself into death for her.

That made the love not quite so filthy.

Yan Chaosheng said softly:

“Yes. Time for revenge.”

Cong Xia brightened:

“So, how are you planning to torment her?”

He said nothing just smiled faintly.

To torment and take revenge on the one you love?

Then let someone like him, this beast of a man become her husband.

Let her bear his children, one after another.

Now that would be true cruelty.