Chapter 79

Seven years later.

Piercing through endless brilliant rosy clouds, a melodious high-pitched crane cry rang out. Black and white crane wings swept across the sky as it flew upward, revealing the cold, imposing outline of a mountain cliff beneath its wings.

Clinging to the sheer stone walls of the cliff, various cliffside plants sprouted from cracks. Four radiant flowers attached to tree roots, while a sturdy pine tree bent low, casting forked shadows that swayed over a square, low slate table.

The blue-green stone platform was smooth as a mirror, carved into a complete chessboard surrounded by scattered cloud patterns.

On the chessboard, black and white pieces were scattered in an orderly fashion.

Shen Yu and Gu Changqing had just finished a game moments ago. The black pieces mounted a fierce offensive, but hidden weaknesses lurked behind, with their positions already infiltrated by the white pieces.

Gu Changqing sat with lowered eyes on one side, unfurling an ancient scroll in his hands as he examined it.

In recent years, the seals on the Demon Domain had grown increasingly loose. Numerous Demon Domain Rifts had opened, allowing demonic beasts and evil entities to flood into the human realm, signaling something ominous.

Word from the Demon Domain spoke of the newly appointed Demon Lord, whose methods were ruthlessly brutal. Those who submitted prospered, those who resisted perished. During his ascension, the entire Demon Domain had nearly drowned in rivers of blood.

With methods that brooked no resistance, he unified the Demon Domain’s deeply fragmented Sixteen Realms, building his throne on blood and countless corpses.

The Demon Lord’s first act upon taking power was to sever the head of Ti Ying—one of the Sixteen Demon Kings with the loudest opposition—bind it by the hair, and hang it from the walls leading to the Demon Domain’s capital city, devoid of any humanity.

The Sixteen Realms of the Demon Domain were ruled by sixteen ferociously powerful Demon Kings, each governing independently without interference.

It was precisely this fractured state that had allowed the major immortal sects to divide and conquer them years ago, ultimately sealing the entire Demon Domain beneath the southwestern region.

Now unified, the barriers of seals everywhere began to loosen, and this new Demon Lord was of unknown origin.

Gu Changqing frowned.

With storm clouds gathering and the air heavy enough to wring water from it, Taichu—as the foremost immortal sect—had long been devising countermeasures.

Mentioning the Demon Domain, Gu Changqing couldn’t help but rub his weary brow. His fingers gripped the edge of the scroll as he lifted his gaze to Shen Yu, who was playfully waving a pine branch.

Seven years ago, on that day, his junior brother had left Changliu with sword in hand. Though he didn’t know exactly what had happened, on the day Shen Yu returned, the Soul Lamp representing Wen Liuhe in Taichu’s Spirit Hall had extinguished.

For Taichu’s elders, this might have been a perfect account from Shen Yu. But what about for his junior brother himself?

Especially since, starting seven years ago, his junior brother’s cultivation had stagnated repeatedly.

By rights, severing emotions and desires—cutting off any worldly ties—should have solidified one’s Dao heart. Why had it utterly failed for his own junior brother?

Gu Changqing’s frown deepened.

The branch whistled through the air. With a long arm stretch, Shen Yu borrowed the wind to retract it.

Shen Yu hooked his lips, tossed aside the pine branch he’d casually plucked as a mock sword, and slumped onto the cold stone bench. Listlessly, he crossed his arms and sprawled over the stone table. His motion nudged the edge pieces, scattering the board slightly as stones clattered to the ground.

A few black and white pieces rolled off the table, bouncing to Shen Yu’s feet.

Shen Yu paid them no mind.

Over the seven years, his cultivation showed no progress—in fact, it faintly trended backward. Shen Yu let out a heavy sigh, a nameless frustration knotted in his chest.

And this at such a critical moment when the balance between immortals and demons teetered.

As Taichu’s sword bearer, one swing of his blade could level mountains and rivers, sweeping away hordes of demons to guard Taichu. Even without anyone saying it, Shen Yu knew countless eyes watched from all directions, scrutinizing his every word and deed.

How was his cultivation? His sword techniques? His Dao heart?

From the moment he took the peak lord token from his master, he no longer lived solely for himself. Shen Yu tilted his face up lazily toward Gu Changqing and said,

“Senior Brother, I feel like I’m really about to go to waste now.”

Gu Changqing knew he meant his cultivation. With his junior brother’s talent, once his Dao heart solidified, ascension would be a matter of decades.

But now, forget ascension—not even a hint of progress showed.

Gu Changqing turned to glance at him. “In this world, anyone might waste away, but not you.”

Shen Yu lifted his gaze. Gu Changqing’s tilt revealed a flash of red in Shen Yu’s sight.

Slightly surprised, Shen Yu focused and saw the red mark on Gu Changqing’s neck.

Shen Yu wasn’t some blank slate; he recognized it at a glance. A teasing smile curved his lips as he lightly changed the subject. “Senior Brother, planning to form a Dao companion bond with someone? Which family’s immortal maiden?”

Gu Changqing paused, following Shen Yu’s gaze to his own neck. He tugged uncomfortably at his collar to cover it. “No plans yet.”

Seeing Gu Changqing had no intention to elaborate, Shen Yu—curious as he was—didn’t press.

He spread his palm to catch the light filtering through the pine needles. Mottled, dim sunlight pooled in his hand like rippling, melted water.

Gu Changqing clapped his hands together, rolling up the scroll. He pursed his lips and tentatively suggested, “How about taking another disciple to change your mindset?”

Hearing Gu Changqing’s words, Shen Yu idly wiggled his fingers and surprisingly found the idea feasible.

“Good idea. I’m planning to go into secluded cultivation these next few days. Once I’m out, I’ll scout the outer sect.”

As dusk wove in like threads, Xu Buchan’s messenger paper crane flew from afar. It flapped its wings to a stop on Gu Changqing’s finger. He slowly stowed the scroll, stuffed Shen Yu with plenty of spirit artifacts and medicines, then stepped onto a cloud boat and departed.

Shen Yu’s waist tensed. One hand propped his chin while the other pinched a black stone between thumb and middle finger, slowly rubbing its smooth surface as he lost himself in thought.

So Senior Brother planned to walk the path of Dao verification through dual cultivation?

The sun sank westward, the light filtering through the pine gaps shifting with it. Suddenly, a set of footsteps—unusually heavy and hollow to a cultivator’s ears—sounded nearby.

The noise quickly snapped Shen Yu from his reverie. His pupils slid sideways toward the source.

It was the new rotating misc service disciple on Question Sword Peak from a few days ago. Exceptionally tall, he wore the outer sect disciple’s cyan robe fittingly, though his nature carried a servile air, head always bowed.

Shen Yu still hadn’t memorized his face.

Noticing his gaze, the man hurried forward and asked in a low voice, “Immortal Lord, do you need it cleaned up now?”

Shen Yu’s gaze swept the chessboard.

Bamboo-woven chess baskets flanked the board, their clear varnish as transparent and lustrous as years ago, like flowing water, making the carved immortals on the lids even more lifelike.

Shen Yu frowned.

How had he only now noticed that this one had been varnished by that boy too?

Shen Yu rarely played, so it saw little use. Seven years on, and he’d only just spotted it. He withdrew his gaze, dropped the black stone into the basket with his fingers, and replied to the misc role, “Clean it up.”

His tone was as lazily scattered as ever.

The same to everyone.

Receiving the answer, the misc role bent to sort the scattered black and white pieces on the board.

In his peripheral vision, that layer of varnish—now noticed—irritated him inexplicably, like a lingering ghost.

Shen Yu pursed his lips and added, “While you’re at it, re-varnish this chess basket.”

The misc role’s hand paused while picking up a white stone.

His bent posture shortened the distance between them abruptly. Mortals had turbid auras, and even new cultivators couldn’t escape it. Rotating misc roles were mostly outer sect disciples.

Shen Yu leaned back slightly to give him space, propping his chin with his hand. After a thought, he changed his mind. “Never mind. Just have someone swap it for a new one later.”

The misc role pursed his lips, lowering his eyelids.

In his view, the indolent man lounged casually, long legs stretched at an angle, yet his back remained straight as if supported by a sword along his spine. The front of his robes parted slightly outward, rising and falling with his breaths, revealing a glimpse of collarbone vanishing into the fabric.

The loose robes seemed to invite a rough, violent tear.

That saucy man remained oblivious, cat-like as he leaned back, his waistline accentuated by the belt, half a wrist seductively slipping from the sleeve.

No different from before.

Wen Liuhe pursed his lips. His throat went dry as he deliberately lowered his voice. “As the Immortal Lord commands.”

The voice was hoarse and grating, like someone who hadn’t spoken in years forcing out sound—not tone first, but raw breath.

Shen Yu looked at him.

The new misc role kept his head bowed. The angle he always presented to Shen Yu was uncanny—never allowing a full view of his face.

From fragmentary outlines, Shen Yu pieced together a face.

An utterly ordinary one, the sort lost in a crowd without a second glance.

Shen Yu treated people kindly, yet he always felt a subtle antipathy toward this one—likely because the man never looked up, giving off a faint air of eeriness.

As he thought this, the misc role suddenly leaned in close.

Their breaths tangled instantly, then parted.

The other picked up a black stone by Shen Yu’s elbow and dropped it into the basket with a crisp clink that rang in Shen Yu’s ear.

Overthinking it.

Shen Yu propped his chin, shifted his gaze away, and idly tapped the skin beside his cheek with a finger, looking into the distance.

Dusk sank into the clouds, slowly descending.

The sky was dyed gold and purple.

The scattered pieces on the bluestone chessboard were quickly tidied. That aura suddenly sank—he’d squatted down to pick up the stones that had rolled to the ground.

One by one, the fallen pieces were retrieved.

Shen Yu watched the sunset lazily, lost in thought—until—

A pair of scorching hands suddenly gripped his ankle.

The man’s palm burned hot, the searing temperature penetrating the fabric like a branding iron.

Shen Yu’s gaze stabbed toward him.

Noticing, the man—head still low—licked his dry lips and suggested with utmost sincerity, “Immortal Lord, there’s a black stone right under your foot. Let me pick it up for you now.”

Shen Yu raised a brow. His divine sense was powerful; a mere thought swept his Sea of Consciousness over all of Hearing Sword Peak, knowing all things—let alone whether a stone lay under his own foot.

What game was this man playing?

Shen Yu eyed the top of his head, hair bound simply with a wooden hairpin. From his angle, only the sharp jawline was visible.

Shen Yu’s Sea of Consciousness probed toward him swiftly, yet found nothing amiss.

No anomaly was the anomaly.

Some masking method at work—interesting.

Shen Yu yanked his gripped ankle free, then stomped mercilessly onto the man’s shoulder with a smile, teasing, “You said there was no stone. And even if there was, it’s picked up now. So what’s with still grabbing on?”

What was it?

Pain shot through the shoulder. The man, head low, gripped the ankle on his shoulder even tighter, his hoarse voice turning low and deep.

“What am I doing?”

Hearing Shen Yu’s words, those five fingers clamped like iron vise on his ankle bone, as if eager to replace the fabric and press dead against the skin beneath.

Fingertips rubbed inch by inch over the cloth.

The voice uncoiled like magnetism. Wen Liuhe’s tongue tip rolled ambiguously, piling the two audaciously rebellious words with ambiguous intimacy.

“Fuck you.”

Shen Yu’s back pressed against the cliff wall. Having lived over a century, he’d never met anyone so boldly audacious. His first reaction was blank incomprehension.

Realizing the neurotic malice and pleasure in the words, the smile didn’t fade from Shen Yu’s face, but the mirth in his rippling eyes vanished clean.

He narrowed his eyes, leg muscles tensing to wrench free and kick hard.

But it was yanked back viciously.

The strength was immense, ferocious—far beyond an ordinary misc role.

The smile faded three degrees from Shen Yu’s face.

“Heh.”

An ambiguous chuckle rose, seemingly mocking Shen Yu’s overestimation.

His ankle throbbed. Hearing the scorn in the laugh, Shen Yu’s upturned lips straightened, the last trace of amusement vanishing entirely.

With a short, contemptuous snort, the man finally raised his head to meet Shen Yu’s eyes directly.

Shen Yu collided with his gaze.

His heart jolted. At last, he understood why the man had never looked up at him.

Those were clearly the most ordinary pair of eyes, yet they resembled the gaze of a ghost starved for centuries or even millennia—far more terrifying than the most horrifying great demons and great devils that Shen Yu had ever slain.

They were clearly a pair of pitch-black eyes, yet due to the uncontrollable hunger and desire within them, they faintly glowed with a crimson, bloodthirsty aura.

The longer one stared into those eyes, the more it felt like stepping onto a scarlet battlefield fresh from slaughter.

Shen Yu’s heart raced, and the ominous premonition in his chest grew ever stronger. He stared deathly at the person before him, his voice carrying a tremor that no one else could detect. “Who are you?”

At his question, that face strangely broke into a maniacal grin.

With the smile, a thick mist suddenly materialized.

The cyan disciple robe ignited like it was burning, first flickering with scorching flames, then shifting from red to black until the entire garment transformed into black robes glowing with crimson light.

The skin twisted and warped like dough kneaded together, splitting into quarters before rapidly reshaping into a brand-new face.

Not a brand-new face.

To be precise, it was a familiar yet unfamiliar one.

Wen—

Shen Yu’s lips parted slightly before he immediately clamped them shut.

Wen Liuhe.

The man crouched on the ground like a ferocious beast, his physique now fully matured into an adult’s. One muscular, scorching-hot arm brushed over Shen Yu’s lean and taut waist, while his other hand gripped Shen Yu’s ankle tightly and hoisted it onto his shoulder.

He pressed down like a heavy bank of dark clouds, trapping Shen Yu in the narrow space formed by his body and the cliff wall.

In the distance, the last trace of gold vanished completely. The clouds shifted from pale blue to deep blue, then roiled into pitch black.

Shen Yu’s back pressed against the cliff wall, feeling the uneven, bumpy contours of its black surface.

In the night, the cliff resembled ink splashed across it, making the white-robed man leaning against it appear even more coldly pale-skinned. His ink-black hair scattered by the night wind, winding along his graceful neckline and the cyan veins of his throat downward.

Several strands tangled into the hollow of his collarbone, like slender fingers prying open the fabric, slipping into his collar, inching deeper to caress the valleys within.

Wen Liuhe tilted his head back. Though he gazed upward in a posture of looking up at someone, his brows and eyes burst with an aggressive determination that brooked no refusal as he stared fixedly at Shen Yu.

His gaze turned into pitch-black ropes. First, they bound the wrists high above the head, palms pressed together inward, wrapping around four times. Then they threaded from behind the back under the armpits, looping back to the front chest, winding around the collarbone, chest, waist, and abdomen before knotting tight—

Thus, step by step, the beautiful and powerful man was drawn tight and bound.

Until he was completely under his control.

It would have been even better if the tip of that icy Evil-Exorcising Sword hadn’t been pressed against his shoulder.

Wen Liuhe licked his dry lips and smiled at Shen Yu.

“Shizun, I’ve come to claim my reward from you.”