Chapter 100

Night fell, and the Thunder King’s estate blazed with lanterns. The festivities were so loud, they echoed through the entire city. In the Demon Realm, black symbolized power, so weddings and major ceremonies were always held after dark.
From the moment the sky dimmed, firecrackers began exploding outside the Thunder King’s gates. As the auspicious hour drew near, celebrants filled the streets. In the sky above, fireworks bloomed in dazzling bursts. When the glowing embers fell, they transformed into shimmering red blessing charms.
Some charms carried candy, others small demon crystals. Children chased them in giddy packs through the alleys and markets. The entire city swelled with joy.
Luo Han and Ling Qingxiao had changed into their formal Celestial Realm attire and now sat in the banquet hall, quietly awaiting the ceremony.
Where the Demon Realm favored black, the Celestial Realm revered white. All formal wear—whether for celebration, sacrifice, or state—was based on white. But Luo Han’s gown was no simple diaphanous robe. Hers was made of Yunzhong Brocade, the most refined fabric woven by the Sky Weavers.
This brocade was crafted from dawn mist—those few strands of pale, pristine cloud that lingered in the east just before the sun rose. If the sky turned red or grew overcast, it could no longer be harvested. As a result, the brocade shimmered pure white but, under movement, gave off faint flows of golden light. It was one of the most luxurious materials in the Celestial Realm.
Her inner robe was entirely made of this brocade. Loose and flowing on the outside, the garment was fitted and structured beneath. She wore a wide-sleeved overcoat with a floor-length hem. Beneath it, her inner gown was cross-collared, waist-bound, and slim-sleeved, only flaring out at the skirt into layers of weighty folds.
When seated on a cushion, the hem billowed like clouds. The wide sleeves parted just enough to reveal the elegant lines of the fitted skirt beneath, pressing the fabric down so it would never spread unseemly as she walked.
Layer upon layer, silk over brocade—her entire appearance radiated grace and majesty.
Dressed entirely in white, Luo Han should have seemed overly plain—but the luminous sheen of her robes shimmered under the lights, dancing with colors like flowing water. Golden embroidery traced the edges of her sleeves and collar, giving her an air of elegant restraint and understated nobility.
Ling Qingxiao wore matching ceremonial attire, the traditional white of the Celestial Realm. His robe was fitted at the waist with a jade belt; though the sleeves were wide, the lines of his figure remained tall and refined—graceful, yet commanding. Upon closer inspection, faint azure patterns adorned his cuffs: the insignia of the Zhongshan Clan. If one looked carefully, they might even glimpse the subtle outlines of mountains and rivers woven into the fabric—none other than the likeness of Mount Zhongshan itself.
Ceremonial garb in the Celestial Realm followed strict customs. Ling Qingxiao's robes weren’t merely decorative—the patterns signified status and lineage. All those from the Celestial entourage had donned their formal attire. Among the sea of darkly dressed demonfolk, only the corner where the Celestial Realm sat gleamed in white—standing out starkly like a solitary snow peak in a sea of ash.
As more guests filtered into the grand hall, nearly all of them cast curious glances toward the radiant white of the Celestial seating. Luo Han and Ling Qingxiao sat side by side, far more striking than even the bride and groom clad in black.
Soon, the auspicious hour neared. Suddenly, music and drums surged outside. Everyone knew—the wedding was about to begin. The demon guests ceased their chatter and took their seats. Luo Han and Ling Qingxiao straightened, focusing intently on what was to come.
Yun Menghan and Ye Zhongyu entered the grand hall, walking solemnly down the crimson carpet. Yun Menghan wore an elaborate demon coronet; her robes were long, heavy, and regal. Already slender, she now looked as though the ceremonial garb might crush her entirely.
Beside her, Ye Zhongyu wore ornate formal wear. His naturally imposing features matched well with the black garb of the demon clan. But there was no joy on his face—none of the radiance one might expect from a groom. He looked more like someone fulfilling an obligation.
Though the hall was packed with guests and festive music rang loud, the bride looked pale and frail while the groom remained cold and unapproachable. The contrast between the splendor and the couple’s lifeless demeanor gave rise to an eerie dissonance.
Luo Han almost sighed aloud. She turned slightly, intending to exchange a glance with Ling Qingxiao, only to find that he was watching the proceedings with great focus. But oddly enough, his attention wasn’t on the bride or groom—instead, he was examining the decorations, music, and the general layout of the venue.
He’s really inspecting the ceremony setup? Luo Han was at a loss for words.
Amid the tense yet festive atmosphere, the couple performed their rituals, exchanged vows, and were officially declared husband and wife. With the formalities complete, Yun Menghan was escorted to the rear palace, while Ye Zhongyu remained to host the guests. From this point on, the bride was no longer needed.
As Yun Menghan departed, the hall's atmosphere grew livelier. A group of dancers descended gracefully from above, landing on the raised platform where the couple had just bowed. As soon as their feet touched the stage, the music abruptly shifted. The dancers—slim-waisted and bare-legged—spun swiftly in unison, clapping rhythmically to the beat as they twirled.
The mood in the hall ignited in an instant. The solemn ceremony turned into a raucous celebration of drink and desire. Seductive demon women flowed in from the outer corridors, pouring wine at each table. Ye Zhongyu changed into lighter clothes and moved among acquaintances, toasting guests.
With wine flowing and flirtation thick in the air, the demonfolk grew increasingly crude. Ye Zhongyu may have joined the Demon Realm, but Yun Menghan remained of Celestial blood. A demon taking a Celestial woman as wife was enough to spark an endless stream of vulgar commentary.
Even the section where the Celestials sat, though relatively quiet, wasn’t immune. Luo Han could still catch fragments of unpleasant phrases drifting her way. She could feel prying eyes. Unwilling to be the subject of idle gossip, she leaned over and murmured to Ling Qingxiao, “I’m going to check on the bride.”
He gave a curt nod, clearly not wanting her to linger here either. “Be careful.”
Luo Han rose and slipped toward the bridal chambers. Compared to the lively front hall, the newlyweds’ quarters were eerily quiet. On her way, she saw only a few maids and no other guests.
As she drew closer, she began to hear voices—faint but sharp.
“…Why are you here? This is mine and Zhongyu’s wedding chamber.”
Yun Menghan’s voice. The one responding was a maid—young, brash, her tone practically screeching with arrogance. “Young Master Ye’s just been playing with you. You really thought you were the official wife? If Miss hadn’t pitied you and backed off, do you think someone like you would’ve made it to the altar?”
From the sound of it, “Miss” clearly referred to Su Yinyue. Luo Han raised a brow and quietly stopped at the threshold, deciding not to interrupt.
Inside, Yun Menghan’s anger boiled over. “Insolent! I am Ye Zhongyu’s lawful wife, married in broad daylight under all customs. Who are you to speak to me this way?”
The maid sneered, “So what if you’re the ‘wife’? Our lady is Young Master Ye’s true love. They’ve shared life and death together. He said so himself—our lady matters more to him than his own life. You’re the outsider who forced her way in. What right do you have to compare with Miss Su?”
“You—” Yun Menghan was so furious, she couldn’t even find words. At that moment, Su Yinyue’s delicate voice drifted in softly, “Don’t be rude. My cousin asked me to come speak with Lady Yun—not to insult her. Oh, that’s right...it’s ‘Lady’ now, isn’t it?”
Her voice was faint, accompanied by a few coughing fits—frail and pitiful. Yun Menghan took a deep breath, trying her best to remain calm. “Su Yinyue, I met Zhongyu back in Zhongshan. You know full well who came first. Today is my wedding day. I don’t want to argue. If you’ve come to offer sincere congratulations, I’ll accept them. If not, then please leave.”
Su Yinyue let out a delicate laugh, dripping with scorn. “Zhongshan? I’ve known my cousin since before you were even born. We grew up together—perfectly matched in background and status. Everyone always said we were a perfect pair. And you? A lowborn cultivator from the lower heavens? What gives you the right to fight me for him?”
“You’re shameless!” Yun Menghan was usually meek, yet even she couldn’t help lashing out now. “Zhongyu and I have been devoted to each other from the start. If you hadn’t clung to him like a pest, we wouldn’t have been delayed all this time. We’re married now—are you really going to keep clinging? Yes, your background is noble, your status unmatched, but is this what your family taught you? To shamelessly entangle yourself with another woman’s husband without title or name?”
Su Yinyue had never been one to hold back. At Yun Menghan’s accusation, her face twisted with fury. Her voice turned icy and venomous, every word like a blade slicing straight through Yun Menghan’s skin:
"I’m shameless? Then tell me—who was it that rolled around with a man in the wilderness, no proper betrothal, no rites? Who was it throwing herself at him like a common plaything, used and discarded at a whim?!"
Yun Menghan’s expression crumbled. Her lips turned ghostly pale. “Y-You...how do you know about that?”
Su Yinyue gave a mirthless smile, her complexion bloodless and frail as ever, but her eyes shone with manic brilliance, like a candle burning too fast. “How do I know? Not only do I know—I’ve got a memory stone. If I make copies and pass them out to the demon guests outside...tell me, will you still be seen as the proper wife then?”
All color drained from Yun Menghan’s face. Her limbs went cold. Snapping, she shoved Su Yinyue hard. “You’re insane!”
Su Yinyue nearly stumbled to the ground. She clutched her chest, gasping for breath like she couldn’t even draw air. A maid shrieked and pointed furiously. “Vile woman! What are you doing to Miss Su?!”
Yun Menghan froze. Her hands hung in midair, helpless and trembling. “I didn’t touch her—I didn’t even lay a finger on her!”
But the maid was already screeching, running toward the main hall to raise alarm. Just as she reached the doorway, she abruptly went limp, collapsing with a dull thud across the threshold.
Yun Menghan’s eyes widened in shock. Had Su Yinyue...set her up again?
She lunged forward, trying to stop the maid—but other attendants rushed in and restrained her. Before she could struggle free, the reporting maid fainted of her own accord.
“What...what’s happening?” she gasped.
Su Yinyue’s expression turned grim. “Who’s there?” she snapped sharply.
A familiar voice floated in from the door. “Ye Zhongyu? Oh, please. He’s far too busy charming demon women at the banquet to remember either of you.”
Luo Han strolled in, casting a lazy glance across the room. “It was me.”
Both Su Yinyue and Yun Menghan stiffened in place. The tension that had escalated just moments ago immediately cooled.
Su Yinyue’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why are you here?”
She wasn’t afraid of her parents, or the Demon Clan, or even Ye Zhongyu. Yun Menghan didn’t even register on her radar. But Luo Han? Luo Han she feared.
There was something about this woman that bred unease. No one knew where Luo Han had come from, who her parents were—one day, she had simply appeared beside Ling Qingxiao, as if fate itself had plucked her from the void.
And each time they crossed paths, Luo Han’s cultivation would leap forward again.
Su Yinyue remembered the first time she saw her—barely capable of sword flight, wholly reliant on Ling Qingxiao’s protection. She recalled when Luo Han first attempted a binding spell during their battle with the Yayu at Mount Zhongshan.
But then...it was as if a dam broke. Her cultivation surged at terrifying speed. By the time they met at the Western Sea, Luo Han had already outpaced her.
Now, three years later, Su Yinyue could no longer sense the depths of her cultivation at all. That only meant one thing: Luo Han had ascended far beyond her reach—likely by an entire major realm.
It was absurd. Ridiculous. And deeply terrifying.
Unpredictable background, unpredictable power...even her motives were unreadable. Su Yinyue couldn’t help but be wary.
Luo Han bypassed the unconscious maid on the ground, waved her sleeve, and every other servant in the room dropped into slumber as if on cue. In the blink of an eye, only three remained awake.
Yun Menghan and Su Yinyue stiffened like prey before a storm. But Luo Han showed no change in expression. She strolled forward, unhurried, as if what she'd just done was as trivial as brushing off dust.
“You two are in here tearing each other apart, while Ye Zhongyu is outside getting handsy with every demon courtesan in sight,” Luo Han said calmly. “I won’t comment on who’s the third party. But let me just say—no matter who came first, all of this still leads back to him.”
She looked at them meaningfully.
“If you’ve got curses to throw, why not aim them at Ye Zhongyu?”
Su Yinyue’s face darkened. She said nothing.
Yun Menghan frowned tightly and finally said, “This is our private matter. Miss Luo, you’re an outsider. You don’t understand the full story.”
“I see,” Luo Han replied with a nod. “No wonder he acts with such impunity. You’ve trained him well.”
Her tone turned slightly mocking. “All three of you chose one another. So don’t go blaming each other now. Actually...it’s perfect. Ye Zhongyu is such a wonderful man—you two better make sure to keep him safe.”
Since Luo Han entered, both Su Yinyue and Yun Menghan had been visibly off-balance. Su Yinyue had always been proud of her noble bloodline, yet Luo Han had crushed her with superior cultivation. Yun Menghan had pinned all her hopes on love, only to watch the man she longed for fall deeply for Luo Han instead.
They had each been devastated by her—just in entirely different ways.
Su Yinyue finally asked coldly, “It’s my cousin’s wedding today. Why aren’t you out front attending the feast? What are you doing back here?”
Luo Han smiled. “What am I doing?”
Before she could finish, a crisp signal flare exploded in the sky outside.
Luo Han’s body blurred.
In a flash, she appeared directly in front of Su Yinyue, voice soft and deadly:
“Good question. You’ll find out soon enough.”
—
Meanwhile, in the front hall, Ling Qingxiao sat silently at the Celestial table. His presence drew countless covert glances. Many among the demon clans whispered among themselves, and more than a few demonesses looked toward him with gleaming eyes.
Finally, one bold woman stepped forward, holding a wine flask in her hand. She swayed her hips as she approached. “Patriarch Ling, how dull it must be to sit here alone. May I keep you company for a drink?”
She was undeniably beautiful—voluptuous, seductive, with every movement designed to captivate. But just as she neared, a Celestial disciple stepped forward, blocking her path with a drawn sword.
The demoness’s eyes flicked toward the blade, then fluttered playfully at the disciple. She pouted and called out, “Patriarch Ling, what’s the meaning of this?”
Ling Qingxiao didn’t even blink. His voice was frosty as ever. “Thank you. But I do not drink. You may go.”
The demoness’s smile stiffened. Who came to a wedding banquet to actually eat and drink?
With a flick of her figure, she slipped past the sword barrier and approached further. “A man who doesn’t drink? That’s rare. No matter—we can just talk.”
The Celestial disciples around immediately frowned as the demoness boldly stepped forward. Several made to intercept her, but Ling QingXiaolifted a hand ever so slightly, signaling them to stand down.
For her to slip through their guard without so much as a ripple—her cultivation was no doubt formidable. If that was the case, sending more disciples would only provoke her. Unless she was made to retreat willingly, she wouldn’t leave.
The demoness noticed and smiled with smug satisfaction. She moved closer to Ling Qingxiao, aiming to draw near, but the moment she crossed the third step toward him, a wall of ice materialized before her with a clang.
“You can speak from there,” Ling Qingxiao said coolly. “If you have something to say, speak it now.”
The demoness, long used to getting her way in the Demon Realm, found herself rebuffed yet again. Irritation flickered across her face as she adopted a flirtatious pout. “Celestial Lord, have your books addled your brain? At this distance, how could I possibly speak sweetly to you?”
Ling Qingxiao gave a slight nod. “Then it seems you have nothing important to say. Since you enjoy standing there, by all means, stay.”
With that, he rose to his feet, sleeves flowing as he turned to leave the hall.
Clad in white robes embroidered with brocade, his broad sleeves trailing behind him, Ling Qingxiao moved like a beam of moonlight through the dark, oppressive palace of the Demon Realm. His refined bearing and graceful composure made heads turn—many couldn’t help but gaze after him as he passed.
At the entrance, Lord Lei Lie was personally greeting guests. Seeing Ling Qingxiao approach, he raised a brow. “Master Ling? Is there something I can help you with?”
Ling Qingxiao halted before him, his gaze calm and unreadable. “There is indeed a matter I’d like to discuss with you—just a minor one.”
Earlier, when Lei Er was punished, the palace had a vacancy in the guards. Lei Ba had finally seized the opportunity to fill it. He had previously been reprimanded for losing a piece of the Execution Stone in Da Ming City, but the punishment had not been fatal—he’d survived by a hair.
Since recovering, Lei Ba had been relegated to outer tasks, and today was his first important assignment. Eyes sharp, he scanned the hall without blinking, determined not to slip up again. Though the Celestials weren’t within his patrol sector, he didn’t dare let his guard down.
He had not even looked toward the Celestial delegation—until Ling Qingxiao moved across the grand hall.
That was when it struck him. As Ling Qingxiao’s white robes shimmered past the darkness, a jolt of memory slammed into Lei Ba like thunder.
That back—he had seen it before.
Back in Da Ming’s black market, hadn’t there been a Celestial spy? A figure slipping through the shadows?
It was him. It had been Ling Qingxiao all along.
Panic surged. Lei Ba opened his mouth, wanting to shout a warning to Lord Lei Lie.
But it was too late.
Without a hint of forewarning, Ling Qingxiao struck. Lei Lie barely had time to react before he was overwhelmed—after just a few exchanges, he was subdued and bound.
At that moment, a bright signal flare soared into the skies above the palace, its sharp whistle piercing the night.
Even the most oblivious partygoers now realized something was amiss.
Chaos erupted.
Guests leapt to their feet in confusion, knocking goblets to the ground. Dancers scattered from the raised stage, and half-dressed demonesses forgot their flirtations, scrambling to throw on whatever garments they could find before fleeing in a panic.
Ye Zhongyu had been mid-toast when the commotion began. Face darkening, he tossed his cup aside and strode forward.
“This is the Demon Realm,” he said sharply, voice booming with spiritual power and silencing the hall. “What is it that you think you’re doing?”
Clad in black, standing deep within the lavish and shadowed hall, Ye Zhongyu glared across the chaos.
Ling Qingxiao, robed in white, stood beneath the wavering lantern light at the far end, calmly holding the subdued Lei Lie. Between them, the ceremonial red carpet lay trampled and torn, surrounded by wreckage.
Ling Qingxiao replied, voice serene: “Nothing much. I simply plan to escort Lord Lei to the Celestial Realm for a...conversation.”
“A conversation?” Ye Zhongyu sneered. “Lei Lie is a lord of the Demon Realm. To abduct a demon king—is this how you Celestials provoke war?”
Ling Qingxiao’s gaze remained icy. “And when the Demon Realm hunted Celestials in secret, and built underground palaces with their bones—were you not afraid of provoking the heavens then?”
His words struck like cold jade shattering. Many among the demon crowd burst into murmurs. Some were indignant, believing he was spouting slander. Others turned to question their attendants: What’s this about underground palaces?
Only the guards of Lei Lie’s estate paled on the spot.
Lei San’s face drained of color. “This is bad—!”
Even as he spoke, a thunderous boom echoed from the rear gardens. Something had collapsed.
In the distance, a demon servant’s panicked shout reached their ears:
“Your Grace! It’s terrible—the underground palace has caved in! Celestials—there are Celestials inside!”
The servant dashed into the hall, only to fall silent at the sight before him.
Whispers surged across the room.
“What palace?”
“What did Lord Lei do?”
“What is going on?”
Ling Qingxiao’s voice rang out again, slicing through the confusion like a blade:
“Ye Zhongyu.”
Silence returned in an instant. All eyes turned to him.
Ling Qingxiao stared across the ruined hall at the man who had once been his kin.
“You were born a Celestial,” he said, tone as cold as winter steel. “Yet you betrayed your kind, aided demons in slaughtering your own people. How many drops of Celestial blood have stained your cultivation? The life you live now—how many innocent souls paid the price for it?”
His gaze sharpened, every word ringing with unshakable judgment.
“Traitors do not die well. No matter where you flee, I will be the one to end you.”
The moment his words fell, another signal flare lit up in the back courtyard.
Ling Qingxiao flicked his gaze toward the Celestial disciples. “Withdraw.”
Attacks erupted at once. This was the Demon Realm—what Ling Qingxiao was doing bordered on madness. To march into enemy territory and abduct a demon king under their very noses?
The demons wouldn’t tolerate it.
But the Celestials were prepared.
Their forces moved with precision: some shielded, others broke through, retreating in formation. Each move flowed like water, no hesitation or confusion.
Among the demons, power was divided between countless factions. With Lei Lie captured, most rival clans were content to spectate—no one wanted to be the one to bleed for another’s mess.
Only Lei Lie’s household struck back with true fury.
Since they were from Lei Lie King’s own estate, the demon guards didn’t dare to strike too hard. After all, with the way Ling Qingxiao was holding him, they couldn’t be certain he wouldn’t actually kill Lei Lie on the spot.
The Celestials were only focused on retreat, the neutral factions watched from the sidelines, and Lei Lie’s own people were paralyzed by fear and hesitation. In this three-way stalemate, the demon forces could only watch helplessly as Ling Qingxiao led his party toward the city gates.
Compared to the heavily fortified interior, the city’s outer defenses were far more vulnerable. Once they broke through the gate, recapturing Ling Qingxiao would be nearly impossible.
Lei Lie, a dominant lord of the Demon Realm, still had powerful subordinates under his command. Lei Da, catching his master's signal, discreetly ordered a group of loyal deathsworn to scatter into position.
Just as Ling Qingxiao was about to cross the threshold, the deathsworn struck without warning, swarming to entangle the Celestials.
At the same time, the massive black-iron gate above the city entrance began to descend slowly. Forged from mystic obsidian and refined spiritual iron, this gate was built for wartime lockdowns—once shut, even a full-force siege wouldn’t breach it for months. But that also meant anyone inside would be completely trapped.
Ling Qingxiao frowned. They could not afford to be sealed within. But Lei Lie’s men charged like madmen, and with his hands full holding the king hostage, the Celestials were being pushed to their limits.
Then, at that very moment, the gate abruptly froze mid-fall.
The charging deathsworn froze as well—like puppets whose strings had been cut. Even the fluttering flags on the walls stilled in the wind.
Outside the city stood a lone figure, bathed in the dim afterlight of dusk. Her white robes fluttered not with the wind, but from the surging spiritual might surrounding her. She raised her hand, tendrils of vast, ancient power coiling around her like fog over a boundless sea.
She looked at Ling Qingxiao and smiled faintly. “I’m here.”