Thriving after the Moon Falls (I Can’t Possibly Take Pity On A Demon) - Chapter 77
Chapter 77
Ji Xianghan toyed with the jade bead in her hand, smiling faintly.
“The spiritual veins of Kunlun are in turmoil again?”
Below her, several subordinates knelt, exchanging uneasy glances, unable to comprehend why their young mistress was amused.
The depletion of spiritual veins was a disaster faced by all four immortal realms, and their own Changliu had long been plagued by this issue.
Hearing of Kunlun’s plight, they couldn’t help but feel a sense of “when the rabbit dies, the fox grieves”—yet their young mistress seemed utterly indifferent.
“What does Feng Fuming have to say about Kunlun’s troubles?”
Her red lips curved.
“After all, he’s the newly ascended Heavenly Lord. The burden is heavy, the road long.”
Her subordinates couldn’t understand their mistress’s almost theatrical detachment.
“Young Mistress, Feng Fuming’s last dispatched immortal troops were defeated by the demon palace. Recently, he’s been silent. Due to Kunlun’s turmoil, he went directly there.”
“Silent? Gone to Kunlun?”
Ji Xianghan scoffed.
“Ridiculous. Are you trying to tell me Feng Fuming has suddenly grown a benevolent heart, rushing to console Kunlun? Given his temperament, how could he tolerate the humiliation of his generals’ defeat? He’d never let the demon clans off so easily. He wants Kunlun, but there’s surely a greater scheme at play.”
“Young Mistress, what should Changliu do now?”
The jade-robed young woman on the throne smiled.
“Feng Fuming has a younger sister, the one who’s head over heels for Jimo Shaoyou. His trip to Kunlun is likely to arrange a marriage alliance for her.”
She paused, then blinked mischievously.
“As for Changliu? We’ll survive in the cracks, keeping our heads down. Obey the Heavenly Lord’s every word—be a good lapdog. Surely, he won’t mistreat us.”
She pushed aside the curtain and stepped outside, where a resigned middle-aged woman stood waiting.
“Young Mistress, why must you tease them like this?”
Ji Xianghan replied, “They still won’t drop the idea of me marrying Feng Fuming. These immortals—what goes on in their heads? They’d even trust Feng Fuming. A bunch of good-for-nothings.”
“Not everyone is as wise as you, Young Mistress.”
“Aunt Fang, you flatter me. If I were truly wise, Changliu wouldn’t be drifting with the tide.”
Aunt Fang looked at her with pity.
“You simply see through Feng Fuming’s nature. When the birds are gone, the bow is put away. When the rabbits are dead, the hounds are boiled. If you truly wished to be the Heavenly Consort, you’d have found a way.”
Ji Xianghan shook her head with a laugh.
“You overestimate me,” she said.
“If I were truly capable, I wouldn’t have suffered so at the hands of my dear stepbrother. I once hoped Jimo Shaoyou would find his mother and retrieve the Eye of the Spirit Spring. But with Kunlun in such a state, he still hasn’t produced the Spirit Spring Key. It seems that path is closed. As for Feng Fuming—compared to his father, he’s more patient, more decisive, immensely talented, and utterly ruthless. With my old injuries, I doubt I could outmaneuver him.”
“Are you certain you saw the Lady of the Jimo clan take the Spirit Spring Key?”
“Absolutely,” Ji Xianghan said.
“To this day, no one in the Eight Wilderness has guessed that this calamity may have originated in Kunlun.”
Everyone hides their secrets, Aunt Fang mused.
Just like the Young Mistress, who, after returning from Mount You seven thousand years ago, never wore red again.
The rain in the mortal realm had fallen intermittently for half a month before finally ceasing today.
Unnoticed, winter had quietly arrived.
The cave remained warm, and a half-naked young girl curled up on the stone bed, her body draped over an inky-black male robe.
A brocade quilt barely covered her, her pale face and jade-like skin marred with marks.
Yan Chaosheng bent down and lifted her.
His robe had been used to cushion the stone bed, but now it served perfectly to wrap around her.
As he carried her out, a persistent little squirrel—having circled back to the cave entrance—scurried away in fright.
It had developed a sliver of intelligence, instinctively recognizing this place as the most spiritually rich.
Despite the barrier spells, it couldn’t bring itself to leave.
And so, the foolish squirrel had lingered outside for half a month, listening to the unbridled spring scenes within.
It didn’t fully understand what they were doing, but it had a vague sense that the man was bullying her.
Utterly depraved—half a month!
Outside, it had endured rain, bumped its head countless times, and suffered endlessly.
Meanwhile, the delicate girl inside didn’t seem much better off.
Her cries had made the squirrel fear she might be worked to death.
Fortunately, the skies had cleared today, and it finally caught sight of the terrifying “demon.”
Tall and slender, he wore conjured robes, cradling the girl securely in his arms, wrapped tightly in his robe.
The squirrel took one glance and collapsed under his oppressive aura, trembling.
He glanced down.
“So it was a half-witted squirrel lurking outside all this time.”
The squirrel shivered, regretting its greed for the cave.
Now I’ve done it—I’m dead for sure!
Yet after a long wait, the terrifying man didn’t kill it.
Instead, he said coolly, “Scram.”
For a moment, the squirrel wondered if its tiny brain was playing tricks—because the demon actually seemed… in a good mood? Was this what humans called post-satiety benevolence?
It scrambled up, clasped its tiny paws in a bow, and hopped away.
The squirrel wasn’t wrong.
Yan Chaosheng’s mood was like a frozen mountain suddenly bathed in sunlight, warm and radiant.
He returned with Liu Shuang undetected.
Only his spiritually connected little Qingluan noticed, tilting its head at her in confusion.
Yan Chaosheng’s lips curled slightly.
“She’s fine. Just exhausted.”
The way he said it was downright shameless.
But with no one around to scold him, and the little bird centuries away from understanding, he could only revel in the sight of the girl sleeping soundly in his arms.
His half-month disappearance had left Fuheng frantic, while Su Lun remained leisurely, occasionally handling palace affairs—though his loyalty was still unsworn, his decisions self-serving rather than for the demon palace’s benefit.
Upon returning, Yan Chaosheng settled Liu Shuang before tackling the mountain of accumulated affairs.
Fuheng rushed in, livid, ready to report.
“Shh. Outside,” Yan Chaosheng said.
Fuheng bowed, careful not to glance at the girl in his arms.
Once outside, Fuheng launched into his complaint: the cunning fox Su Lun had swindled the ox demon’s core, leaving it on death’s doorstep.
The incident had stirred unrest in the palace, and even the usually detached Fuheng was furious enough to kill Su Lun.
But as Fuheng ranted, he noticed the mountain lord’s absentmindedness—his lips quirking as if lost in pleasant memories.
How could anyone be in such a good mood while hearing this?
Fuheng clasped his fists. “…Lord Mountain.”
“My apologies. Repeat that.”
Fuheng reiterated Su Lun’s misdeeds, but Yan Chaosheng remained unfazed.
“Bring him here.”
When Su Lun arrived, his fox-like eyes swept over Yan Chaosheng, and he smirked.
“Congratulations, Lord Mountain. You’ve gotten what you desired.”
Fuheng had no idea what they were talking about, but Yan Chaosheng actually smiled.
“Explain yourself,” Yan Chaosheng said.
Su Lun knew this was the most opportune moment—with Yan Chaosheng in his best mood—to plead his case.
“The immortal troops planted a spell in the ox demon to spy on the palace. I acted for the palace’s sake, urging the general to die a heroic death.”
“So you claim it was for me and the palace?” Yan Chaosheng said.
“Precisely.”
Fuheng interjected, “Nonsense! Even if there was a spell, it could’ve been broken! There was no need to dig out his core!”
The usually reticent Fuheng couldn’t help but argue—proof of how much Su Lun had provoked him.
Yan Chaosheng tapped the desk, studying Su Lun in silence.
Su Lun sighed dramatically.
“My loyalty is as vast as the heavens. The spell was unbreakable except by you, Lord Mountain. With you absent, I feared the immortal army would exploit this weakness. I acted decisively.”
Fuheng frowned.
It made some sense, but something still felt off.
Yan Chaosheng’s voice turned icy.
“You could’ve restrained him. There was no need to take his core.”
Su Lun feigned realization.
“Ah, how could I have forgotten that option?”
Yan Chaosheng rested his chin on his hand.
“If my strategist can’t even think of that, perhaps he’s useless. Execute him.”
Fuheng brightened, smirking coldly.
Su Lun sighed mournfully. “Now, now, Lord Mountain. The core is here—I haven’t absorbed it. Return it, and he’ll recover in days.”
He produced the ox demon’s core.
Yan Chaosheng examined it.
“Your goal wasn’t the core. You wanted to stir panic. Why?”
Su Lun’s smile faded.
Yan Chaosheng didn’t wait for an answer.
“Take him away. We need laborers for palace construction. Su Lun will do.”
Fuheng obeyed, leading Su Lun out.
Su Lun, restrained, chuckled.
“Zhan Xueyang said he’s infatuated to the point of stupidity—but not entirely. Though he is in a fine mood, sentencing me only to construction labor.”
Fuheng, still lost, coldly supervised.
Liu Shuang slept an entire day before waking to the sight of palace drapes, wondering if she was hallucinating.
“Awake?”
She turned to see Yan Chaosheng entering.
The sight of his face now triggered a reflex—she instinctively shrank back against the headboard.
Flushed with indignation, she glared.
“Fifteen days!”
He paused, lowering his head in a show of remorse—though she caught the faint curve of his lips.
She hurled a pillow at him.
He didn’t dodge, letting it smack his head.
“Don’t be angry,” he said, then fastened a golden pearl around her neck.
He’d meant to kiss her cheek, but her glare stopped him.
His eyes brimmed with boyish delight, his entire demeanor radiating joy.
Their gazes met, and memories of the cave flooded back.
For once, even he seemed a little shy, coughing lightly.
“Does it still hurt?” he asked.
Under his gaze, her cheeks burned.
Shame is contagious.
If only she’d known demons were like this… Sigh. Too late now.
She focused on the pearl.
“What’s this?”
“A golden pearl—a defensive artifact. Crafted by the palace’s finest artificer.”
She’d seen many treasures, but this pearl radiated warmth and immense spiritual energy.
Yan Chaosheng added, “Made from my heart-scale. It can withstand even an ancient demon god’s strike.”
She froze.
“Your heart-scale?”
Was he insane?
“Mm.”
He pressed her hand to his chest.
“A demon’s sturdiest scale.”
She knew what it meant.
Legends spoke of ancient demon Lords gifting their heart-scales to their loved ones—only for those scales to cause chaos in mortal hands.
To a demon, their core was half their life.
The heart-scale was the other half.
And now, he’d forged his into a pearl for her.
Studying his eyes, she could no longer believe this was just about the Huiling Heart.
Not even the heavens would tolerate such a lie.
He… truly loved her.
After a long silence, she shook her head, trying to remove it.
“I don’t want this. Keep it.”
If it were all deception, she could act without hesitation.
But his sincerity unsettled her.
The Huiling Heart was pure—she felt things too easily.
He pulled her close.
“Keep it. Only then will I be at ease.”
With the immortal-demon war likely to last centuries, her safety was his peace.
The heart-scale wasn’t his life—she was.
He’d never dared dream she’d one day be wholly his.
Startled by his sudden embrace, she braced against his shoulders.
“Yan Chaosheng, what are you doing?”
His eyes sparkled.
“Taking you to see the wedding gown designs. I’ll carry you.”
He was far more eager than she was.
She looped her arms around his neck, murmuring, “Spring is still far away.”
Yet the silkworm maiden had already completed the gown—a resplendent purple, exquisitely crafted, brimming with immortal elegance.
It was breathtaking, even more beautiful than the one from her past life.
Fingering the fabric, she suddenly asked, “What if I want to wear white?”
Yan Chaosheng instructed the maiden, “Remake it.”
Liu Shuang hesitated.
“But… aren’t demon bridal gowns purple?”
He cupped her cheek, adoration in his gaze.
“It doesn’t matter. As long as you recognize it—recognize the union, recognize me.”
She paused, then nodded.
“Mm.”
Had she asked him in her past life, would his answer have been the same?
He hadn’t saved the purple gown for Mi Chu—back then, the little immortal plant had only recognized red.
With each revelation, she uncovered more of what she’d missed—and glimpsed the love buried beneath Yan Chaosheng’s cold-bloodedness.
But after Canglan’s fall and Bai Zhuixu’s death—all Yan Chaosheng’s doing—she could never view him with peace.
Clutching the gown, she said, “No need to remake it. I love it. The gown is trivial. But my father… what will you do?”
He smiled.
“Then I’ll beg Realm Lord—not for mercy, just to leave me with one breath. I’m thick-skinned and don’t fear pain.”
In this moment, Liu Shuang believed Yan Chaosheng no longer hated Kongsang.
He thought he’d won the greatest treasure.
To him, all past suffering was worth it.
But who truly doesn’t fear pain?
The young demon lord was so endearing—and so foolish.
