Thriving after the Moon Falls (I Can’t Possibly Take Pity On A Demon) - Chapter 100
Chapter 100
Liu shuang didn’t reveal herself to Changhuan.
Just knowing that those she cherished were still here, that Changhuan was safe, filled her heart with quiet joy.
Even if they met again, Changhuan wouldn’t recognize her and would never again dress as a mortal girl, as she once had for the little immortal grass.
Some things, in the end, had irrevocably changed.
Before the Ghost Gate, a figure stood chained, wings drooping listlessly behind her.
Liu shuang looked closer—it was Cong Xia.
Behind her, a stone tablet detailed her three years of deception toward the demon realm.
Every act of kindness Liu shuang had shown the little demons was listed there.
Yan Chaosheng hadn’t punished her harshly, but stripping her of all she’d falsely gained was torment enough for the pampered butterfly demon.
How the demon realm would view Cong Xia from now on was no longer their concern.
Liu shuang skimmed the inscription.
No wonder.
Upon her return, Yan Chaosheng had replaced all the demon scribes and ghost maids…he hadn’t wanted her deducing his actions from their changed attitudes.
He’d been certain he could keep her imprisoned.
By the time he returned from war, the Eight Wilderness might have been reshaped anew.
Why had Yan Chaosheng gone to such lengths?
These trivial gestures seemed unnecessary to Liu shuang.
She approached the butterfly demon.
Cong Xia’s eyes widened.
“You—you—”
You broke the Soul-Locking contract?
“Are you going to kill me?”
Cong Xia tensed.
Left here for Liu shuang’s judgment, the cowardly demon stammered apologies: “It was vanity, not malice! I never meant true harm!”
Liu shuang almost laughed.
“I won’t kill you.”
She strode past without another glance.
Cong Xia had erred, yes but her vanity had also driven her to aid the demon realm in many ways.
Liu shuang had no intention of seeking out Yan Chaosheng or Feng Fuming.
Whoever triumphed would soon realize their prize lacked one thing: the Huiling Heart.
The Demon God’s undying power, after millennia, had become the heart of an immortal girl—granting her a second chance.
If the story began here, it should end here too.
The Demon God had bestowed treasures upon Liu shuang, entrusting her with this land’s safety.
Once, ignorant and naive, she’d poured all that power into creating a minor immortal land—only for Yan Chaosheng to trap and burn it in the Taichu Mirror, draining its essence.
Now she understood.
In her past life, Yan Chaosheng had spared her.
Some part of him had been sincere, attempting to destroy Canglan to save her—never realizing that, to her, Canglan mattered more than herself.
As Liu shuang flew toward Kunlun, she saw spring awakening across the mortal realm.
Sunlight gilded forests where foals frolicked; vendors’ cries wove through bustling streets.
This vibrant tapestry soothed her heart into stillness.
She remembered the Lantern Festival’s joyous crowds.
The immortals had long forgotten the mortal world.
Without divine guardians, humans had lost their faith, and the spiritual veins had withered.
This calamity was inevitable.
Each fulfilling their role, the Eight Wilderness united and that was the only true resolution.
Suddenly, she no longer hated Yan Chaosheng.
Different paths led to the same end.
Against the fate of the Eight Wilderness, their grievances paled.
Everyone had their duty: Yan Chaosheng, breaking chains for demonkind; Shaoyou, Feng Fuming, even Ji Xianghan—all scheming for their people’s survival.
And Liu shuang? She’d fought for Canglan, unflinching even unto death—dissolving into blood and ash, buried with them in a springtime lake.
She’d plunged into the Weak Water, enduring bone-deep agony, all for Kongsang’s safety.
With great love, small affections become insignificant.
At this moment, Liu shuang felt no fear at all.
She remembered how, years ago, when she had first come back to life and was forced by Chishui Chong to go to Kunlun to take out the Huanyan bead, she had been lost and bewildered.
Now, heading to Kunlun on what was undoubtedly a path to her death, her heart was calm and tender, like the gentle spring streams of the mortal world, flowing in the opposite direction of the raging war between immortals and demons behind her.
When Liu shuang arrived at Kunlun, the morning sun had just risen.
Kunlun’s spiritual vein had been taken, and the peach blossoms, once radiant, were now withering, their former glory fading.
The desolate scene was heartbreaking.
All of this was the result of Feng Fuming’s cruelty over the years.
Without the nourishment of the spiritual vein, Liu shuang saw newborn immortals dying in their mothers’ arms.
Many elders, too, were on the brink of death.
If Feng Fuming had any conscience left and shared even a fraction of the spiritual vein, they might cling to life, gradually adapting until their existence mirrored that of the minor immortal land in the mortal world.
But clearly, Feng Fuming cared nothing for their survival and he wanted the Demon God’s power in its entirety.
Liu shuang did not linger.
She walked straight toward Kunlun’s grand hall.
Wojiang, his white hair disheveled, held scattered divination sticks in his hands.
The last one pointed toward Liu shuang as she stepped into the hall.
“You’ve come,” Wojiang said, his weathered face carrying the calm of ages.
“The old lord passed yesterday. The young master has returned and is now with him in his final moments. If the immortal is willing to wait, this old man and the young master will later assist you in activating the Shennong’s Cauldron.”
Wojiang’s divination skills were unparalleled.
Having exhausted himself in his craft, he must have foreseen her purpose.
A pang of sorrow struck Liu shuang’s heart, and she bowed respectfully.
Wojiang, however, chuckled.
“Ah, such is the way of things. Without the spiritual vein, old relics like us, who have long transcended the natural order, will inevitably meet our end. We should be grateful Feng Fuming didn’t resort to force—we’re no match for him now. In hindsight, the cleverest among us might be that unassuming girl from the Ji Clan, Ji Xianghan. She’s preserved the most lives in Changliu all these years. Everyone underestimated her.”
He gestured.
“Sit, child.”
Liu shuang sat cross-legged beside him.
“Elder, everything will come to an end.”
“You’ve endured much,” Wojiang said.
“Are you afraid?”
Liu shuang smiled and shook her head.
Wojiang was likely one of the few in the world who knew she carried the Huiling Heart within her.
Amid the war-torn Eight Wilderness, this moment of peace between them was rare indeed.
“The young master also knows the Huiling power resides within you, but he never considered sacrificing you. The lives of the Eight Wilderness’s people matter, but yours is no less valuable. For you to come here today to annihilate the Huiling power—this old man admires your courage.”
It was fortunate the bearer of the Huiling Heart was so pure of intent.
Perhaps, in her past life, Shaoyou had known all along.
That was why he had guided the little immortal grass toward kindness, teaching her the ways of the world.
Had the Huiling Heart been tainted, it would have spelled disaster for everyone in the Eight Wilderness.
Liu shuang waited until evening, when Shaoyou finally approached.
Behind him trailed Feng Caiyi like a little shadow.
When Caiyi saw Liu shuang, her former arrogance was gone, replaced only by nervous glances at Shaoyou.
Shaoyou’s expression was serene, his grief over his father’s passing restrained.
Seeing Liu shuang, his tranquil eyes swept over her.
“Did he mistreat you in the Ghost Realm?”
Liu shuang shook her head.
Shaoyou murmured, “That’s good.”
Wojiang coughed, and Feng Caiyi pouted.
Shaoyou smiled faintly.
“I won’t mess around. Let’s go, Immortal Liushuang.”
He led the way toward the hall housing the Shennong’s Cauldron, turning to instruct Caiyi: “Wait here for me.”
The usually proud little peacock deflated, lingering obediently.
She had no idea what Shaoyou and Liu shuang were about to do—these cryptic, lofty figures would never explain and she craned her neck anxiously, as if fearing Shaoyou might elope with Liu shuang.
Old Wojiang found it amusing.
“Patience, child. There may yet be a turn of fortune.”
Caiyi’s eyes brightened instantly.
“Though,” Wojiang added dryly, “it might require your wretched brother’s demise first.”
Caiyi gave an awkward laugh.
She held no affection for Feng Fuming, and he had never valued her life either.
Liu shuang followed Shao You, the fading peach blossoms around them exuding an air of melancholy.
Shaoyou asked softly, “Do you resent me?”
“Of course not. This is the path I chose.”
At the entrance of the grand hall, they paused.
Shaoyou turned back.
“Liushuang, I once believed life unfair. I thought my love for you was no less than Yan Chaosheng’s…so why did you still give your heart to him? Only now do I understand—”
His face was as elegant as a pear blossom, his smile tinged with resignation.
“Each of us has duties we cannot escape, choices that wrench our hearts. You bear the Huiling Heart—to prevent the Demon God’s descent and thwart Feng Fuming’s ambition, we were always destined to come to this. Yan Chaosheng is of the Xiangliu royal line, born under the weight of bloodshed and vengeance. He, too, needs the Huiling Heart;it is his birthright, his mission to lead the demon race from despair. He had many paths before him, yet he chose the hardest one… all to give you a sliver of hope to survive.”
“What…?” Liu shuang stared at him in shock.
Shaoyou lowered his gaze, blood seeping from his lips—wounds suffered during his captivity under Feng Fuming.
“On my way back to Kunlun, I saw Yan Chaosheng leading his demon and ghost armies toward Kongsang. The moment you appeared here unharmed, I understood: to stop the Demon God’s cataclysm, there are two paths. First, destroy the Huiling Heart. Second, destroy all the spiritual veins in existence.”
“You mean Yan Chaosheng intends to annihilate the spiritual veins…?” Liu shuang grasped it instantly, then shook her head.
“Impossible. Even as an ancient royal, he couldn’t destroy the Demon God’s veins. Besides—”
Besides, he’s the ruthless demon lord from the future. Does he not want the Demon God’s power?*
“I don’t know what passed between you,” Shaoyou said, his gaze knowing yet gentle.
“But I believe Yan Chaosheng thought that once he marched to war, you would no longer need to sacrifice yourself in the Shennong’s Cauldron.”
Even Wojiang, who had been following at a distance, widened his eyes.
That reckless boy! If he succeeds, all spiritual veins will be obliterated—no more hierarchy among immortals.
Demons, ghosts, and humans would no longer be lesser beings, able to live in peace.
But destroying the Demon God’s spiritual veins? Even with the combined power of the Eight Wilderness, it was impossible. How could Yan Chaosheng even conceive of it? Not only would he fail—the backlash from the veins would tear him apart.
Had Yan Chaosheng gone mad?!
Even Shaoyou doubted success, which was why he had brought Liu shuang here.
If the five veins merged and Yan Chaosheng perished in failure, no one in the Eight Wilderness could oppose Feng Fuming.
Liu shuang would be captured, her Huiling power extracted, and Feng Fuming would ascend as the true Demon God—an irreversible catastrophe.
Their only recourse was to destroy the Huiling power first.
The silence was suffocating.
Liu shuang’s palms grew damp with sweat.
She refused to believe what Shaoyou implied.
That selfish Yan Chaosheng—always off waging wars, cold and unfeeling, who took pleasure in her tears—
He went to destroy the Demon God’s veins?
That day, he had smiled coldly: “I didn’t return for you.”
And truly, he hadn’t done much for her.
Since awakening, he’d dragged her around, spoken in barbs, and even during their lone tender moment on the Lantern Festival rooftop, he’d only said he wouldn’t marry her.
When he departed with his army, he left her with nothing but a frigid silhouette.
Liu shuang pressed her lips together.
She’d thought their paths diverged—that the boy who loved her was dead, so she hadn’t granted him a single glance.
“Liushuang,” Shaoyou said softly, “do you wish to see him one last time? Or Kongsang—your parents, your people?”
“Young master! We have no time to spare,” Wojiang interjected urgently.
Shaoyou raised a hand.
“Master, I understand. I’ll take the Shennong’s Cauldron and her with me. If Yan Chaosheng… fails, I’ll smelt the Huiling Heart before Feng Fuming can act.”
Wojiang sighed but said no more.
He had no right to stop this.
Yan Chaosheng was defying the heavens to spare Liu shuang and protect all living beings—how could Wojiang take her heart while Yan Chaosheng fought for the Eight Wilderness?
That night, when Yan Chaosheng donned his armor, he’d held but one conviction:
The Eight Wilderness…and her…must endure.
“Well?” Shaoyou asked.
He could never do what Yan Chaosheng had done.
But now, as her dearest friend, this was the last thing he could offer her.
