Chapter 107

The Demon Envoys had come for the bride. Attendants rushed in, covering Feng Yujia with a red veil and guiding her toward the entrance.
As the world dimmed before her eyes, Feng Yujia tensed, her entire body stiff.
She was being sent to the Demon God—a deity known for his cruelty and capriciousness. Immortals and demons had always been sworn enemies. If the Demon God discovered who she really was…
The consequences would be unthinkable.
Just as panic began to overwhelm her, she felt a warm hand gently clasp her arm. A soft voice whispered near her ear, “Don’t be afraid. We’ll accompany the bridal procession to the temple.”
Then, in a more casual tone, she asked aloud, “Brother, isn’t that right?”
The man beside her sighed. “You’re going too?”
“Of course.” Luo Han’s tone sharpened. “You were going to leave me behind? Brother, that’s cold. You've already forgotten your little sister?”
“Don’t talk nonsense.” Ling Qingxiao flicked her on the forehead and frowned. “No more of that talk.”
The two of them started bickering again. Theoretically, Feng Yujia was the one most in need of comfort—yet somehow, she had been completely sidelined. Beneath her veil, Feng Yujia arched a brow helplessly and told herself: They’re young, full of energy. I understand.
In a normal wedding, there would be makeup rituals, ceremonial greetings, and vows. But when the groom was the Demon God, all traditions were cut. Feng Yujia bid farewell to her family’s ancestral shrine alone and, under waves of cheers, stepped into the bridal carriage.
Being chosen to serve the Demon God—even as a nameless concubine—was considered a sacred honor. She was to sit upright in the ornate bridal cart, paraded through the city before being delivered to the divine palace.
The imbalance between the two sides was almost absurd. The bride’s family must prepare rich dowries, send off the daughter with full pomp, and yet the groom—the so-called god—did not even show his face.
Naturally, as the eldest brother, Ling Qingxiao was part of the send-off party. Luo Han, a minor and unloved daughter, would normally never be allowed to appear at such an occasion.
But who told her to have such a powerful “brother”?
With all the other sisters shooting daggers at her with their eyes, Luo Han boarded the bridal escort carriage and followed the long, ceremonial procession toward the Demon God’s palace.
In this mural world, her current identity bore the surname Che. She was the sixth daughter of the family—neither favored nor noticed. The Che Clan was far from prestigious, and their estate sat on the outskirts of the divine realm. If not for the fact that their daughter had been chosen as Holy Maiden, they would never have even qualified to glimpse the Demon God’s shadow.
As the obscure and overlooked Sixth Miss of the Che family, Luo Han was barely known by anyone. Seated in the swaying bridal carriage, she mulled over her situation. She had left the Middle Era shortly after the Great War, returning to the Tianqi Era. The mural’s depicted time was later than the Middle Era—it had already stepped into the Ancient Era. By logic, no one in this era should recognize her.
But there was no guarantee that among the Demon God's entourage, there weren’t veterans who had fought in that ancient war. If someone recognized her face, it would spell disaster. Yet now that Feng Yujia was being sent to the Demon Palace, Luo Han had no choice but to follow. Once they entered the Demon God’s domain, it would be nearly impossible to avoid encounters with familiar figures.
There was no easy solution.
At this point, Luo Han was instead grateful that the Sixth Miss was known for being timid and reserved. Later, she could easily claim she was too shy and keep her face hidden without arousing suspicion. Just as she was contemplating how to cover her face, the carriage door was suddenly pushed open.
Ling Qingxiao entered against the backlight. As he stepped inside, he casually locked the carriage behind him and even placed seals on the doors and windows. The way he went about sealing everything was so practiced, it was eerily reminiscent of how he had once pried open windows at a brothel.
Luo Han clicked her tongue. “Middle of the day, broad daylight—and you’re plotting something indecent?”
Ling Qingxiao sat down across from her. At her words, his expression didn’t shift in the slightest, but his hand suddenly reached out, grabbing her arm and pulling her into his embrace. Startled, Luo Han gave a little yelp. “What are you doing?”
Ling Qingxiao had already placed a silencing barrier around them and wasn’t concerned about any noise. He folded her neatly onto his lap, his eyes gleaming. “Now this—this is plotting something indecent.”
Luo Han found herself trapped in the crook of his arm, her wrist caught in his grip. She tried to struggle but quickly discovered she had no strength to resist.
Her cultivation had been suppressed. She was currently playing the role of a weak, illegitimate young lady. How could she possibly overpower a grown man? Giving up the fight, she leaned back lazily and sighed, “Since big brother went to such lengths to avoid prying eyes, I suppose even calling for help would be pointless. If you really plan to do something...well, then go ahead.”
Though her tone was teasing, there was an undeniable sense of security behind her words—she knew Ling Qingxiao would never truly cross the line. There was a hint of impudence in her confidence. Ling Qingxiao looked down at the girl in his arms, and after a moment, nodded solemnly. “Since my dear sister is inviting me so warmly, how could I possibly refuse?”
He caught her hand and leaned in closer.
Luo Han’s heart skipped for a second, but she still felt sure of herself. She didn’t dodge. He didn’t either. They were so close now, they could hear each other’s breath.
A flicker of unease passed through her, and she tried to back away—only to realize her hands were restrained, and she couldn’t use her legs. She was completely at his mercy.
Staring into his eyes, she asked, “What exactly are you trying to do?”
“What do you think?”
This position made her instinctively uneasy, but the absurd confidence in her heart wouldn’t leave her. “You wouldn’t dare,” she said.
No man could resist being provoked like that—especially not Ling Qingxiao, who had obviously been holding back for a long time. Without warning, he bent down and pressed his lips to hers, forceful and direct.
She gasped as his teeth caught her lower lip. The sensation startled her into awareness, and only when she felt him teasing at her lips, testing the edge of her teeth, did she finally snap out of it.
She immediately tried to push him away—but her hands were pinned to the carriage wall, her waist suspended midair. Ling Qingxiao barely needed to exert any force to keep her trapped.
Unable to dodge or resist, Luo Han grew furious and bit his lip in retaliation. But Ling Qingxiao ignored the pain. Instead, he took advantage of the moment her jaw opened to lightly brush her fang with his tongue.
When they finally parted, his lower lip was smeared with a line of blood. He didn’t seem to mind. His gaze locked onto her now-reddened lips, damp and slightly swollen, eyes dark with thoughts unknown.
Luo Han finally managed to free her wrist. As soon as she was loose, she scrambled upright and moved away from him, clutching her arm. Though he had held her captive moments ago, Ling Qingxiao hadn’t actually hurt her. Still, she glared at him with indignation. “Why does the suppression affect me and not you?”
How could a mortal’s strength ever match his?
A thin line of blood curved across Ling Qingxiao’s lip. Normally icy and composed, the splash of red transformed him—his beauty turned dazzling, almost seductive.
It was enough to make her heart skip.
After that little scuffle, Luo Han’s hair had come loose. Ling Qingxiao reached out, gently tucking away a stray lock. His fingers trailed downward along the curve of her neck, pausing at her chin. “Probably a conflict of laws,” he murmured.
His touch tickled. Luo Han caught his hand, squinting at him. “Did you really come here just for this?”
Ling Qingxiao actually nodded. Luo Han was speechless.
He chuckled softly and finally sat beside her again, slipping an arm around her shoulder. “I came to talk to you about the mural.”
Her eyes widened. She forgot to shove him off. “You’ve figured it out?”
“It’s the Che Clan’s Offering to the God,” he said. “I had a suspicion when we were still outside, but before I could say anything, we were pulled in. Once I heard them call themselves the Che family, I was sure.”
“The Che Clan’s Offering to the God…” Luo Han repeated under her breath. “What’s it about?”
Ling Qingxiao’s brows lifted slightly. “The fall of the Demon God.”
Luo Han’s heart lurched. “What?”
“I used to think it was just another version of an old legend. The demon races have many sects, and their doctrines often conflict. To strengthen their legitimacy, some factions create embellished or altered versions of divine events. Until today, I thought the Che Clan's Offering was just another fabricated tale.”
She stared at him, waiting for him to continue.
Ling Qingxiao didn’t leave her hanging. “The mural depicts the following: The Che clan produces a Holy Maiden, who is offered to the Demon God. But on the night of the grand banquet, the god never arrives. The bride waits in vain. The Demon God, for reasons unknown, disappears. The demons, unable to uncover why, commit the event to mural form and pray unceasingly, hoping their god will one day return.”
Luo Han listened, feeling a chill in her heart. She recalled the woman in red from the mural and asked, “Then that Che clan girl in the wedding ceremony…”
“She was placed upon the altar, her veins slit open, and bled dry as a sacrifice. Not just the eldest daughter—even the rest of the Che family’s daughters were offered up. One by one, they died as living sacrifices, drained of blood before the god.”
A shiver ran down Luo Han’s spine as she thought of her role as the Sixth Miss of the Che clan, and of Feng Yujia sitting inside the lead bridal carriage. The heaviness in her heart grew unbearable.
She finally understood. “No wonder the altar was soaked in deathly aura. No wonder the mural gave birth to those Netherworld Butterflies. So it was all because of blood sacrifices. That means...this painting is an ominous one. We can’t linger here. We have to find a way out.”
“Indeed,” Ling Qingxiao nodded. “My guess is, forcibly escaping the painting might trigger a prohibition. This mural carries heavy resentment from sacrificial rituals, and it’s been buried underground for countless years—it may have mutated in ways we can’t predict. Unless we absolutely must, we shouldn’t force our way out.”
Luo Han nodded. “Alright. Then what should we do next?”
“The Che Clan’s Offering to the God is divided into four sections: the Bridal Procession, the Banquet, the God’s Fall, and the Rebirth,” Ling Qingxiao explained. “Just now at the Che residence was the first section. We’re currently transitioning into the second. It won’t be long before we arrive at the Demon Hall.”
Luo Han nodded thoughtfully. After a moment, she asked in a hushed voice, “Do you know how the Demon God died?”
Ling Qingxiao’s expression turned solemn. He slowly shook his head. “Not yet. Once we reach the Demon Hall, I’ll confirm it and tell you.”
Ling Qingxiao never spoke without reason. If he had a guess, it was likely close to the truth. Luo Han set that topic aside and moved to a more pressing matter. “You stayed on the frontlines during the Middle Era for five hundred years. You fought countless battles. I imagine there are many from the Demon clan who know you. Now that the Demon God is still alive, others from that era may still exist. If you go to the Demon Hall…”
She herself had only spent three years on the battlefield during the Middle Era—most of her time was spent cultivating in the mountains. Few truly knew her face. But Ling Qingxiao had led troops into battle, fought at the frontlines—the Demon clan would recognize him instantly.
Ling Qingxiao had already considered this. He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Avoidance solves nothing. Only by confronting it directly can we find a solution. The key to escaping the painting may lie with these people. No matter what, I have to face them myself.”
That was the only choice left.
Just moments ago, they were discussing the mural—then Luo Han suddenly changed topics without warning. “Your lip—how’s the wound? Still hurt?”
Ling Qingxiao had nearly forgotten about it until she mentioned it. He touched it lightly, unconcerned. “It’s healed.”
“Really?” Luo Han looked skeptical. “There’s still blood on it.”
As she spoke, she reached out and gently touched the cut on his lip. Looking closely, she realized it wasn’t a fresh wound after all. The injury had healed—it was just the dried blood that remained, tricking the eye.
Her fingertips brushed against his lips, sending a slight tingle through both of them. Ling Qingxiao caught her restless hand, then suddenly veered the conversation in a completely different direction: “You once said love has three stages. Have we completed them all by now?”
Luo Han remembered what she had said offhandedly once, just to stall him—that marriage had to follow love, and love required steps like holding hands, hugging, and kissing. She had only been joking, but Ling Qingxiao had apparently taken it as a serious checklist.
She flushed and quickly said, “That doesn’t count.”
“Which step doesn’t count?” he asked, eyes fixed on hers with an expression that clearly said: Say it, and I’ll complete it right now.
Cornered, Luo Han blurted, “Who said we’re done? There are lots of steps left.”
Ling Qingxiao's eyes twitched with amusement, though his face remained unreadable. “Which ones?”
Luo Han fell silent for a moment, then twisted his arm hard in retaliation.
Dragon clan members were naturally resilient—her strength didn’t affect him in the slightest. He was more worried she might hurt herself. Gently catching her hand, he said, “Careful. Don’t break a nail. Did that hurt?”
Luo Han shook her head. As she moved, the scenery around them suddenly shifted—loud ceremonial music surged outside the carriage.
Though she couldn’t see it, she knew: they had arrived at the Demon Hall.
The bridal procession had reached its destination. As the eldest brother, Ling Qingxiao finally remembered his ceremonial duties and stepped outside. When the servants saw the Young Lord emerging from the Sixth Miss’s carriage, they all froze in shock.
None of them had even noticed when he entered.
The grand banquet in the Demon Hall was about to begin—this was the climax of the entire mural, known as Paradise of Bliss. Even the bride’s family was required to attend. Luo Han mingled with the crowd, eyes scanning the hall—and suddenly spotted a familiar figure.
No wonder they couldn’t find Feng Yuchen earlier. He had already been sent to the Demon Hall...as a trainee envoy.
Luo Han sighed. In retrospect, the mural had done a surprisingly accurate job assigning roles. Feng Yuchen was arrogant and incompetent—exactly like a Demon envoy. And with his abilities, trainee was the best he could manage.
Even though the Che clan had produced a Holy Maiden, they were still considered lowly in the eyes of the Demon Hall. Though they were nominally the bride’s family, their seating was near the very end of the hall. But for Luo Han and Ling Qingxiao, that worked perfectly—they chose a low-profile seat near a window and quietly sat down.
All Demon clan ceremonies took place at night. When the auspicious hour arrived, Feng Yujia removed her veil and, trailing long ceremonial robes, entered the grand hall. Under the gaze of all present, she walked to the base of the altar and knelt gracefully, awaiting the High Priest’s judgment.
The High Priest of the Demon God—one of the few permitted to face the god directly—stood at the center of the platform and delivered a long speech: to serve the god was the greatest of honors, and henceforth, loyalty and devotion must never falter. Then, he lifted a ceremonial brush and gently marked the center of Feng Yujia’s brow.
A flame-shaped red sigil bloomed on her forehead—the sign of a Holy Maiden. Only the Holy Maiden bore the sacred fire.
The audience stirred with envy as Feng Yujia’s rite was completed. Supported on either side, she was escorted away to the inner chambers—and soon vanished from sight.
Before leaving, Feng Yujia cast a quick glance in Luo Han and Ling Qingxiao’s direction. Luo Han gave her a subtle nod, signaling her to stay calm—they’d come to help her once the Demon God appeared.
Seeing this, Feng Yujia finally relaxed a little, her shoulders easing just slightly. As she was led away, her figure disappeared into the shadows of the inner palace. With the Holy Maiden gone, the crowd in the main hall shed all restraint, and indulgence ran rampant.
Luo Han watched in shock as the man and woman at the table in front of her suddenly reached into each other’s robes mid-conversation. Horrified, she turned to look around—only to find that it was the same everywhere. Some lounged, others stood, clothes disheveled, and from darker corners of the hall came the sounds of heavy breathing.
She had once thought the banquet she’d witnessed in Lei Lie City had been scandalous enough. But compared to this ancient feast, that was practically modest.
Before her shock could deepen, Ling Qingxiao swiftly covered her eyes. “The air here is terrible,” he said calmly. “Let’s step outside.”
Thankfully, they were seated near the edge of the grand hall. It wasn’t hard to slip away unnoticed. But as soon as they stepped outside, the atmosphere only grew worse. Moans and gasps drifted from every direction—some couples were even openly entangled under trees or behind pillars.
Luo Han was stunned again. Ling Qingxiao's face darkened, and he used his sleeve to shield both her eyes and ears. “Let’s find somewhere quieter.”
Luo Han stifled a laugh. “I’m afraid the whole Demon Hall is one big den of debauchery now. We should just head straight to find Feng Yujia.”
Ling Qingxiao nodded in agreement. They followed the path Feng Yujia had taken toward the sleeping quarters. The Demon God’s palace indulged in such excess that there were more than a dozen different bedchambers. Luo Han and Ling Qingxiao had no idea which one Feng Yujia had been taken to, so they had no choice but to check them one by one.
The sleeping quarters spanned a massive area, and the corridors were painted with vivid murals—every surface depicting men and women in every kind of carnal act imaginable. Luo Han walked along, genuinely impressed. “In matters of pleasure, the Demon God is a true master.”
Judging by the decor alone, it wasn’t hard to imagine what kind of life these people lived.
Ling Qingxiao coughed. “You’re too young to be seeing this sort of thing.”
“Who says I’m young? I’m twenty-one already. In the mortal realm, girls can marry at fifteen. Even the Che sisters’ bodies are only about sixteen or seventeen. This is perfectly normal.”
To Ling Qingxiao, there was no real difference between eighteen and twenty-one. He made a mental note to replicate the murals later. Every trip to the Demon Realm seemed to expand his theoretical knowledge base significantly.
The two of them passed through a corridor and turned a corner—only to see someone approaching from the other end, holding a lantern.
Surrounded by attendants and walking at the center of the group was none other than the Demon God himself.
Ling Qingxiao immediately pulled Luo Han into the shadows. The Demon God paused, having heard something, and turned to look. One of his attendants raised his voice, “Who goes there?”
A demon envoy was dispatched and swiftly came over to investigate. When he reached the corridor, it was empty—silent and still. Suspicious, the envoy prowled down the hallway. Without warning, he shoved open a nearby door.
Inside, a man and woman jolted awake. Their clothes were half on, half off—the woman scrambling to cover herself, the man rising, pale-faced and shaking.
The envoy narrowed his eyes, recognizing the man’s face. “What are you doing here?”
“We...we…” the man stammered.
No explanation was necessary. The envoy's gaze swept the room like a blade. “Are you alone? Did anyone else come in here?”
The man looked back at the room—the windows were empty, and the heavy curtains hung motionless. “No...no one.”
The envoy paced slowly. He tugged open one set of dark crimson curtains—nothing. Then another—still nothing. He exhaled. Too on edge. You're imagining things, he told himself. Shaking his head, he turned to leave.
Hidden behind one of those same thick, embroidered curtains, Luo Han was pressed tightly against the wall, holding her breath. Just moments earlier, Ling Qingxiao had pulled her away just in time.
The Demon Realm’s curtains were luxurious and heavy, completely opaque. The light inside was dim—faces blurred by shadows. Ling Qingxiao was focused on listening to the movements outside, his jawline taut and his lips pursed in concentration.
Luo Han, mischief sparking in her eyes, couldn’t resist. She reached out and teasingly ran her finger along his Adam’s apple.
Ling Qingxiao snapped out of his focus, giving her a helpless look as he caught her hand in his. Unable to move her hand, Luo Han simply tiptoed and planted a kiss on the corner of his mouth.
Ling Qingxiao gave her a long, meaningful look, but said nothing.
Outside, the envoy barked, “This is the Demon God’s personal chamber! You dare defile this sacred space? Get out, now!”
The frightened couple scrambled away on hands and knees. Once the room had cleared and the envoy saw nothing amiss, he finally returned to report.
As silence returned, Luo Han was about to slip out from behind the curtain, but just as she moved, Ling Qingxiao held her in place. “What, not curious anymore?” he asked softly, eyes locked on hers.
Everyone said dragonfolk held grudges. Luo Han suddenly realized she might’ve gone too far with her teasing. She put on a solemn face and said seriously, “Enough joking. The Demon God’s heading to the bedchambers. We need to rescue Feng Yujia.”
“No rush,” Ling Qingxiao said, lowering his head. “Earlier, I saw a diagram I couldn’t quite understand. You’ll help me interpret it, won’t you?”
Luo Han blinked. “What diagram—”
Before she could finish, his lips claimed hers.
This time, it was clear—Ling Qingxiao had indeed expanded his theoretical knowledge. His kiss was firm and unhurried, exploring thoroughly and experimentally from every angle before finally pulling away with great reluctance.
Luo Han was breathless, nearly suffocated. Ling Qingxiao rested his forehead against hers, panting lightly, eyes bright with understanding. “Ah. So that’s what it meant.”
He seemed to have unlocked several other diagrams in his mind as well. Luo Han, finally catching her breath, punched him hard in the chest.
“Move. I’ve got things to do.” Only when she brought up their mission did Ling Qingxiao remember—Feng Yujia was still alone somewhere in the Demon God’s private quarters.
Author’s Note:
Ling Qingxiao: No rush.
Feng Yujia: …????