Chapter 120

Luo Han couldn’t believe it. What is Yun Menghan doing here?
“You were the one brought in by the Dark River?” she asked, realization dawning.
The Dark River—an unpredictable flow that sometimes connected to the demon realm’s subterranean streams. That explained the lingering demonic aura they’d sensed.
Memories of the original storyline flooded Luo Han’s mind. In the original tale, Yun Menghan also met the Wu tribe’s High Priest after being gravely injured. At first, Ling Qingxiao was always the one saving her. Later, when he grew weary and indifferent, that role fell to the High Priest. Yun Menghan, wounded and vulnerable, would hide in this secluded village, quietly nursing her pain while Ye Zhongyu searched for her in vain.
She would be healed, coddled, comforted—until she left the High Priest behind without a word.
And this village, which had taken her in, sheltered her, healed her—was never mentioned again.
Looking at Yun Menghan now, Luo Han couldn’t help but wonder: What happened to this village after she left?
Yun Menghan froze when Luo Han called her name. She didn’t want to be seen, least of all by people from her past—especially now. She kept her head down and tried to retreat into the crowd.
Luo Han couldn’t let her slip away. “Yun Menghan,” she called again, “I heard what happened in the demon realm. You must’ve suffered greatly to end up here. But you’re not to blame—you were a victim. No one will judge you. If you’re in pain, if there’s something you haven’t told anyone, now is the time.”
Yun Menghan halted, visibly shaken. Pain? Her entire life was pain. How would someone like Luo Han, born with the world at her feet, ever understand?
That woman beside Luo Han—she recognized her. A phoenix clan princess. Of course. Noblewomen only ever surrounded themselves with their own kind.
And what about her? Everything she had, she’d earned with blood and grit. But no matter how hard she fought, once noblewomen entered the picture, they took everything.
She was the one Ye Zhongyu had chosen. But Su Yinyue kept forcing her way between them. And still, no one blamed Su Yinyue—they only called Yun Menghan manipulative, ambitious, shameless. Even after she lost her child, even after they tried to carve out her heart for another woman, the world mocked her for daring to reach above her station.
Luo Han might not be Su Yinyue, but in the end, they were all the same—blessed by fate. Seeing Luo Han and Feng Yujia standing side by side filled Yun Menghan with bitter resentment. She would not bare her scars for them.
“I’m fine,” she said, voice low. “I have things to do.”
She turned to leave.
But Luo Han called again, this time gently. “I may not agree with your choices, but I respect your right to make them. You’re free to live however you choose. But this isn’t just about you anymore. There may be others who entered the village alongside you—not just people, but things. This is about more than any one person. Please...for the sake of all six realms, be honest.”
The six realms? Yun Menghan laughed bitterly. When had the six realms ever spared her?
She had hung, broken and bleeding, from a city gate—and not a single soul had come to save her.
A sharp surge of resentment flared within Yun Menghan’s heart. Before she could stop herself, the words burst out: “No. I came alone.”
Xiaoli hadn’t expected Yun Menghan to know those beautiful strangers at the gate. As Yun Menghan spoke, Xiaoli couldn’t help sneaking glances at Ling Qingxiao again and again. But when she heard Yun Menghan's denial, she froze. “But, Yun-jiejie, clearly—”
“Xiaoli,” Yun Menghan snapped, her voice cutting like a blade, silencing the girl instantly. “There was no one else. From beginning to end, I came here alone.”
Xiaoli shrank back, startled, and looked at Yun Menghan with wide eyes. Yun Menghan dropped her gaze and turned to leave in haste—but she hadn’t taken more than two steps when a cold, familiar voice rang out from behind.
“You’re lying.”
The chill in Ling Qingxiao’s voice stopped Yun Menghan in her tracks.
He lifted his gaze toward the barrier and looked at her, eyes calm but sharp as frost. “You’re protecting him. There’s a demonic aura on you—the same as that from the fragments of the Demon God. I’ll ask you one last time: Where is he?”
Yun Menghan turned, stunned. “Demon God?”
Ling Qingxiao was certain—the fragment was inside the barrier. He could feel it because he had one in his own body.
During the Great War of the Middle Era, he had fought the Demon God to the death. When the god’s divine soul shattered, one of the fragments pierced through Ling Qingxiao’s dragon scales and embedded itself deep within him before he could defend himself.
Since falling into the Abyss of Absolute Spirits, Ling Qingxiao had been plagued by inner demons. Meeting Luo Han had once stabilized him, but ever since that fragment awakened, his demons had only worsened—until they had become a true heart-devouring obsession.
The Demon God’s remnants constantly provoked those shadows within him. And to suppress them, Ling Qingxiao had only one path: kill the Demon God over and over. So long as the god attempted to reform, he would destroy him again. Until not even a wisp remained.
Now, Ling Qingxiao spoke the truth without hiding it—and silence fell.
Even the Wu tribe's people were stunned. Ye Zinan and Zou Jibai both turned pale. “A fragment of the Demon God? Is that true?”
Of course it was true. Ling Qingxiao didn’t explain. Instead, a glint of icy blue light flashed across his hand. A sword appeared, cold and sharp. The Nine Heavens Sword.
Ling Qingxiao rarely drew this weapon, but when he did, blood would surely follow. His summoning it now made it clear: he was prepared to fight.
He looked at Yun Menghan with serene coldness. Under that gaze, a chill crawled down her spine.
“Hand over the fragment,” he said. “Because once I move, you’ll no longer have the right to choose.”
The High Priest of the Wu tribe stepped forward, eyes narrowing. He raised his hand in defense. “Absurd! The Demon God has long since perished. No god or demon can return once they fall. What you call a fragment is nothing but an excuse to breach our sacred lands. So long as I stand here, you will not succeed.”
True, Nuwa’s barrier was powerful—but it had weakened over the centuries. With Nuwa long gone, how strong could her last defense truly remain? Ling Qingxiao and Luo Han had stayed their hands only out of courtesy. If they wished to break through, no single barrier could stop them.
Weapons were drawn. The Wu clan readied themselves. Ye Zinan and the others did the same. The air was taut with the threat of violence.
Luo Han quickly stepped forward. “We did not come to provoke conflict. If you doubt us, then bring out the other person for questioning. Yun Menghan insists she came alone, yet from your own reactions, it’s clear she didn’t. She denies it to our faces—do you not find that suspicious?”
Her words struck deep. Luo Han, ever precise with her words, had no illusions about persuading Yun Menghan directly. If she couldn’t move the girl, she’d turn to the villagers. Their goal was not to make enemies of the Wu tribe—if they could avoid bloodshed, they would.
And as expected, her sharp reasoning pierced through the villagers’ doubts. They thought back and realized—yes, Yun Menghan had been evasive. If there was nothing to hide, why lie about the child?
Though the villagers didn’t believe in the Demon God’s revival, they were descendants of Nuwa. They had suffered much at the hands of demons. It cost them little to investigate—if only for peace of mind.
Some of the older ones, who had survived the last wave of demon attacks, wavered.
Yun Menghan looked at the villagers who had once been so kind to her, only to see their faces change. Bitter disbelief spread across her face. “You...you would throw me and my child to the wolves?”
Her words were harsh. An elder frowned. “We’re not offering you as a sacrifice. We simply want to check. If everything is fine, then all will be well.”
Yun Menghan shook her head again and again. “I thought you were good people. But now I see—you’re just like the rest. Hypocrites! Pretending to be kind, but in truth no better than those who sell children to avoid disaster! In all the vast world, is there not a sliver of kindness left for me?”
Her accusations soured the mood. Some villagers, who’d hesitated before, were now offended.
The High Priest stepped in, softening his voice. He looked at her tear-filled eyes and said, “Enough. She is a mother—it’s natural she wants to protect her child. Yun Menghan, if you don’t trust others, surely you can trust me. Let me inspect the child, alone. I give you my word: I will not harm a hair on his head. And if it turns out to be nothing, I will offer you a full apology.”
The High Priest’s words were reasonable. The villagers nodded in agreement.
But Yun Menghan still stood frozen, heart colder than ice. She looked at these people—these seemingly kind, now ready to feed her to the fire—and felt her soul go numb.
Only Luo Han noticed something strange.
“Child?” she echoed, eyes narrowing. “What child? She never said she had a child.”
The Wu tribe was stunned. Yun Menghan...doesn’t have a child? Then who—what—was the infant she brought into the village?
Before they could fully grasp the implications, a surge of dark energy shot out from behind. It wrapped around Yun Menghan like a shadowy serpent, then pierced through the barrier in a blink, vanishing into the mountains beyond.
With a sharp shing, Ling Qingxiao unsheathed his sword. Sword qi howled through the air as he struck toward the fleeing darkness. At the critical moment, the black mist severed part of itself to ensure its escape, leaving a fragment behind as the rest fled deeper into the wilderness.
The trailing edge of his sword wind brushed the barrier—just brushed it—and it shuddered violently. The Wu clan, High Priest included, stared in shock.
That...had only been the edge of his sword qi.
Their sacred barrier—crafted by Nuwa herself, the pride of their entire people—had almost shattered.
If Ling Qingxiao had truly meant to attack...would the barrier have held at all?
Now, neither Ling Qingxiao nor Luo Han had time to worry about the Wu tribe. The five of them, as soon as they sensed the demonic aura, moved in unison and gave chase. The severed fragment of the Demon God fled into the mountains, and the group followed without hesitation.
Xiaoli stood frozen, overwhelmed. The High Priest moved quickly, gathering the villagers. “Our tribe is in grave danger. Everyone, into the altar hall—seal the entrance. Until I return, no one is to open it.”
“But High Priest, what about you—?”
“I’m going to find out exactly what’s going on.”
He entrusted the villagers to the tribal elders, then took off, following the trail of spiritual energy in pursuit of Luo Han and the others.
Elsewhere, Ye Zhongyu was still searching along the riverbank for any sign of Yun Menghan. When he saw a dense black mist streak across the sky, his cultivation stirred violently within him.
That’s the Demon God!
The Demon God was alive—and this aura was even more solid, more refined, than what he’d encountered before. Without hesitation, Ye Zhongyu led his party in pursuit, chasing the demonic presence up the mountain.
From across a chasm, he finally caught sight of Yun Menghan...and the Demon God—disguised once more as a child. He moved to fly over—and then realized, he couldn’t.
Flight, spiritual energy, even magical artifacts—nothing worked here. He couldn't even lift off the ground. So the Demon God was forced to descend here too?
A thick fog cloaked the mountain, veiling the ravine in mist so deep the bottom couldn’t be seen. The only way across...was a lone, swaying rope bridge, suspended between cliffs.
The Demon God, seemingly drained of power, had reverted to infant form. Yun Menghan instinctively cradled him in her arms. She looked ahead at the unguarded bridge, the wooden planks worn, the chains trembling in the wind—her eyes filled with hesitation.
But the pursuit was drawing closer. Yun Menghan bit her lip, steeled herself—and stepped onto the iron rope bridge.
Luo Han arrived and immediately noticed the strange restriction. “There’s a spatial law here,” she muttered. “We can’t use any spiritual force.”
Mist curled around them. Yun Menghan clung to the bridge, an infant in her arms, her body swaying dangerously with the motion.
The others soon caught up. Ye Zinan frowned. “Where are we? Why is all our cultivation sealed?”
Ling Qingxiao glanced around. “This must be the true reason the Wu tribe chose this place to isolate themselves. The terrain here suppresses all spiritual, demonic, and elemental force. One must rely solely on their physical strength to cross.”
Yun Menghan was at her limit. She clung to the ropes, unable to go forward or back. Every step she took caused the bridge to sway even harder.
From the far side, Ye Zhongyu called out, “Meng’er! I’m here! Come to me!”
At the same time, Ling Qingxiao extended a cold hand. “Leave the Demon God behind.”
She could cross if she wanted—but not with the Demon God in tow.
Ye Zhongyu saw that familiar, infuriating figure again and felt a headache coming on. “Ling Qingxiao,” he said through gritted teeth, “Yun Menghan is my wife. I’m taking her home. Why do you stand in my way?”
“Wife?” Ling Qingxiao laughed quietly. “If you truly saw her as your wife, would you have forced her to cut out her own heart, paraded her on the city walls like a criminal? A man like you has no right to speak of love.”
With that, Ling Qingxiao stepped onto the bridge, moving toward the Demon God.
The Jade Purity Bottle’s seal had loosened; a portion of the Demon God’s soul had escaped and cloaked itself in infant form, tricking those around him. But that deception came with a price—he was now bound by the limits of his mimicry. This was his weakest state.
Ye Zhongyu saw Ling move and reacted swiftly, yanking the bridge and leaping forward.
The chain shuddered. Ling Qingxiao, agile as ever, caught a side rope and steadied himself. Forget Yun Menghan, he thought. Deal with the other one first.
The two men began fighting mid-bridge. Their strikes made the entire structure tremble violently.
Yun Menghan could no longer keep her footing. She fell to her knees, clutching a rope, holding the child close. The bridge swayed dangerously beneath them, and yet the two cultivators continued their fierce exchange as if unaware that one slip would send them plunging into the abyss.
Ye Zinan turned pale. “Are they insane? They fall here, and they’ll die!”
Feng Yujia, a phoenix by blood, was just as uneasy. “I’ve heard tales of the dragon race’s ferocity. I thought it exaggerated. Now I believe every word.”
Luo Han wasn’t worried about Ling Qingxiao—he was raised on the sword, trained in the body. But Yun Menghan...she was in real danger.
“Yun Menghan!” Luo Han shouted. “Retreat while you can! If they break the bridge, you’ll go down with it! You haven’t gone far—just turn back!”
Ye Zhongyu’s face darkened. No! The Demon God is still in her arms. If she retreats, I’ll lose everything!
He called out as well, his voice softening. “Meng’er, it was all a misunderstanding. I had no choice back then. I love you more than life itself. Come back with me. We can start over.”
Yun Menghan hesitated. Should she go forward...or turn back?
Somewhere deep inside, she felt it—whichever path she chose now would determine the fate of everything that followed.
Luo Han saw that hesitation and nearly tore her hair out. This woman! How is she still hesitating?!
She shouted again: “That child in your arms isn’t a child! He’s the Demon God in disguise! He’s been manipulating you this whole time. While he’s weak—kill him!”
Yun Menghan froze. Her mind went blank. Luo Han and Ling Qingxiao claimed the infant was the Demon God. The Wu tribe had their doubts. But Yun Menghan...she knew.
She had sensed it for a while now. She just hadn’t expected the truth to be even more terrifying than she imagined.
Though Yun Menghan had married into the Demon Realm for love, she was a celestial at heart. She had grown up in the lower heavens and knew all too well what would happen to the weaker celestials if the demon race ever rose again.
Her mind knew what she should do—kill the Demon God, just as Luo Han had said.
But when she lowered her head and looked at the small, helpless infant in her arms, clinging to her with complete trust and innocence...she simply couldn't bring herself to strike.
Ye Zhongyu lunged to snatch the child, but was blocked by Ling Qingxiao. The two men clashed with raw strength, exchanging blows midair atop the swaying rope bridge.
Caught between them, Yun Menghan trembled. The bridge rocked so violently she could barely keep her grip.
Suddenly, a strange red light flared beneath the mist. Luo Han turned sharply—the light was coming from the direction of the Wu tribe village.
A dreadful premonition gripped her heart. “Something's wrong. The Wu tribe is in danger!”