Chapter 109

Luo Han charged straight for the Grand Priest.
He initially scoffed at her—rituals were about experience, not youthful impulse. What could someone so young possibly do? But then...the connection vanished.
Mid-chant, he could no longer sense the will of heaven. It was as if the skies had gone silent.
Any priest knew what this meant: the ritual had failed. Unbelieving, the Grand Priest doubled down, pouring more force into his incantation. Still, nothing. His call vanished like a pebble thrown into a bottomless sea.
Rituals were the act of sending one’s will to the gods. Luo Han processed hundreds of petitions daily. This? This was elementary to her. All she needed to do was cut off the signal—and the Grand Priest could dance himself into a frenzy, it wouldn’t make a difference.
Never go toe-to-toe with an ancestor.
After two failed attempts, the Grand Priest finally realized something was wrong. His gaze snapped to Luo Han—and, with a vicious bite, he tore his finger open and drew a summoning sigil with blood.
Blood—the most powerful, and most dangerous, medium of all. He had no other choice. If he failed this time, he might never live to see the Demon God return. He’d give up his life span, his sanity—whatever it took.
The madness in his eyes didn’t negate his skill. With blood as the catalyst, the sigil flared crimson, glowing with eerie brilliance. Such prodigies all shared one fatal flaw—they refused to admit defeat. If he insisted on playing, Luo Han had no choice but to play along.
The surrounding demon cultivators sensed something was wrong. “That woman’s interfering—attack her! Don’t let her disrupt the ritual!”
Half of them surged forward. But Luo Han only raised one hand.
With the other still suppressing the Grand Priest, she summoned the Five Elements, unleashing a wave of elemental force that swept across the battlefield. Thorny vines erupted from the earth, ice spears jutted from the ground, gusts of wind knocked enemies off their feet. Anyone who tried to attack from above was immediately wrapped tight and left dangling like trussed-up prey.
One hand to suppress the priest. One hand to crush a battlefield.
Feng Yuchen watched, dumbstruck. He had thought Luo Han was just a decorative beauty—good looks, no skill, clinging to Ling Qingxiao’s protection.
But now, it seemed…She wasn’t any weaker than him at all. His worldview cracked again, and then—the altar began to shake.
Debris fell from above, and an unnatural chill wrapped itself around the platform.
Luo Han's expression changed. “So this is where the death aura comes from...Be careful. That’s the true resentment of the Che Clan girl.”
The air grew sticky, dark. A procession of black-robed figures emerged silently from the mist.
The demons turned, startled. Thinking they were immortal reinforcements, they raised their weapons—until the figures passed through both sides of the battlefield as if no one was there.
Slowly, everyone realized: this wasn’t real. This was a memory. A haunting echo from the past. And at the altar’s center—appeared a woman in red.
The real Che Clan sacrifice.
She was bound at the platform’s heart, wearing the same garments Feng Yujia had donned. Her tendons had been cut. Her bones shattered, her limbs limp like a puppet's. Her body had been broken to be convenient for bloodletting.
Her wrists had been slashed open—deep enough to reveal bone. But when her wounds began to clot, the priests would tear them open again. Over and over, they did this for an entire day.
No one spoke to her. Not the priests. Not the crowd. Not even her family.
Her father. Her brothers. Her people. They had sent delegates to witness her death—to prove their loyalty to the Demon God.
She didn’t know why the Demon God vanished. She didn’t even know what he looked like.
So why—why must she suffer the consequences? She raged. She defied. She refused to surrender. And in the end, she died. A long, slow, torturous death.
Afterward, her blood was mixed into ink—used to paint the mural. No peace in life. No rest in death.
Her soul had been bound to the wall, denied reincarnation, condemned to face the altar of her demise—day after day, for all eternity.
After the Che Clan's eldest daughter was sacrificed, the Demon God did not return. And so, more were sent to the altar.
First her younger sisters. Then the other Che Clan women. Eventually, not even newborns were spared.
She watched, helpless and enraged, as one after another, her people were dragged to the sacrificial stone. Her father and brothers offered daughter after daughter in vain. When the offerings failed to yield results, they incurred the wrath of the Demon Envoy—and were flayed alive, bones broken.
One by one, her sisters died in the same spot where she had perished. Her soul festered in hatred.
Over time, the mountains shifted and dynasties rose and fell, but her bones remained buried beneath the earth. Year after year, her resentment grew, twisting her soul into something no longer human.
She was no longer the eldest daughter of the Che Clan—she was now a wraith, born of endless grievance and anguish.
The visions of the sacrificial rites were too bloody. Luo Han could no longer bear to watch and turned her eyes away. Yet the Che girl’s mournful cries still echoed in her ears, lingering long after.
Then—a flicker. A shadow on the ground twitched. Suddenly, it lunged upward—a clawed hand shot toward Luo Han.
It was gnarled and withered, with long, lacquer-red nails. Luo Han instinctively lashed out, slicing the air into razor-thin blades that severed the hand at the wrist.
The severed limb thudded to the ground, oozing thick demonic energy. Luo Han, already tense from the ghostly aura, moved swiftly. She wove the air into a fine net, shredding the hand into ribbons, and for good measure, ground the remnants beneath a heavy stone.
Panting, one hand pressed to her chest, she muttered, “That was terrifying. Why the hell did a hand just shoot out like that?!”
Her reaction had been so fast that no one around her had even seen what happened. They only saw that the vengeful ghost had been brutally dismembered.
Feng Yuchen stared in disbelief. Ghosts were scary? No—Luo Han was the truly terrifying one.
Ling Qingxiao had been attacking the altar, but when he heard Luo Han’s voice, he immediately turned and drove the Nine Heavens Sword deep into the ground.
The shadow beneath the earth trembled violently as if in agony. Black mist surged upward, coalescing into a crimson-robed wraith who shrieked and lunged at him.
Ling Qingxiao met her head-on, his blade clashing with her sharpened nails—each strike ringing like metal on metal.
His spiritual attribute was ice—pure and merciless, repelling all things corrupt. Ghosts and demons stood no chance.
Under the pressure of his sword intent, the red-clad specter's claws, once tougher than artifacts, cracked and shattered within moments.
As Ling Qingxiao confronted the vengeful spirit, Luo Han turned her attention back to the altar, hoping to disrupt the ritual. But the moment she moved, the Grand Priest and a wave of demon cultivators surged forward to block her path.
With her spiritual energy heavily suppressed, Luo Han couldn’t spare a hand. She urgently sent a mental message to Feng Yuchen: “Attack the altar! We must stop the ritual at all costs!”
While fending off her attackers, she kept one eye on the altar—and what she saw made her heart sink. She had told him to destroy the altar barrier, and it was nearly shattered now...So why was the ritual still succeeding?
She turned—and saw Feng Yuchen cowering far from the altar, flinging talismans at it from a distance.
Useless. Absolutely useless.
But now wasn’t the time to rage. The summoning formation was already activated. If they used brute force now, Feng Yujia—offered as the sacrifice—would suffer the backlash. Luo Han flung off the demons restraining her and leapt toward the altar, seeking another way to undo it.
Inside the ritual field, Feng Yujia stood alone beneath the blood-red glow. Her breathing grew labored. A bitter chill wrapped around her, and the thick stench of blood filled her nostrils. She suddenly felt as if she was going to die.
Clutching her chest, her mind began to fragment. She didn’t know who she was anymore, or where she was.
She saw herself as a child, diligently studying statecraft...then, in a blink, Feng Yuchen was born. Her mother named him crown prince, and she—once the noble eldest daughter—became awkward and unwanted.
The scene shifted again. She lay motionless on the altar. Blood streamed endlessly from her wrists. A crowd watched, silent and unmoved. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak—but her mind was clear. She felt her own death in vivid detail.
Outside the formation, Luo Han noticed the change in Feng Yujia’s expression. Her heart clenched. Not good.
The Che girl’s resentment had seeped into Feng Yujia’s spirit. She was seeing the world through the girl’s dying eyes—and losing grip on reality.
Luo Han didn’t dare break through by force, fearing it might shatter Feng Yujia’s mind. Instead, she infused her voice with ancient laws of the Dao and sent it deep into the ritual field:
“Discern illusion from truth. Know yourself—and awaken.”
In the haze of her soul, Feng Yujia heard the voice of a woman. Familiar, yet distant.
The voice carried an ancient, profound resonance that stirred something within her. In that brief moment of clarity, Feng Yujia remembered: she was not the Che Clan’s eldest daughter. She had not been sacrificed.
She was Feng Yujia—no one else. A mark on her brow, drawn during the wedding ceremony by the demon priests, began to glow violently. That symbol was the source of her confusion.
Feng Yujia gritted her teeth and fought it with all her will. Her entire being flared with light—and from that fire, a crimson phoenix burst forth, spreading its wings and shrieking to the heavens.
The wraith’s malice had sunk into her very soul, stirring her heart demon. It could not be removed by ordinary means.
Then so be it. If it cannot be cured—let it be destroyed.
Feng Yujia summoned the flames of Nirvana and turned them inward, burning her own body to ashes.
As her flesh crumbled to dust, the curse mark on her forehead burned away, purified by the divine flames into a scarlet brand of rebirth.
The phoenix falls—and rises anew. Her old body was gone. Her new one began to coalesce, bone by bone, thread by thread.
Watching from outside, Luo Han saw Feng Yujia ignite herself in flames. For a moment, she was stunned—then admiration rose in her heart.
Decisive. This woman, who had always seemed gentle and poised, now revealed a heart of steel. To endure the agony of self-immolation...that takes a will forged in fire.
And for such a spirit, Luo Han wouldn’t hesitate to lend a hand.
Quietly, she reached out to the currents of fate—and gathered all nearby luck, gently weaving it around Feng Yujia’s rebirth.
With the flames of nirvana roaring across the altar, the odds of Feng Yujia’s rebirth skyrocketed. The blazing fire spread in all directions, its scorching power so immense that even Ling Qingxiao’s battlefield was shaken. Ghosts and demons instinctively feared flame—especially divine flame. The Che Clan wraith screamed as her soul was seared, then fled back underground. Even Ye Zhongyu was forced to retreat, unable to bear the oppressive heat.
The crowd fell back. Only Luo Han and Ling Qingxiao remained before the altar.
Ling Qingxiao slowly descended, eyes fixed on the rare and sacred sight—a phoenix in rebirth.
The phoenix’s call rang long and clear. Gradually, Feng Yujia’s spiritual signature shifted, the chaotic struggle replaced with clarity and calm—signaling her success. From the heart of the fire, a crimson phoenix emerged. Its tail feathers were longer than before, and its plumage shone even more brilliantly, radiant and alive. It circled the altar once before dissolving into a stream of red light and returning to the altar’s center.
Feng Yujia appeared from the flames. Her face and robes were unchanged, but everything else—her aura, her presence—was transformed.
Luo Han smiled softly. “Congratulations.”
The Phoenix Clan’s divine ability was rebirth through fire. Each death brought a leap in cultivation—but the price was steep. Few ever returned. Most burned away into nothing.
But she had survived. And risen higher than before.
The noble grace between Feng Yujia’s brows had only deepened. Though her appearance remained the same, a crimson flame now marked her forehead—beautiful and wild, adding a brilliant edge to her elegance.
Upon the altar, Feng Yujia inclined her head in the phoenix clan’s ceremonial bow. “My thanks.”
She hadn’t seen it clearly, but she could feel it—this nirvana, this rebirth, was intimately tied to the woman before her. Every breakthrough defied fate itself. And fate...was never fair.
Behind a large boulder, Feng Yuchen peeked through narrowed eyes, shielding his face from the flame’s brilliance. When the fire finally faded, he dared open them again—and saw Feng Yujia standing whole.
Same face. Same features. But somehow...not the same. She had changed.
With her soul unshackled, the altar began to crumble. The painted world around them lost color. The ritual platform collapsed. Trees withered. Stones rained down from above. From amidst the tumbling ruins, the ghost of the Che Clan girl flickered—then darted away beneath the rubble.
She had been wounded and weakened by the phoenix flame. No longer a threat.
Ling Qingxiao didn’t chase her. Instead, he returned to Luo Han’s side and took her hand. “This place is collapsing. We need to go.”
Feng Yujia’s deliverance had rewritten the Che girl’s fate—and in doing so, unravelled the world trapped in the mural. A flower, a world; a leaf, a cosmos. Every realm held its own laws. Even this painted world had known time, memory, and death. But now—its time was done.
Stone after stone crashed from above, some even burning with fire. Luo Han could already feel the laws of time beyond the mural. Her power began to return.
She tightened her grip on Ling Qingxiao’s hand. “The exit is above. We fly!”
He nodded and wrapped an arm around her waist. Together, they soared upward, cutting through falling rock like a streak of white light. Behind them, Feng Yujia took her phoenix form and followed closely, wings trailing flame.
In battle, the phoenix could not match dragons—but in flight, it had no rival.
She followed them up and out, breaking through the painting’s edge—and into the real world once more.
Luo Han landed first. The moment her feet touched solid ground, she felt the overwhelming pull of time’s laws return to her body. Her power surged anew.
The slab of stone that had drawn her in still lay before her—its mural, now just a ruin. All around, the ruins remained. But the oppressive aura that had once cloaked the air...was gone.
Feng Yujia stood still for a long moment, gathering her breath. Then she slowly approached the shattered mural and pointed. “Look. The red-dressed woman is gone.”
Luo Han turned to glance, then nodded. “Yes. She died in agony, bled out and bound in hatred. But you broke the ritual. Changed her ending. And so her world collapsed. I saw her escape as well—perhaps she fled into the real world with us. If so...I hope she can let go of her grievance and return to the wheel of reincarnation.”
Feng Yujia stood before the ruined mural in silence. She, too, was a firstborn daughter. She could feel the Che girl’s sorrow. From birth, they were told to be gracious, composed—to be what elder sisters should be. To give.
The Che girl had done all that. And yet, when she was condemned...no one from her family stood up for her.
The Che Clan feared death. They didn’t even speak on her behalf. Her father, her brothers—they were there when she was sacrificed. And in the end, they all died too.
Feng Yujia wasn’t the same—but she wasn’t so different, either. She had been raised to lead, taught that she must dedicate her life to the Phoenix Clan’s future. But when her brother was born, her mother passed the crown prince’s title to him.
The Che girl had grievances. So did Feng Yujia. Others thought she hated the clan, or the Demon God, or those who watched her die. But only Feng Yujia knew—her resentment was truly directed at herself.
She stood in front of the mural for a long time. At last, she whispered, “Thank you.”
Luo Han raised a brow, puzzled. She’d already thanked her once. Why again?
Feng Yujia didn’t clarify. She didn’t know if the words were meant for Luo Han—or for herself.
Slowly, she said, “You were right. ‘Discern truth from illusion. Know your own heart—and the Dao shall open.’ In that mural world...thank you, both of you.”
Luo Han’s expression shifted. Understanding dawned in her eyes. But she said nothing more. This was the Phoenix Clan’s business.
Instead, she said, “Living a glorious life is easy. Living a clear-headed one is not. The sooner one understands what they truly desire, the less likely they are to die with regrets, trapped in a cycle they cannot break. Own your fate. Only by facing your demons can you be reborn.”
Her words were not just for Feng Yujia, but for the Che girl too.
Feng Yujia nodded. “I understand. Thank you.”
And with that, the subject ended. Luo Han flexed her fingers, feeling strength surge back into her limbs. She gently placed the broken mural stone on the ground and looked up.
“Where are the others?”
Ling Qingxiao had already inspected the altar thoroughly. Upon hearing Luo Han’s question, he replied, “Each of the three thousand worlds forms a realm of its own. The sky within that mural world was boundless—naturally, so too would be the exits. The demon cultivators who escaped all flew in different directions. Most likely, they’ve landed in separate areas across the ruins.”
Luo Han nodded. If that were true, then Feng Yuchen had probably fallen elsewhere as well. Though spoiled and unmotivated, he was still of phoenix blood—his innate heritage would see him through. He’d survive, one way or another.
As for Ye Zhongyu, being of the dragon clan and born to the skies, he too would be fine.
But others would not be so fortunate.
The Demon High Priest, already ancient and frail, had spent nearly all his remaining lifespan battling Luo Han within the mural realm. When the world began to collapse, she had caught a glimpse of him—still trapped beneath the falling rubble. He hadn't made it out.
Though the mural realm was a layer lower in dimension than the real world, death was death—absolute and final, no matter how distorted the time flow. Even in two dimensions, death was still death.
Luo Han asked, “Then...Ye Zhongyu and the rest are still somewhere in the ruins?”
“Yes.” Ling Qingxiao nodded. “They dared conduct a forbidden ritual to summon the Demon God. Their intentions are unlikely to be simple. This is an ancient relic site—leaving them here poses too great a risk. We must act immediately and drive them out.”
Luo Han agreed. “Let’s go.”
Feng Yujia had no objections. Feng Yuchen was still missing, and she needed to find him. She couldn’t return to the Phoenix Queen without him. The three came to a swift decision and began their search, combing the surroundings with haste.
They started near the altar, sweeping the area from the inside out. Since the demon cultivators had escaped from the same mural world, they couldn’t have landed too far away. As they made their way across a ridge, the ground beneath their feet suddenly trembled.
Feng Yujia steadied herself. “What’s happening?”
Luo Han turned and saw that the ruins were collapsing. This place was nothing more than a mirage conjured by the past—likely linked to the now-broken mural. With that world gone, this illusion too had lost its anchor.
“It’s starting to fall apart,” she said, but something gnawed at her instincts. “Strange...everything was fine when we first exited the mural. Why is it collapsing now?”
Feng Yujia glanced around. “Perhaps it’s simply a delay. Each secret realm operates by its own laws—especially ancient ones. We can’t apply ordinary logic. Either way, we should leave quickly.”
Luo Han still felt uneasy, but they had no better options. She nodded. “Alright.”
But...was it just a delay? Ling Qingxiao stood still, eyes on the distant mountains, unmoving.
Luo Han walked a few steps, then noticed he hadn’t followed. She turned and asked gently, “What is it?”
He said nothing at first.
A moment ago, a sudden, overwhelming pang of unease had struck him—an almost primal jolt, as though something deep within his very soul had begun to stir. It had passed in a flash, but he was certain of what he felt.
Ling Qingxiao touched his chest, fingers brushing over his heart, eyes lowered and unreadable.
Luo Han was startled by the look on his face. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
He snapped back to awareness. Before him stood the woman he loved—her eyes held no suspicion, only genuine concern and trust. She was the Dao itself, and yet also his beloved—the one he had longed for across countless lifetimes.
He said nothing of what he had felt.
He lowered his hand. “I’m fine.”
“You’re sure you’re not hurt?”
“I’m sure.”
Just then, Feng Yujia called to them from up ahead. Seeing her waiting, Luo Han let it go for now. But she made a note to keep an eye on him.
The three of them soared toward the exit, flying through the dissipating mirage. As they flew, Ling Qingxiao once again fell into rare silence. No, he wasn’t hurt. But the problem was within.
That brief surge he had felt earlier—it was his heart demon stirring.