Thriving after the Moon Falls (I Can’t Possibly Take Pity On A Demon) - Chapter 87
Chapter 87
Liu Shuang’s dwelling outside the Ghost Realm was called the Guanhua Cottage. Amid his busy schedule, Bai Yuxiao managed to carve out a day to visit her and Bai Zhuixu before rushing back to Kongsang.
“The rumors outside are true—Feng Fuming is about to go to war with Jimo Shaoyou,” he said in a hushed, grave tone.
“If Jimo Shaoyou wins, fine. But if he loses, Kongsang will likely be next. The Lord’s temper has been terrible lately.”
“In the past, when Kongsang had no spiritual veins, Father could remain calm. But now that the spiritual vein issue is resolved, all anyone sees is the immediate power.”
Bai Yuxiao sneered.
“Exactly. I’ve got to head back now. Take care of yourself.”
“Wait,” Liu Shuang said.
“Let me pack a few things from my cottage. I’ll return to Kongsang with you.”
Bai Yuxiao was stunned.
Ever since Yan Chaosheng’s death in Kongsang and Liu Shuang’s release of the demon race, she had never returned to Kongsang, instead spending her time rescuing little demons outside.
Why the sudden change of heart?
“The more power Feng Fuming amasses, the less room there is for others in this world. Right now, it’s just the demons, but soon, even the immortals will face the same fate. Those who submit prosper; those who resist perish. The immortals under his command slaughter others freely—how is that any different from evil running rampant? Father still refuses to let go of his dream of becoming the Heavenly Lord. It’s time he woke up.”
With that, she turned and went inside to pack.
Bai Yuxiao stood outside, realizing how much she had grown over the years—not just in cultivation, but in wisdom as well.
Soon, Liu Shuang emerged.
“Let’s go.”
Bai Yuxiao blinked.
“That’s all you’re taking?”
A massive black sword, heavy and unwieldy, clashed starkly with her delicate figure.
Aside from that, she cradled a lamp, guarding it as carefully as if it were her own life essence.
The lamp was still lit.
Bai Yuxiao hadn’t been idle these past few years either.
With his elder brother gone, the responsibility of upholding the family now fell on him.
He took one look and paled.
“The Ancient Soul-Lantern?! How did you get your hands on that?!”
Liu Shuang didn’t expect him to recognize it.
“It’s not the Soul-Lantern. You’re mistaken.”
Bai Yuxiao nearly laughed in frustration, making a grab for it.
“You think you can control the Soul-Lantern?! Toss it away—extinguish the soul-flame inside!”
Liu Shuang dodged his hand.
“Hey, do you still want to go back or not?”
Bai Yuxiao glared at her, eyes red with fury.
“How dare you mess with something like this?! Listen to me,put it out. You can’t possibly be lighting the way for someone who’ll never return. It burns your heart’s blood. How much of that do you even have left?”
Liu Shuang still shielded the lamp, smiling faintly.
“It’s fine. I know my limits. Second Young Master, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you throw a fit. Quite nostalgic. Don’t worry—I’ll only keep this lantern lit for three years. This is the third year. If nothing changes by then… I’ll extinguish it myself.”
“Hmph. You’d better keep your word.”
The journey back was tense, Bai Yuxiao’s face dark as thunder over the Soul-Lantern.
When Liu Shuang poked him, he slapped her hand away, thoroughly incensed.
She knew exactly why he was angry.
Gazing down at the lamp in her arms, she sighed softly.
Three years ago, she had gone through hell to obtain this lamp—for Yan Chaosheng.
Its origins were no less legendary than divine artifacts, yet far more treacherous.
Legend had it that after the Phoenix Goddess perished in mortal form, the Demon God Tantai jin acquired it, intending to revive her.
But when the Phoenix was reborn through nirvana, the lamp became obsolete, left to gather dust in the ancient sect, Xiaoyao Zong.
The Soul-Lantern was originally a tool for summoning and reviving souls.
But since it had been tainted by the Demon God’s heart’s blood, using it now came with unimaginable suffering.
The day she lit the lamp for Yan Chaosheng, she had only one thought: that fiery-eyed youth who had done no wrong, who had died clutching the wedding robes he promised to marry her in come spring. She had hated the Demon Lord so much that she never treated that boy kindly. The image of him tugging at her sleeve in unwillingness as he died haunted her dreams, leaving her no peace.
Liu Shuang thought she had to do something—not for the Demon Lord who had betrayed her, but for the young Yan Chaosheng.
She lit this lamp, knowing that as long as she fed it with her heart’s blood or spiritual energy, there was a slim chance he could be revived, no matter where in the Eight Wilderness his soul lingered.
But three years had passed.
He hadn’t returned.
Her cultivation and nearly depleted spiritual energy could no longer sustain the lamp’s flame.
By the end of the month, it would extinguish on its own.
And Liu Shuang couldn’t linger here forever—there were more important things to do, for her people and for his.
Her pale fingers brushed the lamp, her gaze tranquil.
I can’t wait for you anymore, she thought.
I’m sorry, Yan Chaosheng.
The one thing she tried to do for that boy, even in death, she had failed.
—
When Congxia found the two children, Yun Ling and Yun Yang, they were being harassed by minor ghosts.
She strode over, lips curling.
“Time to work again.”
After driving off the ghosts, she muttered, “Since I’m the one bringing them back, the credit’s mine.”
Leading the children to the Ghost Realm palace, she declared, “From now on, you’ll live here. Train hard, grow into mighty demons, and one day, we’ll crush that bastard Feng Fuming.”
The boys gaped at her.
She grinned.
“Let me introduce myself. I am Congxia, Left Guardian under the former Mountain Lord.”
Of course, this imposing title was pure fabrication—something she made up to intimidate new recruits.
Even in death, Yan Chaosheng’s name carried more weight than hers.
After all, Yan Chaosheng was the only being in tens of thousands of years who had ever defeated a Heavenly Lord.
“Lady Congxia,” the older boy exclaimed excitedly, “I remember you! You’re still alive!”
Congxia was surprised but quickly pieced together their story.
Turned out they were the children of former generals from the Demon Palace.
How unpredictable fate was.
“Lady Congxia,” the younger boy asked innocently, nibbling his finger, “was that kind sister who saved us sent by you?”
Congxia knew exactly who he meant.
Without a shred of guilt, she claimed the credit.
“Of course.”
She deserved this much, Congxia thought.
Her lord had died because of that woman.
Everything Liu Shuang did now was atonement.
The demons shouldn’t feel grateful to her—they should be thanking her, Congxia, who had managed them so well these past three years.
She’d never admit how dangerous and exhausting it was to rescue demons outside or how safe life in the Ghost Realm was compared to the outside world.
All that mattered was that now, whenever the demons mentioned that calamitous beauty of an immortal, they cursed her.
But when they spoke of Congxia? Nothing but gratitude.
What a shame the Mountain Lord was gone.
Otherwise, she’d be living in glory now, with no one to challenge her position as the Mountain Lord’s wife.
As they ventured deeper, the Ghost Realm palace stood pristine, nearly identical to the one in the Demon Mountain.
The two demon children were visibly moved, especially the older boy, who bit his lip, eyes wet.
After wandering homeless, returning to a place like this was beyond their wildest dreams.
When Congxia had first seen this place, led by Liu Shuang, she’d been just as stunned.
Turns out, even while trapping Yan Chaosheng, this immortal had already prepared a refuge for the other demons.
Back then, Liu Shuang had brought them here in a cloak, never showing her face again in the three years that followed.
She only occasionally left demons at the Ghost Realm’s gates, instructing Congxia to retrieve them.
The credit for this sanctuary naturally fell to Congxia, since Liu Shuang never revealed herself.
And Liu Shuang didn’t seem to mind—as long as the demons survived, that was enough.
Emboldened, Congxia took all the glory, becoming the most revered figure among the demons, a goddess in their eyes.
The flattery went to her head, making her complacent.
She grew lax in guarding the Ghost Realm’s borders.
Then, not long after Liu Shuang left, a demon rushed in, face ashen.
“Bad news! We’ve detected immortal energy within the Ghost Realm! Feng Fuming will soon discover our hideout!”
Cong Xia shot to her feet.
What?!
She couldn’t help but blame Liu Shuang for failing to secure the Ghost Realm’s entrance, allowing the immortals to find them.
But there was no time for that now.
“P-prepare for battle!” she stammered.
“Can we still track down that immortal soldier?”
With Yan Chaosheng and the former great demons gone, if Feng Fuming attacked, they were all doomed.
Even Su Lun had been lost in that last battle.
The young demon shook his head fearfully.
“By the time I sensed the energy, it was already fading.”
Congxia had no choice but to steel herself.
“Send a team after them. No—I’ll go myself.”
If they couldn’t catch up, they’d have to flee and find a new hiding place—fast!
She took a few skilled demons and gave chase.
Lives were at stake, so they pushed their limits—and actually caught up.
But the immortal soldiers numbered in the dozens, with several generals among them.
What now? Silence them all? More like, who’d be silencing whom?
Congxia hesitated, repeatedly considering whether to just cut her losses and run.
At least she’d survive.
If these soldiers reported back to Feng Fuming, escaping later might be impossible.
But before she could retreat, a gale-force wind erupted.
The demons beside her stared wide-eyed at the sudden upheaval.
Congxia followed their gaze.
As the wind died down, all the immortal soldiers lay dead—heads severed, bodies mutilated in brutal fashion.
They hadn’t even had time to resist, their eyes still open, blood pooling around them.
Where the black miasma passed, trees withered instantly, as if corroded.
Birds fled in panic, their cries piercing the air.
An overwhelming pressure descended, so oppressive it forced them to their knees, invoking instinctive submission.
Congxia’s mind went blank.
By the time she regained her senses, she and her subordinates were already prostrate on the ground, trembling under the weight of that aura.
Something… something even more terrifying than Feng Fuming had emerged.
Her teeth chattered as she mustered the courage to peek.
As the black mist dispersed, a tall figure stepped forward.
Bloodied sand still swirled in the wind, lifting the hem of his robes.
His gaze was icy and cruel as he looked down at them, standing atop the carnage.
Silver scales glimmered faintly at the corners of his eyes, like exquisite jade inlays, accentuating his savage beauty.
His feet didn’t touch the ground, as if he were an illusion, radiating an aura of death even more potent than the Ghost Realm’s.
Congxia recognized that face.
Her mind went utterly blank.
“M-M-Mountain…”
She stuttered, unable to finish.
The man coldly assessed her before glancing at the corpses littering the ground.
With a flick of his hand, the bodies dissolved into nothingness.
His arrogance and indifference should have been infuriating, yet no one dared feel slighted.
It was as if such demeanor was his birthright.
His lips curled, voice frigid.
“Have you forgotten who I am?”
From behind him, someone stepped forward, grinning.
“Mountain what? From now on, address him as Demon Lord. Long time no see, Butterfly Demon. Still alive, huh?”
“Su Lun!”
Now Congxia was sure she wasn’t dreaming.
Not only was this real, but emerging behind Yan Chaosheng were all the familiar faces from back then—Su Lun, Fuheng, even the great demons who had gone missing.
They followed respectfully behind him.
The massive Qingluan, now majestic and imposing, stood beside a crimson one, their necks entwined affectionately.
The crimson bird’s talons gleamed like deadly blades.
And then there was a man in strange attire, hefting an axe.
He smirked.
“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Zhan Xueyang, Lord of You Mountain.”
—
By the twelfth month of winter, more and more ghost cultivators flocked to the Ghost Realm palace, bearing treasures to curry favor.
They all knew—an terrifying entity now resided within those halls.
On the very first day of his arrival, his aura alone had made the wailing souls of the Ghost River howl in unison, their agonized submission echoing throughout the River of Three Crossings.
The chaotic Eight Wilderness had unwittingly ushered in a new era.
