Chapter 133

At the edges of the Silver River, Ye Zhongyu personally watched the spiritual light across the waters flicker as banners were methodically withdrawn.
Ling Qingxiao was retreating.
Ye Zhongyu stared across the river, baffled. “What is he trying to do?”
No one knew. The entire demonic camp stood at the river’s edge, watching the scene unfold with solemn expressions. The Celestial Realm had withdrawn first, leaving the demon side in a state of awkward indecision. Ye Zhongyu returned to his tent in heavy silence, his face dark as thunder.
He had spent countless sleepless nights preparing for this battle, pouring every ounce of effort into his defenses. But before a single clash had occurred, Ling Qingxiao disappeared, then without warning, pulled his troops back.
It felt like punching into a cloud, no resistance, no target, just a void that left him seething with frustration. Ling Qingxiao didn’t even acknowledge him.
Inside the main tent, voices clashed in heated debate. No one believed that the retreat was genuine. Some urged an immediate counterattack, others counseled caution and observation. Before long, tempers flared and fists flew.
That they dared to brawl in front of the Demon King himself spoke volumes about how little respect Ye Zhongyu commanded.
A cold voice rang out: “Enough. Get out. I wish to be alone.”
Those favoring peace stopped reluctantly. The war hawks scoffed and stormed off without so much as a bow. The atmosphere in the tent was stifling. The moderates gave a few half-hearted pleasantries before making their exit as well.
Once everyone had gone, Ye Zhongyu pressed his fingers to his brow. A headache throbbed behind his eyes. He was not of demon blood. Even after ascending to the title of Demon King, he held no real authority in court. The kings of the various demon cities did not recognize him.
His rise to power had been circumstantial, opportune. The Demon Realm had long been in decline. Its gap with the Celestial Realm widened daily, and the lower classes lived in worsening poverty. Their resentment toward the heavens festered. The common demons believed it was the Celestials who had stolen their resources, bringing about their fall.
Ye Zhongyu rose amid that chaos. During the fight for control of Lei Lie City, he had been the first to shout slogans about exterminating the immortals and had erected the infamous Immortal Execution Platform as his political symbol.
That platform, built within demon lands, could siphon spiritual energy, but Heaven was no fool. The Celestial Court immediately retaliated, increasing patrols and issuing public warnings across all realms about the dangers of the Immortal Execution Stones.
The stones themselves were rare and difficult to use effectively. Depending on them to shift the power balance between realms was pure delusion. But the common people didn’t care about feasibility. They heard the impassioned slogans and were swept up in the fervor.
Ye Zhongyu was seen as the embodiment of that movement. A fallen immortal. Betrayed by Heaven. Branded with the hatred of a thousand wrongs. And above all, he was the Celestial Emperor’s older brother.
That identity gave him momentum. He overcame countless obstacles and finally seized the title of Demon King.
Yet even so, it was a title in name only. Compared to the Celestial Emperor, his power was a hollow shell. In truth, he was no more than a figurehead, an idol elevated by public sentiment.
The demon kings ruled their own territories with iron fists, generation after generation. Why would they submit to an outsider like Ye Zhongyu?
Outside of Lei Lie City, the other cities ignored his commands outright. Desperate to consolidate power, Ye Zhongyu had raised the banner of war.
War was the only way to rapidly centralize wealth, military, administration, and political authority. And it also served as a convenient distraction to redirect the people’s anger and reinforce his own legitimacy.
He needed a decisive victory to solidify his position. But this war...had gone wrong at every turn. His subordinates ignored his commands, the funds for logistics were insufficient, and now, his enemy simply withdrew before a single sword was drawn.
Ye Zhongyu could only feel one thing: bone-deep exhaustion. In the midst of his frustration, a sinister, mocking voice suddenly echoed through the tent.
“You call yourself the Demon King? Utterly useless.”
Ye Zhongyu’s body tensed instantly. His spine straightened, eyes sharp as blades, scanning the empty tent like a hawk.
“Who’s there? Show yourself!”
As he searched the tent, his spiritual energy quietly surged. The voice laughed softly, then spoke again:
“Don’t waste your strength. You are no match for me.”
This time, Ye Zhongyu pinpointed the source, it was coming from the black demon flask resting in the corner. He turned back toward it, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“You?”
“Yes,” the voice said with scornful ease. A wisp of black smoke slithered from the narrow neck of the flask, coalescing into a faint humanoid figure. It floated lazily around the tent, oozing disdain.
“So this is the state of the Demon Realm? What a pitiful lot of failures.”
Ye Zhongyu’s face darkened. “Who are you, really?”
He didn’t fully understand the origins of the flask. All he knew was that when Yun Menghan returned after her mysterious disappearance, she had this so-called “wish-granting” bottle in her possession. It had immediately raised red flags in Ye Zhongyu’s mind. After a quiet investigation, he discovered the flask contained traces of ancient forbidden arts.
He became intrigued. After some effort, he coaxed Yun Menghan into revealing the artifact’s origin and with a bit more effort in bed, took the item for himself.
He even sent men to the Great Wilderness to acquire blood from the Witch Tribe, planning to slowly refine the artifact. But the process proved far more difficult than anticipated. Whatever was sealed inside the bottle wasn’t just a demon, it was something far darker and vastly more dangerous.
On the eve of the war, knowing he was outclassed by Ling Qingxiao in every way, Ye Zhongyu made a desperate gamble. He used half the Witch Tribe blood to break the seal and attempt a fusion. But before battle could even begin, Ling Qingxiao vanished, leaving Ye Zhongyu without a chance to test the artifact's true power.
Feeling uneasy about the evil energy it emitted, Ye Zhongyu had shelved the bottle until now, when it reappeared on its own. The black mist swirled, encircling Ye Zhongyu’s body, its voice cold and coaxing.
“You don’t need to know who I am. All you need to understand is this: at this point, I am your only hope.”
“What a joke,” Ye Zhongyu sneered, decades of experience in the Demon Realm tempering his reactions.
“I am the Demon King, feared across all six realms. I command thousands of troops. And you, you’re nothing but a sealed demon trapped in a bottle. A prisoner who can’t even walk freely. And yet you dare to look down on me?”
Something he said must’ve struck a nerve. The black mist thickened abruptly, fury pulsing through it. Resentful energy corroded the furniture around them, leaving charred holes in wood and cloth alike. Startled, Ye Zhongyu threw up a shield of demonic qi, roaring,
“You dare act up before me, foul spirit? Do you think I can’t seal you away again?”
The mist laughed darkly and whispered beside his ear,
“Seal me? You? Do you even have the courage?”
It paused, then added with venomous precision:
“The only reason you sit on the Demon Throne at all is because of your younger brother’s name. The Demon Kings only tolerate your presence because you are Ling Qingxiao’s half-brother, the perfect pawn to provoke him. Without him, do you truly think you could’ve gotten this far?”
Ye Zhongyu’s pupils dilated. Rage twisted his face. He wanted to deny it but deep down, he knew it was true.
Ling Qingxiao was still the record-holder across all six realms for cultivation achievements. His battles during the Celestial Emperor selection trials had become the standard curriculum for immortal disciples.
And after ascending the throne, he cleaned house with ruthless efficiency, strengthening the celestial military and transforming the lives of commoners. Under his reign, the Celestial Realm had soared above the rest.
And Ye Zhongyu? His entire rise was built on public outrage and hollow slogans. After becoming Demon King, in a desperate bid to rally support, he tangled himself with a dozen influential demonesses.
But the Demon Realm wasn’t the Celestial Court, those women would roll into bed with him one day and turn their backs the next. Most of them kept ten lovers at a time. It was nothing out of the ordinary.
He endured their fickle affections for minimal gain. In the end, every accomplishment he could lay claim to...traced back to Ling Qingxiao.
Whether in cultivation, power, or reputation, he was perpetually overshadowed. But through endless propaganda and strategic framing, Ye Zhongyu had somehow become a rival to the Celestial Emperor in name, if not in reality.
He knew this. And because he knew, he hated anyone who dared say it aloud. And now, this foul creature had dared to say it to his face. Ye Zhongyu exploded in fury.
“You, trapped inside a bottle, a failed wretch, what right do you have to mock me?”
When you’re powerless to retaliate, the next best thing is to go for the jugular. And on that, both of them were experts. The voice turned colder, almost poisonous.
“No wonder you could never surpass him. You were born a coward. A spineless weakling. Your entire life has been lived in his shadow. Your supporters only elevated you in hopes that you might resemble him. Even your women—they only want you because you remind them of him.”
“Power, prestige, wealth, fame, not a single one have you bested him in. Not even love.”
Ye Zhongyu’s face went deathly pale. He knew the demon was trying to provoke him, and yet—it worked. His eyes flared as he barked,
“Love? What do you mean by that?”
He had always known he was no match for Ling Qingxiao. Even back when he was the prized heir of Zhongshan, that bitter truth had gnawed at him. Through the passing centuries, he was defeated by Ling Qingxiao again and again.
At first, Ye Zhongyu comforted himself by thinking his brother only excelled at cultivation, that he lacked charm and tact. But then Ling Qingxiao entered the Celestial Court, and his actions there left Ye Zhongyu no room for excuses.
He tried again to reassure himself, Ling Qingxiao’s cold personality would eventually alienate people. But no, Ling Qingxiao became Celestial Emperor, commanding the realm with an iron hand. In just a few short years, he reshaped the heavens.
The only shred of pride Ye Zhongyu had left was in matters of the heart.
Sure, his cultivation, intelligence, and prestige were all inferior to Ling Qingxiao’s, but at least he had women. Many of them. Ling Qingxiao, no matter how powerful, was a block of wood, destined for a cold, lonely life. Or so he believed.
Now, the demon sealed within the flask had spoken of a woman. Ye Zhongyu’s expression tightened.
“What do you mean by that?”
The demon’s voice dripped with malicious delight.
“So you really don’t know. Ling Qingxiao has a woman by his side now—a woman not of this world. She is a long-lost divine being. The embodiment of this realm’s Heavenly Dao.”
Ye Zhongyu’s heart skipped a beat.
“What?”
“Why else would he abandon the frontlines and leave on his own?” the demon pressed. “He even ordered his army to retreat, just to make more time for her. You think that’s weakness? It’s calculation, down to the marrow. Even his marriage must yield maximum gain.”
It felt like a hammer had struck Ye Zhongyu's skull. His mind buzzed with disbelief. Heavenly Dao? Divine spirit? Ling Qingxiao? That didn’t make sense.
He clung to reason.
“You haven’t left this tent once. I myself didn’t know this—how could you?”
The demon chuckled, then shifted into a shadowy, seductive figure that hovered under the roof.
“You insects know nothing of my power. The moment she returned to this realm, I sensed her. She leans toward the Celestial and Human races, if Ling Qingxiao ensnares her and binds the Heavenly Dao to the Celestial Emperor…”
His voice dropped into a whisper.
“Then you, and the Demon Realm, and even the Beast Clans will have no right to speak at all.”
That struck home. Ye Zhongyu’s rational mind still screamed doubt, but looking at the demon’s conviction, and knowing Ling Qingxiao’s character, terror crept in.
The demon, sensing his advantage, pressed on:
“You must not let him succeed. Break them apart. Destroy their bond before it solidifies, or you’ll lose everything.”
Ye Zhongyu’s soul was trembling when a voice called from outside the tent. He snapped back to himself. The demon paused, then dissolved into smoke and slid back into the flask. Ye Zhongyu took a steadying breath.
“What is it?”
“Your Majesty, the Princess Consort has returned.”
Yun Menghan? Ye Zhongyu frowned. So she remembered to return, after all. She had vanished right before battle, a blatant disregard for military orders. Holding back his fury, he said coldly,
“Let her in.”
His displeasure deepened when he saw her return accompanied by the High Priest of the Witch Tribe. His voice turned sharp.
“Where have you been? The battle was imminent and you disappeared without a word. If the Celestial Realm had captured you, you’d have been a burden to us all.”
Yun Menghan looked down, unable to reply. The Priest’s face darkened in displeasure.
“She is your wife. Your first concern should have been her safety, not your public image. She didn’t leave on a whim, she accompanied me to our ancestral grounds to offer rites for our people.”
With a third party present, Ye Zhongyu softened his tone slightly.
“I wasn’t blaming her. I was just...worried. Harsh words are often spoken from fear, not anger.”
Yun Menghan relaxed. She had always known, though Ye Zhongyu seemed cold and impatient, it was only because he cared.
“The High Priest protected me well along the way. I wasn’t harmed,” she said softly.
Protected you well, did he? Ye Zhongyu sneered inwardly. Yun Menghan always wept over his other women, but her own flirtations weren’t so innocent either. Still oblivious to the cold gleam in his eyes, she hesitated and added quietly,
“We...encountered the Celestial Emperor in the Great Wilderness.”
“Ling Qingxiao?” Ye Zhongyu snapped to attention. His brow twitched. “What was he doing there?”
“We’re not sure,” the High Priest said. “He was accompanied by a woman, someone close to him. I suspect the two have ulterior motives.”
Ye Zhongyu lowered his gaze, hiding the anxiety in his eyes. Ling Qingxiao in the Great Wilderness...Did he find the Witch Tribe’s village? Could he have uncovered something?
And there really was a woman with him.
The demon had mentioned a divine spirit tied to the Heavenly Dao just minutes before Yun Menghan arrived with this exact same tale. There was no way the two could’ve conspired. Which meant…Everything the demon said was true. Heavenly Dao had returned, and Ling Qingxiao got to her first.
Ye Zhongyu’s chest filled with unspoken rage. As much as he hated to admit it, Ling Qingxiao was handsome. If he used that face to seduce her and sway the Heavenly Dao to his side, the balance of power would shift drastically in favor of the Celestial Realm.
Ye Zhongyu cursed silently. So that’s why Ling Qingxiao had vanished. He had hoped, for a foolish moment, that Ling Qingxiao had finally lost interest in the mortal world. Instead, he had simply spotted a greater prize.
And Ye Zhongyu...had already tied himself down with marriage.
How he regretted it now. If not for pride, if not for the petty desire to prove he could win where Ling Qingxiao would never compete, he never should’ve married Yun Menghan. Now, with her in the picture, trying to win the Heavenly Dao’s favor would be infinitely more difficult.
His eyes flickered with schemes. When he looked up again, his expression was calm and composed. With a tender smile, he said,
“It’s good that you’re back. You must be tired. Rest now, I’ll come see you tonight.”
Yun Menghan beamed, glowing with joy, and walked away with light steps. Once she was gone, the Witch Tribe’s High Priest dropped all pretense. His expression darkened.
“She’s a good girl. She loves you deeply—and she lost a child for you. Treasure her. Don’t stray. Don’t hurt her again.”
Ye Zhongyu’s tone went cold.
“You should address her as the Princess Consort.”
Then, brushing aside the rebuke, he said,
“We’ll discuss personal matters later. I have pressing business.”
He turned toward the guards outside the tent.
“Summon the Red Lotus Demon King and Crown Prince Feng Yuchen. Immediately.”
—
"What?" Feng Yuchen shot to his feet, utterly stunned. "The Heavenly Dao has been kidnapped by Ling Qingxiao?"
"Exactly." Ye Zhongyu’s expression was grave. "When the Heavenly Dao descended into the mortal realm, it was silent and unnoticed. I was negligent...and let her fall into danger. She was newly awakened, ignorant of the ways of the world, and Ling Qingxiao got to her first. His absence from the frontlines, it was all because of this. As Demon King, I cannot stand by while someone like Ling Qingxiao deceives the Heavenly Dao.
"Tell me, who among you will join me in rescuing her?"
This was no trivial matter. Feng Yuchen, hot-blooded and ever righteous, didn’t hesitate. The High Priest of the Wu Tribe, whose people had long safeguarded the ancient rites of worshipping divine spirits also stepped forward without question. The last divine being in the world was in danger, how could he turn her back?
Only the Red Lotus Demon King remained silent. Unlike the others, he was seasoned and shrewd. He didn’t buy Ye Zhongyu’s words wholesale.
He tapped his fan thoughtfully and asked,
"There’s been no sign of disturbance in the Six Realms. What makes you so certain that this woman is the Heavenly Dao?"
Ye Zhongyu’s eyes met his, dark and gleaming with veiled meaning.
"Right before battle, Ling Qingxiao suddenly left the front lines...with a woman in tow. And where did they go? To the Great Wilderness, the easternmost edge of the world. Do you need more proof?"
Bringing up Ling Qingxiao was the perfect bait. Even the Red Lotus Demon King had to admit the argument held weight. He considered a moment longer, then asked,
"What is the nature of the Heavenly Dao? Why was she born? Will she intervene in the affairs of the Six Realms?"
"Who can fathom the heart of a god?" Ye Zhongyu replied, tone slow and deliberate. "But if she remains by Ling Qingxiao’s side for long, constantly influenced by him...she may well take his side."
That was enough. The Red Lotus Demon King snapped his fan shut with a crack.
"Rescuing the Heavenly Dao is the duty of all who live beneath the heavens. I shall lend my strength."
Now that their allegiance was secured, the only question left was how to act. Ye Zhongyu frowned, headache looming.
"Does anyone have a way...to restrain Ling Qingxiao?"
Trying to snatch someone from Ling Qingxiao’s grasp...Easier said than done. A heavy silence fell over the tent. Then, after a long pause, the High Priest spoke.
"Perhaps...I do."
All eyes turned to him at once.
He hesitated, clearly wrestling with the weight of what he was about to reveal. Finally, he said,
"There’s a secret my tribe has guarded for generations. Long ago, Lady Nuwa left behind a divine artifact to protect her descendants. Our patriarch decreed that it must never be used unless the world was on the brink. But now...the Wu Tribe is destroyed. The Heavenly Dao has fallen into the hands of a tyrant. If this does not qualify as the brink, then when?"
An artifact of Nuwa! Ye Zhongyu’s heart leapt, though he kept his expression carefully neutral.
"Where is this artifact?"
The High Priest was silent for a long time. Then he raised his head.
"I can surrender this divine relic, but you must swear vengeance for my people. You must promise to avenge the innocent lives butchered when our tribe was annihilated."
The Red Lotus Demon King’s lips twitched in amusement, but he said nothing. Ye Zhongyu agreed without hesitation.
"Of course. I swear it, I will find those responsible and see justice done. Now...where is the artifact?"
The High Priest finally relented.
"In the Underworld."
—
The fifteenth day of the seventh month was known among mortals as the Ghost Festival.
Common folk believed that during this month, the gates of the underworld opened, and on the fifteenth, they reached their widest point. The dead would return to visit the living, and so families burned paper offerings, held rituals, and honored their ancestors.
What began as a solemn rite had slowly become a celebration. Now, it was more carnival than ceremony. On this night, the streets were filled with masked revelers pretending to be ghosts, delighting in fear and spectacle.
Ling Qingxiao and Luo Han walked side by side through the bustling streets, watching the parade of absurdity unfold.
A teenage boy, gnawing on a candied hawthorn stick, ran straight into a passerby. He looked up, blinked, then burst out laughing.
"That mask’s wild! Looks so real. Where’d you get it? I want one too!"
Elsewhere, a family of three strolled together, the child perched on his father’s shoulders shouting to see the acrobats. The father laughed.
"This troupe’s decapitation act looks so real, the blood spurting, everything!"
A young scholar stopped beneath a row of lanterns, eyes catching on a graceful beauty. Captivated, he gathered his courage.
"Fair lady, wait! Might I ask your name, your age, your place of residence...and your marital status?"
The woman giggled, covering her face with a silken fan.
"Sixteen years of age, from Suzhou. If you’re sincere, you’re welcome to visit my home and propose."
But behind her, cast upon the decorative screen, her shadow was a grinning skeleton. Luo Han watched silently for a long time before asking softly,
"Do you think they know...those are real ghosts?"
To avoid causing a stir, she and Ling Qingxiao had cloaked their spiritual presence, appearing no different from ordinary mortals. Ling Qingxiao surveyed the surreal scene around them, where the living and the dead mingled in mirth and said,
"Those who don’t know have no fear. Those who don’t understand, don’t worry. In ignorance, they’re able to lose themselves in celebration."
Luo Han sighed. Mortals laughed at ghosts, donned masks, played tricks, but the real ghosts were here among them, unseen. The fifteenth day of the seventh lunar month. The gates of the dead are thrown open. A hundred ghosts roam the night. The living would do well to stay away.
Ling Qingxiao said quietly,
"The Ghost Gate is open now. It will close on the thirtieth. We have fifteen days. Let’s move."
Luo Han nodded. They weren’t here to revel in mortal festivities. They had come to enter the Underworld, to retrieve what was hidden. The seventh month marked the mingling of yin and yang. The Ghost Gate creaked open on the first, fully unsealed by the fourteenth, and after the fifteenth, the worlds of living and dead merged until month’s end.
They had waited atop Mount Dushuo until the fifteenth, the moment when the road between realms was completely laid bare. To cross into the Underworld, one had to travel the River of Forgetting.
As they approached the water’s edge, they saw that the boatmen ferrying souls were no ordinary men. One sat at the bow, singing to himself. When he saw them approach, he turned with casual indifference, only to freeze the moment his eyes caught the light radiating from Ling Qingxiao.
The ferryman immediately straightened and bowed with solemn reverence.
"Esteemed one, how may I serve you?"
Ling Qingxiao had deliberately suppressed his cultivation and concealed his identity. To the ferryman, he appeared as no more than an ordinary mortal. But even so, he couldn’t entirely hide the innate majesty of the dragon qi that clung to him.
The ferryman may not have recognized him as the Celestial Emperor, but a dragon was a dragon. That alone was enough to rattle anyone in the Six Realms.
Ling Qingxiao spoke plainly, “I wish to enter the Underworld. Ferry us across.”
At his request, the ferryman’s expression changed subtly. “Honored one, I must remind you: though the realms are divided by race, life itself is split between yin and yang. The rules of the Underworld differ from the world above. Even a heavenly sovereign must obey the Decree of Life and Death once he sets foot there. Are you certain?”
Ling Qingxiao didn’t so much as blink. “I understand. Lead the way.”
Seeing that his warning had fallen on deaf ears, the ferryman said no more. He turned the small boat with his pole, letting the guests board. The vessel rocked gently, but the swaying meant nothing to cultivators like Ling Qingxiao and Luo Han. They seated themselves with ease, and soon, the ferry set off.
Luo Han sat close to the water, so near she felt she could reach down and scoop up a handful of the dark, glassy river. Sensing her curiosity, Ling Qingxiao said softly, “This river flows to the River of Forgetting. The waters may seem still, but there are things hidden within best left untouched.”
He had barely finished speaking when the boat jolted. Something had bumped against the hull. A pale, slender arm emerged from the black water, gently gripping the boat’s edge. A silken voice followed, coy and lilting:
“Young master, that’s not a very nice thing to say. What’s this about mysterious, unspeakable things in the water?”