Thriving after the Moon Falls (I Can’t Possibly Take Pity On A Demon) - Chapter 101
Chapter 101
Over the years, whenever major upheavals occurred among the immortals, the mortal realm would also experience anomalies.
People leaned out of their windows, pointing at the unusual sky, whispering speculations about what was happening.
The storyteller whom Yan Chaosheng had released squinted at the heavens and rapped his folding fan against his palm.
“I still remember that when Bai Zhuixu, the eldest son of the Bai Clan from Kongsang, died, snow fell across the mortal realm for three days and three nights.”
“Then, Master Hong, what do these Heavenly thunders signify?” someone asked.
The world was in turmoil—immortal wars one moment, rampaging demons the next.
Mortals no longer prayed for divine protection; they only hoped for peaceful days.
The storyteller straightened his robes, his expression grave.
“A cataclysm is upon the Eight Wilderness.”
Though spring winds had painted the land in vibrant green, today’s Heavenly thunders filled everyone with dread.
Mortals couldn’t fathom the events unfolding, but the ominous sky left them uneasy.
Meanwhile, in Kongsang, life withered.
The gates of the immortal realm lay shattered, the earth scorched as if by fire.
In a single day, Feng Fuming and his immortal soldiers had breached Kongsang’s defenses.
Ji Xianghan stood in the grand hall, facing Chishui Chong and Madam Zi.
As an envoy, she urged Chishui Chong to surrender.
Though of a younger generation, Ji Xianghan was nearly as old as Chishui Chong.
Among the current young lords, she had been the first to seize power and the first to submit to Feng Fuming.
She knew just as many secrets as any of them.
Having lived so long, she had meticulously planned for this moment ever since Shaoyou’s mother fled.
Millennia ago, during a banquet at Kunlun, a young Ji Xianghan had overheard a critical secret.
The Xiangliu Emperor had two great generals: Ye Moluo and Xi Chuan.
While Ye Moluo was sealed away, Xi Chuan escaped with a sliver of his soul.
Over the centuries, he assumed countless identities, even bewitching Shaoyou’s mother, Lan Ji.
Posing as her childhood friend, he convinced her that after she married the Lord of Kunlun—that the spiritual vein’s core, sealed in Kunlun’s forbidden grounds, was an evil artifact.
She handed it to him.
Only later did Lan Ji realize: without the core, the spiritual vein would wither, allowing the Xiangliu royal line to be reborn through conception.
Xi Chuan had intended to deceive, but he fell in love.
Heartbroken, he vanished into the Ghost Realm, searching endlessly for Lan Ji’s fragmented soul.
This became the Kunlun Lord’s inner demon, leading to his failed tribulation.
And Ji Xianghan had been the first to foresee Yan Chaosheng’s birth.
Few in the Eight Wilderness knew the Xiangliu had left two safeguards: Yan Chaosheng and the spiritual vein’s core.
That core was the key—the moment it was lost, fate shifted irrevocably.
Shaoyou’s desperate search for his mother was, in truth, a quest to recover the core and halt the vein’s decay.
Back then, Ji Xianghan lacked the power to intervene.
Her only option was to protect her clan and prepare for the coming storm.
None of the mighty lords would have believed her warnings.
Now, all she could do was lay out the stakes.
“I’m not urging Uncle Chishui to live in humiliation,” Ji Xianghan said.
“But as things stand, even if the three great immortal realms united, they couldn’t defeat Feng Fuming. He has the means and ruthlessness to drain spiritual veins for power—something none of us possess. Sooner or later, his blade would point at us all.”
The room erupted in murmurs.
Chishui Chong frowned.
“You’re saying his rapid advancement comes from consuming spiritual veins?”
That would hasten the veins’ demise, dooming their people.
Madam Zi asked, “The veins are fused with our realms’ foundations—not pure energy that can be absorbed. How did he manage it?”
“He was born under auspicious signs, with dragon songs heralding his arrival. After years of investigation, I learned he can convert spiritual energy.”
With no reason left to hide secrets, Ji Xianghan revealed her findings: the former Heavenly Lord had not only exploited Feng Fuming’s power but also stolen his lifespan.
Silence followed.
“Surrender the vein,” Ji Xianghan said, her usual levity gone.
“Uncle Chishui, since childhood, I’ve heard of your benevolence. Handing it over might at least spare your people. Shaoyou chose to fight and now Kunlun’s peach blossoms may never bloom again, its soil soaked in blood.”
Chishui Chong closed his eyes.
In the past, he would have scorned someone like Ji Xianghan, who led her clan to submit.
But now, reflecting on Kongsang’s countless losses and Feng Fuming’s own casualties, only Ji Xianghan’s people remained unscathed.
When Liu shuang led reinforcements to aid Shaoyou, Chishui Chong had already relinquished his ambitions over the fifth spiritual vein.
Once the most revered and powerful among the four lords, Chishui Chong had shouldered dual burdens: protecting his frail daughter and elevating Kongsang among the immortal realms.
Day by day, before Liu shuang took the demon bone’s Qingying Stone, he had used it to purify his thoughts.
Yet ambition festered into an inner demon, nearly eroding his compassion and leading to grave mistakes.
Now, remorseful, he finally understood Liu shuang’s words and recognized Ji Xianghan’s goodwill.
Had the Ji Clan’s leader truly wished to spectate, Feng Fuming, with four spiritual veins…could have crushed Kongsang instantly.
Chishui Chong looked at his aged ministers, eyes brimming with sorrow.
Madam Zi understood his decision and comforted him, “Go ahead, we don’t blame you, Lord.”
Chishui Chong patted his wife’s hand, warmth flickering in his heart despite the wails outside.
As he handed the spiritual vein transformed into Soil of Life to Ji Xianghan, he hesitated.
“Young Miss, do you know what will happen if the five spiritual veins merge?”
Ji Xianghan cradled the final vein and smiled.
“Uncle Chishui, what is too rigid breaks easily. Without destruction, there can be no rebirth. The immortal clans of the Eight Wilderness were already in decline. Why not take this gamble?”
Seeing the confidence and boldness in her eyes, Chishui Chong fell silent.
He, too, had once been youthful and spirited.
Now he truly felt old and while these children had all grown up.
—
The roar of dragons and tigers resounded across every inch of the Eight Wilderness.
Shaoyou and Liushuang were still on their way when they saw freshly bloomed flowers wither in an instant.
Wojiang exclaimed, “The five spiritual veins have merged!”
Liu shuang pressed her lips together.
She feared for Kongsang—Feng Fuming was cold-hearted and ruthless.
She had once worried Yan Chaosheng would destroy Kongsang, never imagining it would fall to Feng Fuming instead.
“Don’t be afraid, Liushuang. Perhaps Uncle Chishui has already come to his senses.”
If even they and Ji Xianghan could see reason, surely Chishui Chong would no longer cling to his stubbornness.
But Liu shuang remained uneasy.
The sight of Kongsang’s scorched earth dredged up her most terrifying memories from her past life.
Her entire body turned cold, and she nearly rushed into Kongsang to check on her parents.
Wojiang held her back.
“Don’t act rashly, child.”
Shaoyou added, “The people of Kongsang are unharmed. Look.”
Disguised among Feng Fuming’s immortal soldiers, the three of them blended in effortlessly, their auras masked as ordinary troops.
Liu shuang looked up. Chishui Chong, Madam Zi, and the immortals of Kongsang had all emerged, kneeling in homage to the “Heavenly Lord.”
On Feng Fuming’s forehead, demonic patterns had begun to surface.
The five spiritual veins had coalesced into a single, flawlessly pure Evil Bone Pearl.
“Ha ha ha—!” Feng Fuming laughed wildly as he gazed at the translucent pearl in his hand.
“They say the Eight Wilderness can only endure through balance and stability. I refused to believe it. Now, with all five spiritual veins in my grasp, who dares not bow before me? What Xiangliu royalty? The Feng Clan is the only true royalty in this world!”
The immortals stared up at him in terror.
By now, it was clear—titles like “Heavenly Lord” or ruler of any realm meant nothing to him. What he sought was to become the long-lost Demon God!
The merging of the five spiritual veins had birthed an Evil Bone Pearl!
No—it would be more accurate to say this had always been the Demon God’s power, guarded by the Xiangliu royalty in the guise of spiritual veins.
After the Xiangliu were slaughtered and the ancient emperor perished, the veins scattered, and the truth faded into obscurity.
For the first time in ten thousand years, the immortals realized that the Xiangliu clan—overthrown for their ambition and branded with countless crimes had actually been the guardians of the Evil Bone Pearl.
The Xiangliu royalty had protected the world’s peace, while the other immortals, driven by selfish desires, had schemed to slaughter them all! How foolish, how bitterly regrettable.
Yet now, no one could stop Feng Fuming.
Mi Chu, who had struggled so hard to return to Feng Fuming’s side, gasped in horror at the sight.
“H-how could this be…?”
She had dreamed of marrying the most exalted man in the Eight Wilderness, but the Feng Fuming before her was now one step away from becoming a demon.
In a daze, she whispered, “The Demon God… he wants to become the Demon God!”
Her dreams shattered inexplicably, replaced by terror toward the man towering in the sky.
The Demon God knew neither love nor compassion—he would only kill her!
Only now did she understand her father’s warnings, and Lou Xinzhu’s earnest pleas.
Trembling, she suddenly recalled the man her father had called “unfathomable”—what was his name?
Yan Chaosheng!
Yes, her father had said the demon race might be the last hope for restoring peace.
Regret washed over her as she remembered the day Yan Chaosheng destroyed the Huanyan bead within her.
She had deceived her father to warn Feng Fuming that Yan Chaosheng had returned and offered her knowledge of Kongsang’s layout to aid his invasion.
Feng Fuming had smiled cryptically but kept her by his side.
Moments ago, Mi Chu had still been jealous of Ji Xianghan, resentful that she had persuaded Chishui Chong to surrender and seemingly outshone her.
Now, Mi Chu only wanted to flee—wishing she had never come, even if it meant being imprisoned by her father for life.
The next instant, a force yanked her into Feng Fuming’s grip.
He seized her throat, grinning. “Where do you think you’re going, my consort?”
Mi Chu’s lips turned bloodless.
Ji Xianghan glanced at her and smiled faintly—clearly, she had known this would happen all along.
She’s insane,Mi Chu thought.
How is she not afraid of the ‘Demon God’?
Feng Fuming narrowed his eyes.
“Fool. I despise betrayal most of all.”
Mi Chu forced a smile. “N-no, Heavenly Lord misunderstands—”
“Wrong.”
Feng Fuming’s voice turned icy.
“Demon God.”
Mi Chu had long outlived her usefulness to Feng Fuming.
He loathed traitors and cowards alike—her abandonment of Kongsang, her desperation to cling to him even after defying Lou Xinzhu, had only amused him.
Now, her retreat displeased him. Just as he was about to kill her, a blade flashed toward him.
Liu shuang tensed, but Shaoyou held her back with a shake of his head.
Feng Fuming sneered.
“Dare you raise a hand against me?”
He tossed Mi Chu aside and struck out with a radiant blast, sending the young attacker crashing to the ground, blood spilling from his lips.
Only then did Mi Chu see, it was Bai Yuxiao.
A violent tremor wracked her body, engulfed in overwhelming grief.
But Bai Yuxiao didn’t even glance at her.
The young immortal general gripped his sword and forced himself upright.
Bai Yuxiao saw the truth clearly: Feng Fuming was on the verge of demonhood, his ambition unrestrained.
Mi Chu was guilty, but Clan Leader Lou had guarded the spiritual veins for millennia.
If they survived this… Mi Chu would have to atone in the Sea of No Return until death.
Yet if Feng Fuming executed Kongsang’s adopted daughter before everyone, what hope did the others have?
With Liu shuang gone, his elder brother dead, and the lord aging, Bai Yuxiao had become Kongsang’s backbone.
If he faltered, could his people truly survive under Feng Fuming?
“Yuxiao, stand down!” Clan Leader Bai rushed forward, kneeling in apology.
“My son is ignorant, Heavenly…no…Demon God, spare him!”
Feng Fuming’s eyes gleamed.
“Ignorant? His rebellious spirit is perfect for nourishing the Evil Bone Pearl.”
Clan Leader Bai stiffened, belatedly realizing Feng Fuming’s true motive—he wasn’t offended.
With the spiritual veins depleted, the pearl lacked strength, and he intended to sacrifice Kongsang’s blood to empower it!
Neither Bai Yuxiao nor his father stood a chance against Feng Fuming now.
A mere flick of his finger would scatter their souls.
Liu shuang bit her lip bloody, knowing she couldn’t intervene…if her Huiling Heart were exposed, true calamity would follow.
Then a piercing cry split the air.
A silver halberd intercepted Feng Fuming’s Xuanyuan Sword.
Liu shuang’s breath caught as a figure clad in battle armor stepped forward, shielding Kongsang.
Feng Fuming smirked.
“Finally show yourself, beast.”
The man laughed coldly.
“Beast is your traitorous Feng Clan. I am the last of the Xiangliu royalty—here to claim your wretched life!”
Liu shuang hid among the countless immortal soldiers, her gaze fixed on Yan Chaosheng in the distance.
His brow was proud and unyielding, his demeanor as arrogantly defiant as ever—even when facing Feng Fuming, who now held the Evil Bone Pearl.
She remembered a time long, long ago, when she was still a little immortal grass, not yet in human form.
The flames of the immortal-demon war had spread to Canglan.
Back then, storms raged, and all the spirits trembled in fear.
Yan Chaosheng, clad in silver armor, had raised his hand just like this to shield them, his laughter wild and untamed.
A casual act of protection, as fleeting as a whim to spare lives.
Yet she had remembered his face for years.
Back then, his sleeves had billowed in the wind, his halberd sharp and cold.
He hadn’t even glanced back at them—insignificant ants beneath his notice.
He had never lingered by her side.
And yet, that was when she had begun to love him.
Later, when he was injured and fell into Canglan again, she had asked the ancient tree, “Who is he?”
The old tree had smiled.
“Him? The only being in this world who walks the ghostly path while wearing a demon’s form.”
“Is he a bad person?”
“A conqueror.”
