Chapter 111

The same crowd that moments ago had been trembling at the Emperor’s presence now stood frozen in disbelief, stunned by the conversational tone. The Emperor continued mildly, “You’ve had enough fun. Time to get serious. Pick a day and ascend already.”
The shock on their faces gradually melted into dull stupefaction. Even more absurd was Ling Qingxiao’s response—delivered with equal casualness:
“Alright.”
Simple. Direct. No hesitation.
Those listening were forced to endure a brief exchange between two of the Celestial Realm’s top talents. At some point, they just...gave up. Maybe, for such monsters, ascending to True Immortal really was no different than going out for lunch.
Ling Qingxiao assumed the conversation would end there, but the Celestial Emperor clearly had more to say.
“I sensed demonic energy earlier. Speak—what happened this time?”
There was a brief, almost imperceptible pause before Ling Qingxiao replied as usual:
“Outside Yunzhong City, we discovered a magnetic stone that recorded remnants of a primordial altar. Within it, we found a mural—and encountered several demons.”
The Emperor’s tone remained placid. “What mural?”
“The ‘Cheshi Worship Tableau.’”
The Emperor, with his bottomless well of knowledge, needed no further elaboration. He already understood what they had encountered. His expression didn’t change—still composed and serene, as though this were just another routine report.
“I see. You said demons. Who?”
“Ye Zhongyu.”
“Him again.” The Emperor didn’t sound surprised. He sighed faintly. “Lei Lie City has been unstable of late. The Demon King has reached an accord with us. Soon, they’ll be retrieving King Lei Lie back to the Demon Realm.”
The Honglu Bureau had gathered the Celestial Realm’s sharpest legal minds—silver-tongued experts unmatched in debate. These days, no one dared provoke the Heavenly Court. The bureau had been dormant for years—until the demons picked a fight.
Like wolves unleashed, the legal officials descended upon them, arguing the demons into silence after three hundred rounds of verbal sparring. With hard evidence and live witnesses in hand, the demons had no room to squirm. Left with no choice, the Demon King was forced to sign a one-sided treaty.
He ceded much to the Celestial Realm in return for one thing: the repatriation of King Lei Lie.
Naturally, the Emperor agreed. There was no need to keep Lei Lie around, eating celestial rations. Once the king returned to the Demon Realm, the matter would be closed for good.
The Celestials had already won decisively. The Emperor wanted to keep it that way, with no unforeseen accidents. A few infiltrators wouldn’t stir up much—but at a time like this, it was best to snuff out every spark before it could catch fire.
The topic jumped suddenly, but Ling Qingxiao followed perfectly. He nodded. “Understood.”
The Phoenix Queen, who had followed the entire conversation, found herself completely lost despite understanding every word. Wasn’t this about the ancient ruins? Why had the topic suddenly veered into extradition treaties and Lei Lie? The Emperor hadn’t even stated his request, and yet Ling Qingxiao already knew what to do.
She had been here the whole time...so why did she feel like she was eavesdropping on a private language?
Ling Qingxiao faced the Emperor once more. After a beat of silence, he asked:
“Anything else?”
Every person in the hall—servant or noble—widened their eyes in disbelief.
The Emperor gave him a look that was equal parts fond and exasperated. “Raise your cultivation quickly.”
“Got it.” And with that, Ling Qingxiao severed the divine transmission himself.
The golden light shattered. The Celestial Emperor’s projection disintegrated into countless motes of light, scattering into the night sky. When Ling Qingxiao turned back, he found everyone staring at him with a mix of awe and horror.
“What is it?” he asked.
At such close range, the Emperor had to have seen Luo Han. But since she hadn’t shown herself, he had simply pretended she wasn’t there. Luo Han had thought she’d grown used to Ling Qingxiao’s detached demeanor. But tonight, he’d once again caught her completely off guard.
She pointed at the fading glimmers of gold and asked, “Did you just...hang up on the Celestial Emperor?”
Ling Qingxiao raised an eyebrow. “What else should I have done? The conversation was over. Why keep talking?”
Luo Han fell silent. Somehow, that made a disturbing amount of sense—and she couldn’t refute it.
As the two spoke, the Phoenix Queen remained quiet even longer. She rarely left the palace these days—and clearly, she had fallen behind on current events. Only now did she begin to realize just how much the balance of power had shifted.
She had likely underestimated Ling Qingxiao’s future...severely.
After that encounter, the Phoenix Queen devoted even more attention to the evening banquet. Though preparation time was short, the celebration was lavish in every detail.
The phoenix clan favored red and gold, and their ceremonial garb reflected that. As night fell, lights glittered across the courtyards, and shadows of flowers danced like flame. The Queen and the Princess arrived in full regalia.
The Phoenix Queen wore scarlet royal robes, the train trailing long behind her like a blazing peony in full bloom—radiant and overwhelming in its grandeur.
Feng Yujia was similarly adorned, though far more restrained. A golden phoenix crown rested atop her head, with a pearl held in its beak. Her hairpiece shimmered with multicolored tailfeathers. She wore crimson palace robes with a golden silk drape across her arms. The colors were bright and vivid, yet her posture was dignified and serene. She was noble, yes—but never ostentatious. Her youthful elegance remained, never overshadowing the throne beside her.
Compared to his radiant and stunning mother and sister, Feng Yuchen seemed to pale in comparison. The phoenix clan was known for producing beautiful people—strikingly so. Their women were all resplendent and graceful, but such features, when inherited by a man, gave an air of excessive delicacy.
The entire phoenix royal family wore formal red ceremonial attire. In contrast, Luo Han and Ling Qingxiao, ever unshaken, remained in white. Amidst a hall of warm hues, the two stood out like a fresh stream cutting through brilliant flame—serene, distant, and untouchable.
The Celestial Realm was vast, home to countless clans and races, each with its own traditions. The dragon clan revered white; the phoenixes, red; and the Zouyu people favored simplicity. Preferences varied wildly, but mutual respect kept the peace. Amid a sea of color and contrast, harmony still reigned.
As the banquet began, the Phoenix Queen rose first to offer a toast. Once the ceremonial words were exchanged, everyone raised their cups and drank. A procession of crimson-clad beauties then glided into the hall, dancing to the sound of flutes and zithers.
The phoenix clan symbolized auspicious omens and were famed for their music and dance. They had long monopolized the grand ceremonies of the Celestial Realm, and any performance hosted by them was bound to be exceptional. Luo Han swept her gaze across the dancers and had to admit—an entire hall full of exquisite women was truly a feast for the eyes.
Perhaps this was why inter-clan marriages made sense. The dragon clan’s aesthetic clearly clashed with that of the phoenixes. The phoenixes adored red, no matter the gender. If someone forced that onto Ling Qingxiao, he’d probably go mad. But Ye Zinan? He was clearly thriving in it—finding it beautiful, even.
While the Phoenix Queen offered her celebratory toast, Luo Han paid close attention and noticed that Ling Qingxiao hadn’t touched a drop of wine. As expected, not long after, he quietly slipped away under the cover of music and laughter.
Luo Han swirled the wine in her cup. Turning around, she saw Ye Zinan chatting happily with the Queen and her family, Zou Jibai downing drinks with a grin—everyone was fully immersed in the revelry. No one had noticed Ling Qingxiao’s departure.
She set down her goblet and quickly followed.
It was as though Ling Qingxiao was born isolated from the world—no celebration, no clamor could cling to him. Wherever he stood, it felt like winter on a lonely mountain, untouched by time.
Luo Han followed the quietest path, and sure enough, she found him at the very edge of one of the floating platforms. Yunzhong City was built in the sky, its structures resting on levitating stone. Even the gardens were planted on drifting terraces. A towering wutong tree stood beside a floral pavilion, and beyond it—only clouds and empty sky.
She didn’t bother to mask her footsteps, yet it wasn’t until she came close that Ling Qingxiao noticed her presence. Turning around, he looked surprised to see her.
“You came out?”
“I came to find you. You walked off alone—how could I just sit there and stay?”
Ling Qingxiao paused for a moment before replying, “You didn’t need to. The phoenix clan’s dances are among the finest in the Celestial Realm. If you enjoy them, you should stay and watch. I only needed a bit of fresh air. Nothing more.”
“I don’t enjoy crowds,” Luo Han said softly. “I just like watching them with you.” Then she pointed to the massive tree above them. “I’ve never climbed a tree this tall before. Let’s go to the top.”
Ling Qingxiao looked at her, helpless. “We’re not children anymore. What’s the point of climbing trees?”
“If I want to go, I go. What’s age got to do with it?” Luo Han dragged him over. “Come on. Let’s see the world from the very top.”
Pulled along, Ling Qingxiao gave in, and the two soared upward. Hand in hand, they flew to the highest branches. The wind above the clouds was strong, and as Luo Han stood at the treetop, her silhouette swayed with the branches, as though she might fall at any moment.
But she wouldn’t fall.
Raising her eyes, she saw the crescent moon hanging just above them, close enough that she could almost believe reaching out would let her touch it.
“‘Speak no loud words, for fear of disturbing those in the heavens,’” Luo Han murmured, clinging to his sleeve and pointing to the moon. “Look. Doesn’t it feel so close? It’s the clearest, brightest moon I’ve ever seen.”
Ling Qingxiao looked ahead into the inky blue sky. The cold moonlight reflected in his eyes. The wind howled in the distance, scattering the faint sounds of music below. All that remained was the wind—and Luo Han’s voice.
In that moment, it felt like they had left the world behind, as though only the two of them remained in this high, quiet place. Ling Qingxiao had thought coming up here to look at the moon was childish. But now...he didn’t mind the feeling at all.
In the hush that followed, Luo Han asked gently, “Is something bothering you?”
Ling Qingxiao remained quiet for a long while. Then he asked,
“I was distracted earlier today. Did I cause you any trouble?”
“No,” Luo Han sighed. “Everyone has their own burdens. It’s normal to have low moments. Why would you apologize to me for that?”
“No one is perfect,” she said softly. “And you shouldn’t force yourself to be, just for someone else. I was only worried. I wasn’t blaming you. If you want to talk, I’ll listen. If not—that’s alright too.”
He was silent for so long that she thought he wouldn't reply. Then, so faintly it nearly disappeared into the wind, she heard him speak:
“What...is a heart demon?”
There was no emotion in his voice—only confusion.
Luo Han’s heart sank. A heart demon?
Did Ling Qingxiao already have the beginnings of one?
She’d thought this kind of emotional turmoil wouldn’t arise until much later in the story—after the leads had suffered through countless trials. But it was already here.
When had it started? What caused it?
She wanted to ask so many things. But this was a rare moment of openness from Ling Qingxiao. She didn’t dare scare him away with questions. Instead, she thought carefully and said,
“It could be a person’s desire...or their fear.”
Ling Qingxiao thought to himself: his desire and his fear were one and the same.
If he had never seen the light, he could have endured the darkness. If he had never possessed anything, he wouldn’t be afraid to lose it.
But he had.
Now that he knew what it meant to love and to be loved, there was no going back. He couldn’t imagine a world where Luo Han no longer trusted him—where she turned away coldly and treated him like a stranger.
They had first met at the Spiritless Abyss. And yet, Ling Qingxiao knew...he wasn’t the first one Luo Han had seen.
He didn’t know what the other version of him had done. But it was clear—whoever that person was, he had been too extreme, too twisted to be accepted by anyone.
Ling Qingxiao had always believed that he was different from that other self. But the more time passed, the more he realized—there might be no difference at all. The man he was now, compared to the one from before the ancient realm...looked different on the surface, yes. But at their core, they were still the same person.
Would it only be a matter of time before he became that version of himself—the one Luo Han kept at arm’s length, wary and guarded? Would the distance between them slowly grow until, one day, he lost her for good?
He had been avoiding that possibility, as if simply not asking, not thinking, not acknowledging it would keep that future at bay. As if pretending they were separate people would allow Luo Han to stay by his side just a little longer.
But now, he couldn’t avoid it anymore.
The birth of a heart demon was like stepping into a story where the ending was already written. No matter how desperately the characters struggled to change their fate, they still reached the same conclusion in the end.
He suddenly asked, “Do you think the future can really be changed?”
“Of course it can,” Luo Han replied. “We can’t undo the past—but we can choose what to do now. Whether one walks the path of immortality or the path of demons, in the end, it’s all about cultivating the heart.”
“Immortal or demon...it’s not about appearances. It’s about what one does.”
Ling Qingxiao looked at her, and for the first time in a while, let out a soft, almost helpless laugh. “You trust me that much?”
“I do,” Luo Han said without hesitation. The wind lifted strands of her hair, and she tucked them behind her ear as she continued. “Since I met you, you’ve never once let me down. You’ve earned my trust, completely. So don’t overthink everything. I already told you—I came here for you.”
“People say all beings should be equal in this world, and that’s true. But in my heart...everyone else comes after you.”
Ling Qingxiao was used to cold ideals and ruthless justice. He had heard a lifetime’s worth of greater good and self-sacrifice. But this was the first time someone had willingly rewritten their own principles—for him.
How could he possibly bear to lose someone like her?
He lifted a hand, shielding her from the wind. “It’s getting cold. Let’s go back.”
Luo Han hesitated. She could sense he still wasn’t saying everything he wanted to—but if he wasn’t ready to open up, she wouldn’t push. Smiling gently, she nodded. “Alright. Let’s go.”
The banquet hall was still buzzing with laughter and music, but neither of them had the heart to return. They slipped away and headed back to their quarters in silence.
The phoenix palace was crafted with all the elegance of the skies—graceful and light, its architecture soaring. No lamps had been lit; moonlight spilled across the covered walkways. At the door, Luo Han paused and said, “I’m here.”
Ling Qingxiao nodded. Then, without a word, he leaned forward and wrapped her in a deep embrace.
She stood still for a moment before gently placing her arms around his waist. Her voice was soft. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Ling Qingxiao murmured. He released her, fingers brushing the strands of hair near her temple. “Rest well. I’ll come find you tomorrow.”
He wouldn’t allow anything to threaten what they had. Not outsiders. Not fate. Not even himself. He was not that man. And from this point on—everything would be different.
It sounded like an ordinary goodnight. But Luo Han felt something off, like the words carried more weight than they let on. After he spoke, he gently ruffled her hair and said with a look, Go. Sleep.
She didn’t feel like sleeping. But she couldn’t find an excuse to stay, so she turned and went inside. From within the room, she could still hear him lingering outside. After a few quiet moments, his footsteps finally faded away.
The moonlight streamed through the tall lattice windows, slicing the floor into neat patterns. Luo Han stood there for a long time. Then suddenly, she thought—
She needed to visit the Bodhi Tree.
She had to find out what all this truly meant—the transmigration, the so-called "main characters"—everything.
—
Late that night, Ye Zhongyu sat in the shadows, slowly lowering his hand.
He had just finished stabilizing his breath. The volatile demonic energy inside him had finally calmed down enough to stop threatening to explode his body from within. The moment he had fully subdued the torrent of qi that had invaded him, a voice echoed in his mind:
“I told you—this is a once-in-a-lifetime cultivation method. Meeting me is the greatest fortune of your life.”
Ye Zhongyu let out a cold laugh and withdrew his hand. “You won’t even tell me who you really are. And you dare call yourself my great fortune? If you were truly some ancient powerhouse, why are you hiding your name?”
Within his sea of consciousness sat an old man in black robes, cross-legged and composed. His face was wrinkled, but his hair and beard were pitch-black, and his gaze sharp. He hardly looked elderly at all.
The old man snorted at Ye Zhongyu’s question. “If it weren’t for me, you’d have been discovered back in the ruins. You wouldn’t be here, talking to me now.”
“I was once a force to be reckoned with,” the old man continued proudly. “Had it not been for an ambush by my enemies, I would never have fallen. Only a sliver of my divine consciousness remained, drifting through the world in search of a worthy successor.”
“It was only because the altar was buried that I couldn’t find anyone all these years. Your talent is...average, to say the least. But time was short, and I had no better choice. So you’ll do.”
Earlier that day, Ye Zhongyu hadn’t been far from the altar. When the mural collapsed and he was forced to flee, something—he wasn’t sure what—hit him. A strand of black mist had barged into his mind, taking root in his sea of consciousness.
He’d tried to expel the intruder, but once inside, it had vanished without a trace. Unable to do anything, he had escaped first and planned to deal with it later.
And right after that, Ling Qingxiao had nearly discovered him.
That was when the black-robed man had saved him for the first time—shielding him during the chaos. After the ruins collapsed, the man had pulled Ye Zhongyu away at lightning speed.
Once they were somewhere safe, Ye Zhongyu demanded to know who the voice in his head belonged to. The mist had coalesced into this elderly figure, who claimed to be an ancient cultivator of great renown—betrayed and destroyed by his enemies, but determined to pass down his legacy and have his disciple avenge him.
But Ye Zhongyu wasn’t so easily convinced.
It sounded reasonable...but why had such a conveniently placed soul remnant ended up right next to the altar?
This was an ancient sacrificial ruin. What were the chances that such a “divine opportunity” just happened to land on him? Could fate really be that coincidental?
Even with all the doubts in his heart, Ye Zhongyu wasn’t foolish enough to refuse a cultivation method handed to him on a silver platter. He accepted the old man’s offer—so long as he could gain power, everything else could be dealt with later. In return, the old man promised to pass on his entire arsenal of techniques, guiding him without reservation.
At first, Ye Zhongyu thought this was a stroke of great fortune. But during the first transmission of the cultivation method, he nearly died on the spot.
The old man’s technique released a torrent of demonic energy, flooding Ye Zhongyu’s meridians to the brink of collapse. His body had almost ruptured under the strain. It had taken a long, grueling session of focused breathing before he could finally expel the excess qi and stabilize himself.
After that, Ye Zhongyu’s doubts only grew stronger.
He began to question whether this "ancient mighty one" was really who he claimed to be. The old man, unused to being questioned, sneered. “Meeting me is the fortune of several lifetimes. There are countless people in the world who dream of this chance. And you—how dare you question me?”
“If you don’t want this peerless demonic cultivation, fine. There are plenty of others who’d kill for it.”
Of course Ye Zhongyu was tempted. A method that could dominate the world—how could he not want it? But that didn’t mean he would blindly throw himself into the fire.
“That’s all very nice,” he said calmly, “but switching cultivation methods mid-way is no small matter. Who’s to say you’re not exaggerating? Unless...you can prove it.”
“Prove it?” The old man chuckled darkly. “You question me? Words spoken by this seat need no proof! Insolent brat!”
Ye Zhongyu remained unshaken. “Times have changed. You might’ve been powerful once, but you still died by someone else’s hand, didn’t you? Your era is over. If you want to survive in this one...you’ll have to play by our rules.”
The old man fell silent.
Ye Zhongyu knew he’d hit a nerve. This man, so arrogant and self-assured, had still ended up dead—slain by his own enemy. Ye Zhongyu didn’t know who that enemy was, but it was clear that the memory haunted the old man deeply.
And using that wound against him always worked.
Ye Zhongyu leaned in. “It’s fate that we met. I have enemies too—ones still roaming free. I need power to take my revenge. If you can prove your abilities are real, I’ll cooperate. And if your enemy still lives...then once I’ve mastered your techniques, I’ll help you settle the score.”
The old man snorted. “His descendant? No need. I’ll give you the name of the man himself.”
Ye Zhongyu froze. The man himself? But...hadn’t this so-called ancient cultivator claimed to be from a bygone era?
Before he could unravel the implications, the old man asked, “Well? What do you want first?”
That strange flash of suspicion vanished as quickly as it came. Ye Zhongyu pushed it down and said, “I want to know where my cousin is.”
—
Su Yinyue sat trapped in the attic, staring blankly out the window. Her days bled together—sunrise and sunset, sunrise and sunset. Tonight, there was no moon over Linshan. The darkness pressed down on her, leaving her unsure whether she was truly alive, or already dead.
In the stillness, a ripple spread through the air.
Su Yinyue slowly looked up. Before her, a mirror appeared in midair—on the other side stood Ye Zhongyu.
She gasped, thinking she was hallucinating. “Cousin?”
“Yinyue!” Ye Zhongyu’s heart clenched at the sight of her. “Where are you? I’ll come get you right now!”
Even as they spoke, silvery light suddenly shimmered outside the attic. The old man cursed, “Damn it! There’s a ward here—if we linger, he’ll sense it! Go! Now!”
The voice echoed only within Ye Zhongyu’s mind. Su Yinyue didn’t hear it. Everything felt like a dream. Before she could process what was happening, a black claw reached through the mirror, grabbed her—and pulled her out into the night.
—
It all happened too fast.
Su Yinyue tumbled to the ground with a thud. Ye Zhongyu rushed forward and helped her up. “Are you alright?”
She hadn’t breathed fresh air in so long that the wind on her face made her eyes sting. Tears welled up. “Cousin…”
He helped her to her feet. “It’s over. You’re safe now. We don’t have time to talk—let’s move.”
Su Yinyue wiped her tears, looked around, and asked, “Where are we?”
“Wuzhou.”
Her eyes widened. “Wuzhou? You brought me all the way across the heavens?”
The fact that the old man had transported her across half the celestial realm in an instant left no doubt in Ye Zhongyu’s mind—this was no ordinary spirit, but a true master of untold power.
Ling Qingxiao had imprisoned Su Yinyue in Linshan. There were likely guards patrolling outside even now. They might notice she was gone at any moment. Wuzhou might be far, but it wasn’t far enough. Ye Zhongyu knew they had to move, fast.
The old man agreed, barking at him within the sea of consciousness to hurry. Ye Zhongyu took Su Yinyue’s hand and said, “Wuzhou’s under lockdown. Thankfully, the roadblocks were just issued today—many are still unprepared. We’ll take the river routes tonight. Once we’re out, we’ll be safe.”
Su Yinyue didn’t know what he’d been through, but she nodded. As long as he was here, she’d go anywhere.
They moved swiftly through the woods. But just as they emerged from the trees, Ye Zhongyu halted in his tracks.
The clouds parted, a cold crescent moon hung overhead. By the riverbank stood a man in white, waiting quietly.
Ye Zhongyu’s pupils contracted sharply.
Before he could speak, the old man inside him erupted: “You again!”
The fury in his voice sent chills down Ye Zhongyu’s spine. The moment was so surreal, it bordered on absurd.
Could it be...the ancient enemy this man spoke of—
Was Ling Qingxiao?