Thriving after the Moon Falls (I Can’t Possibly Take Pity On A Demon) - Chapter 97
Chapter 97
Liu shuang was imprisoned in the Ghost Realm and had no expectation that anyone would visit her.
Zhan Xueyang’s arrival was an unexpected delight.
Coupled with his sense of guilt toward her, it presented a perfect opportunity.
Seeing her relatively calm demeanor, Zhan Xueyang asked, “You don’t blame me?”
Liu shuang looked at him.
“Would Sir release me out of guilt?”
Zhan Xueyang shook his head without hesitation.
“Exactly,” Liu shuang said.
“Since Sir won’t let me go, no matter how much regret or anger I feel, it’s futile. If possible, could Sir answer a few questions for me? After this, let bygones be bygones.”
Zhan Xueyang fell silent for a moment.
“Go ahead and ask.”
In truth, Zhan Xueyang was different from Su Lun and the others.
He was born in Mount You.
At the moment of his birth, his father’s legacy passed to him, and his mother died.
The sand people of Mount You raised him.
He had not experienced much of the suffering of demons wandering the mortal world.
Assisting Yan Chaosheng in rescuing all demons from their plight was not his personal desire but a mission imprinted in his blood—one he had no choice but to fulfill.
Once desperate to escape Mount You, now that the mountain lay in ruins, he no longer harbored any lingering obsessions.
Thus, his malice toward Liu shuang had greatly diminished.
Zhan Xueyang did not dislike this immortal maiden.
He was a healer who saved lives and his heart was never truly wicked to begin with.
However, Zhan Xueyang’s sense of duty remained.
He could not let Liu shuang go.
There was still the power of the Huiling they needed… within her.
The most he could do was ensure Liu shuang was treated as kindly as possible during her imprisonment in the Ghost Realm.
Liu shuang asked, “I want to know, what would happen if the five spiritual veins were merged?”
Zhan Xueyang’s expression shifted.
Liu shuang’s gaze burned as she stared at him.
She was inexplicably certain that Zhan Xueyang knew this secret.
Unlike Su Lun and the other great demons, Zhan Xueyang possessed true ancient bloodline heritage.
With his inherited memories, he must have records of such matters.
She had long suspected something.
In her past life, Yan Chaosheng waged wars everywhere, even though the demon and ghost realms were already stable enough, and demons had secured lands to survive.
If it were merely for a place to exist, Yan Chaosheng wouldn’t have fought so desperately, nor would Feng Fuming have been locked in a centuries-long stalemate with him.
Everyone claimed Yan Chaosheng and Feng Fuming fought for Mi Chu.
Yet, after her accidental journey seven hundred years into the past, she realized this wasn’t the case.
Neither of them cared about Mi Chu now, Feng Fuming hadn’t even married her.
Yet the wars continued.
What drove Yan Chaosheng to repeatedly attack the minor immortal lands? Was he truly born warlike?
No.
There had to be a reason she didn’t know.
Over the years, she had pondered this and noticed a common detail she had overlooked—
When Kongsang was annihilated in her past life, the spiritual veins had not yet dried up.
Later, after the immortal realms perished, the remaining spiritual veins were divided among countless minor realms.
Yan Chaosheng’s centuries of conquests had targeted them.
Now, Feng Fuming used every means to force Shaoyou and her to submit.
Both sides were collecting spiritual veins!
Feng Fuming’s rapid progress in cultivation must be tied to the spiritual veins!
When Liu shuang posed this question, Zhan Xueyang’s earlier guilt vanished, replaced by a cold glare.
“Warming artifacts will be delivered shortly. Take care, Immortal.”
“Sir, wait!” Liu shuang called out.
“I won’t force you. I only wish to propose an exchange. Three years ago, while I was healing in Mount You, you asked me if I had seen an immortal maiden who favored red robes. At the time, I said no. However, in the past two years, while searching for an artifact, I came across a story that might help you find her.”
Zhan Xueyang froze, his lips trembling.
Liu shuang gathered the chess pieces, waiting for him to turn back.
A millennia-long obsession and for someone as single-minded as Zhan Xueyang, if he could have let go so easily, he wouldn’t have exhausted every means to escape Mount You.
He had waited for that person for thousands of years, through countless seasons.
Now, Liu shuang’s words were the closest he had ever come to finding her.
After a long silence—so long that Liushuang thought he might refuse, he slumped back into his seat.
She smiled inwardly, waiting for him to speak.
He said, “Since you can’t leave the Ghost Realm anyway, forget what you hear today. The world knows this much: After the ancient Emperor who ruled the Eight Wilderness died, one spiritual vein was divided—four went to the major immortal realms, and one was lost in the Weak Water. Since then, those who possessed the spiritual veins thrived, cultivating immortality and achieving eternal life. The spiritual veins contain the Great Dao, infinite power, capable of destroying heaven and earth.”
Liu shuang nodded.
“But they don’t know the truth behind it. The ancient war between gods and demons is now a fragmented scroll. In the heritage I received, there is such a record.”
Zhan Xueyang recounted slowly, “On the day the Demon God sacrificed himself to the Path of Sorrow, all things turned to spring. His spiritual energy coalesced into a surging demonic vein, providing demons with an eternal source of cultivation.”
“There were no more demons. The Goddess Li Susu, to prevent the rise of a new Demon God and ensure the Eight Wilderness’s peace, merged her divine blood and her daughter’s into the demonic vein. From then on, the demonic vein flowed endlessly, bringing millennia of harmony and becoming what later generations called the spiritual veins. The spiritual veins were kneaded into the Soil of Life (Xirang), forming seas upon landing. There were no more gods or demons. The Demon God and Goddess retreated to Xiaoyao Sect, never again involving themselves in worldly affairs.”
Liu shuang had been engrossed in his tale. Ancient history had become fragmented, leaving behind only the legendary romance between the gods and demons.
She never expected to hear the rest of the story from Zhan Xueyang.
That the spiritual veins were originally… demonic veins.
By the end, her expression changed abruptly.
“You’re saying the spiritual veins were originally the Demon God’s entire spiritual energy?!”
Her voice rose as she stood up.
Zhan Xueyang lowered his head, silent.
Liu shuang’s expression was grim.
If the spiritual veins were ever merged, did that mean someone could extract the ancient Demon God’s power from them?
A Demon God that even the heavens and gods could not suppress and if such a being were to reappear, would there be any hope for the people of the Eight Wilderness? So this was the kind of ruler Feng Fuming and Yan Chaosheng aspired to become.
Of course.
As the Demon God, who would dare defy them? Who in the Eight Wilderness would refuse to submit? Back when the Demon God still walked the earth, the ancient immortals had lived like startled birds, without even a place to call home and some were even turned into the Ten Thousand Soul Tombs!
She sucked in a sharp breath, her fingertips turning icy.
Liu shuang couldn’t imagine whether Yan Chaosheng had succeeded in her past life.
Back then, he seemed to have already obtained three spiritual veins.
If not for the incident with Mi Chu, who knew what the Eight Wilderness would have become?
“No, that’s not right,” Liu shuang murmured.
“The spiritual veins were originally merged, not separated. Yet no one has ever been able to draw the Demon God’s power from them. That doesn’t make sense…unless there’s something that can extract the spiritual veins from the Soil of Life and make them usable. The Demon God… an eternal Demon God must possess another kind of power.”
Slowly, she turned her gaze to Zhan Xueyang.
At that moment, he had to admit he felt the urge to flee in panic.
His heart pounded wildly as he heard her say, “It’s the Huiling power… The Demon God transformed his indestructible power into the Huiling, didn’t he?”
—
That day, Zhan Xueyang fled Liu shuang’s palace in disarray.
Even in the end, he couldn’t figure out how she had guessed the truth about the Huiling power.
There was no connection between the two.
He hadn’t dared to stay and listen any longer, certain that the Demon Lord would skin him alive.
He had said nothing, yet Liu shuang had pieced it all together.
He didn’t know if she was aware that she herself was the Huiling Heart, the key to refining the Demon God’s power from the spiritual veins.
This is a disaster, he thought.
He had gone to visit Liu shuang to ease his conscience, to offer her some comfort.
Instead, he had spilled secrets, and now she seemed to know everything—things she should and shouldn’t have learned.
Even Meng Ji’s curse no longer unsettled him.
Dejected, he trudged on—until the next day, when the Ghost Realm needed to send an envoy out.
To Kongsang.
With Kunlun’s spiritual vein now all but lost, Kongsang still held one.
This time, Zhan Xueyang pushed aside Fu Heng and volunteered, drawing a rare glance from Yan Chaosheng.
Before setting off, he lingered outside Liu shuang’s palace, then gritted his teeth and went inside.
When he emerged, he carried a message she had written for him.
Years ago, during her travels, she had heard that the red-robed immortal maiden he spoke of had once appeared in the eastern Changliu Immortal Mountain.
Clutching that cold, impersonal letter, Zhan Xueyang led a troop of ghost soldiers out of the Ghost Realm the next day.
It had been so long—he no longer remembered her name, nor could he clearly recall her face.
Only the stubbornness of his youth, the days and nights of waiting, had kept him alive until now.
Unlike his ancestors, he had not sought just any woman to marry and bear children, breaking free of his fate.
—
On the evening after Zhan Xueyang’s departure, Yan Chaosheng finished his duties and went to Liu shuang’s palace.
Today, she had opened the window and was practicing calligraphy.
He approached silently.
Since the day she had hugged him and apologized, he had not set foot here again, keeping her imprisoned but never visiting.
Outside, the wind howled, and ghost crows cried mournfully.
She sat by the window, her brushstrokes elegant and graceful.
Absorbed in her writing, she didn’t notice his arrival, her spiritual energy now gone.
He had come often during this time, standing in silence, never letting her know he was there and sometimes staying the entire night.
Her delicate face was pale under the dim light.
Yan Chaosheng stared at the paper.
Immortals had no interest in such mortal pastimes.
He remembered her as an immortal grass, raised by humans.
Back then, he had watched from afar, never approaching, witnessing a life that no longer belonged to him.
His heart swelled with both joy and pain.
Across the span of years, he had defied the heavens just to see her again and only for her to no longer love him.
The mingling of jealousy and heartache rooted him to the doorway as memories of the past surfaced.
Once, she had watched him from afar just like this, tentatively asking:
“Has husband finished his duties today?”
“Does husband have time to dine with me?”
“Husband, I made a glass lantern for you…”
Back then, he had always brushed her off with distracted impatience, frowning.
“There are still matters to discuss. Go on without me.”
In those days, still ignorant of love, he had scorned her clinginess as childish.
Later, she learned to be the perfect, unobtrusive wife and sometimes only watching him from behind pillars like a forlorn little pup.
Once, when he glanced back, her eyes had lit up, her entire face blossoming into a radiant smile at the mere sight of his attention.
The memories blurred at the edges now.
Unconsciously, his fingers dug into the wooden beam beside him until the pain bit deep.
He ached to seize her shoulders, to growl: It’s me. Look at me again. Just once—look at me!
But he could do nothing.
Yan Chaosheng lowered his lashes, their shadows falling like a shroud.
Is this truly retribution?
Outside, the gale howled as ghost crows shrieked.
A sudden gust sent the papers on her desk fluttering, making her pause her brush and turn—
