She Dominates the Immortal Realm with Her HP Bar-Chapter 87

"Big Brother, save me!"

As soon as these words were spoken, before Yan Luoyue and her two companions could react, the gray-robed man flicked his sleeve and swept the "three impolite little guests" back into the room.

Yan Luoyue felt the world spin around her. When she opened her eyes again, the three of them were standing in a spacious yet gloomy bedroom.

The gray-robed man stood just a few steps away.

The doors and windows were sealed shut, and the flickering candlelight stretched the man's shadow into a long, slender shape. The dark silhouette slanted across the room, looming ominously over Yan Luoyue's head.

His lifeless gray eyes flickered between the three of them, as if selecting a target to make an example of.

Yan Luoyue and her companions held their breaths, their faces tense.

Yet, despite their unease, their restless feet kept inching forward, their shoulders bumping against each other as each tried to push the other two behind them.

Witnessing this display of camaraderie, the gray-robed man let out a mocking chuckle.

A moment later, he settled on Yan Luoyue, grabbing her wrist and pulling her out of the group.

When they had first reunited, Ling Shuanghun had already heard Wu Manshuang describe their previous separation.

The white-crane youth immediately protested loudly, "Wait, why is it Yan Luoyue again this time?"

He bravely volunteered, "We haven't even had a proper conversation yet—shouldn't it be my turn?"

Being chosen, however, made Yan Luoyue breathe a sigh of relief.

She praised the gray-robed man’s judgment on the spot, "Yes, yes, you picked the right one. Always go for the softest target—out of the three of us, I’m the most delicate little turtle here."

The gray-robed man: "..."

He gave Yan Luoyue a long, deep look, then slowly lowered the hand that had been hovering over the crown of her head—down, down…

Finally, his palm settled on her forehead, gently pressing against it as if checking for a fever.

Yan Luoyue: "..."

Was it her imagination, or was there an overwhelming amount of sarcasm packed into that tiny gesture?

Judging by the temperature of her forehead, Yan Luoyue definitely wasn’t running a fever.

As his hand lingered, the gray-robed man noticed something slightly messy beneath his touch.

Looking down, he saw that Yan Luoyue’s braids had come loose during their earlier escape.

After a brief pause, he grabbed the back of her collar, lifted her up, and placed her squarely in front of a dressing table.

Yan Luoyue moved obediently, but not without flashing a quick "stay calm" hand signal to her companions behind her.

The small gesture didn’t escape the gray-robed man’s notice. But since it didn’t cause him any extra trouble, he chose to turn a blind eye.

As soon as she was set down, the little girl settled onto the chair on her own, carefully undoing the ribbons in her hair one by one before running her fingers through the strands to smooth them out.

"You’re… surprisingly cooperative."

"Mhm, mhm, thank you. Having a mirror does make things much easier."

Yan Luoyue tilted her head back with a smile, then took the initiative to suggest, "I’ll be quick with this. If you’re in a hurry, you can go sit over there for a bit?"

"..."

Hearing Yan Luoyue’s "thank you" for what felt like the hundredth time seemed to throw the gray-robed man off balance.

Even through his mask, one could see him stiffen momentarily.

After a beat, he sneered coldly,

"Between those two boys, one is nothing but trouble, and the other is nothing but courage. But you—you’re nothing but sheer audacity."

Narrowing his eyes, he leaned in with a sinister whisper, "Aren’t you afraid that I brought you here to…"

He paused, considering what kind of threat would be most effective against a little girl.

Then, smoothly, he finished, "—to shave off these little braids of yours?"

Yan Luoyue: "..."

Logically speaking, for most girls, the threat of having their head shaved would be terrifying.

After all, wasn’t it common for young girls to burst into tears when forced to cut their hair short for strict military training or school regulations?

But when this threat was directed at Yan Luoyue, all she could think of was…

She ventured cautiously, "Are you trying to make me go ‘da-da-da-da-da’?"

—That’s right! The moment she imagined herself bald, all she could picture was the little nun Shen Jingxuan’s brainwashing mantra during her "Vajra Subduing Demons" fist technique!

The gray-robed man didn’t get the joke. He simply gave Yan Luoyue a cold glance through the mirror.

Then, without another word, he pulled out a horn comb from his sleeve, moved Yan Luoyue’s hands aside, and began combing her hair with methodical strokes—like some kind of masked, deathly version of an older brother figure.

The comb itself looked old and well-worn, its handle carved with a clumsily etched peach blossom.

Clearly, it was a cherished possession, its rough edges smoothed over from years of handling.

As he worked through Yan Luoyue’s tangled strands, the gray-robed man spoke in a slow, measured tone.

His voice was icy, yet threaded with an eerie tenderness—though that tenderness was laced with self-mockery, like dipping fries in soybean paste, creating a bizarrely conflicting flavor.

"I once had a junior sister too. She was mischievous, clever, and well-behaved…" He paused, then added pointedly, "Just a bit smarter than you."

Yan Luoyue: "???"

Wait, why did you have to tack that last part on?

Isn’t that just outright insulting?

Ignoring her mental turmoil, the gray-robed man continued reminiscing, "She was four or five when our master brought her back to the sect."

"At first, she was afraid of everyone—too scared to speak, refusing to answer even when spoken to. Only my junior brother and I, being close in age, managed to earn a little of her trust."

"So our master left her in our care. Every morning, my junior brother would fetch water for her to wash her face and pick fresh flowers blooming by the well. I would comb her hair, tie her braids, and tuck those wildflowers into them."

As he spoke, his fingers moved deftly, weaving Yan Luoyue’s hair into a pair of playful twin buns.

His touch was surprisingly gentle, never once tugging painfully at her scalp. In just a few sentences, her hairstyle was complete.

Staring at the reflection of the girl’s neatly tied hair, the man’s lips suddenly curled into a cruel smile.

The serene nostalgia of his earlier words took a sharp, chilling turn.

"—Later, she became just as ill-mannered as the three of you. So I killed her."

Yan Luoyue: "!!!"

With the air of a deranged Bluebeard, the gray-robed man produced two freshly picked camellias—their deep red petals lush as congealed blood against his pale fingers.

He adjusted them carefully before tucking one into each of Yan Luoyue’s dark buns, arranging them with an artist’s precision.

Gazing at Yan Luoyue’s startled reflection, his fingers lightly brushed the crimson flowers.

"By all rights, since you dared to run away, I should pick one of you and kill them slowly in front of the others. Just so you understand—this isn’t some childish game."

The gray-robed man said coldly, "However, in light of my junior sister's death anniversary approaching, I'll spare you this once... Such leniency won't be offered again."

With this icy threat, he cast a warning glance at each of the three before turning to leave.

At that moment, Ling Shuanghun suddenly stepped forward and called out firmly, "—Chu Tiankuo!"

"..."

The gray-robed man paused mid-step and slowly turned his head.

"What did you call me?"

Like a mountain torrent unleashed or a snow-capped peak collapsing, the terrifying chill that erupted from his deathly gray eyes would have sent even the most ferocious beast fleeing.

It was as if an eighty-year-sheathed sword had suddenly revealed its edge, making bystanders realize that the earlier sword aura they'd felt had still been restrained within its scabbard.

Compared to the gray-robed man's current demeanor, his earlier act of coldly tucking a camellia into Yan Luoyue's hair seemed like nothing more than humoring a child playing with string.

Had he shown this expression sooner, Yan Luoyue's mischievousness would have undoubtedly been reined in.

Yet under the piercing gaze that could skewer a man, Ling Shuanghun raised his head defiantly and took another step forward!

He enunciated clearly, "I called you Chu Tiankuo."

"—The sword at your waist—I've seen it before. During the eleventh match of the Sword Dao Grand Assembly, Song Qingchi threw his own blade to you, didn't he?"

The gray-robed man replied coldly, "Good. Go on. What else do you know?"

Ling Shuanghun showed no fear. "I also know about your junior sister—her name was Tao Tao. You even gave her a nickname, 'Little Peach.' That comb you just took out was hers, wasn't it?"

The ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌‍gray-robed man—or rather, Chu Tiankuo—took a step toward Ling Shuanghun. His shadow under the candlelight seemed to engulf the white-crane youth like quicksand.

Perhaps due to rage turning into bitter amusement, Chu Tiankuo's voice grew even more detached and stiff:

"Keep talking. Say everything you know. Leave no regrets."

No one hearing these words would mistake them for encouragement.

Yet Ling Shuanghun deliberately countered, "I'm merely a historian of the demon races. I know no more than you. But having studied the annals of history, I do know what kind of heroic northern swordsman Sect Leader Song was in his youth!"

Chu Tiankuo advanced step by step like death incarnate.

With each stride, the air grew thicker, as if congealing into glue.

But Ling Shuanghun, as if unsatisfied with the suffocating tension, boldly closed the distance himself.

For every step Chu Tiankuo took, Ling Shuanghun matched it unflinchingly.

They were like two beasts meeting on a narrow bridge.

The seasoned one had his old, bloody wounds torn open anew.

The younger, though still green and slight, charged forward with the reckless courage of youth, throwing caution to the wind!

Ling Shuanghun pressed fiercely, "At this year's Sword Dao Grand Assembly, Sect Leader Song personally led his disciples. I saw with my own eyes—the once-heroic iron man now coughs thrice per sentence, staggers with every step, his body ravaged by illness. Chu Tiankuo, do you know why he's like this? When you hear your master's name, does your heart not feel even a shred of remorse?"

"..."

By the time the last word fell, the space between them had narrowed to nothing.

Chu Tiankuo's icy hand rose and pressed threateningly against Ling Shuanghun's unyielding neck.

With his spiritual energy sealed and his vitals controlled, Ling Shuanghun instead laughed.

"What, do you mean to silence me by force?"

"But the necks of us white cranes are like historians' brushes—slender yet unbreakable, bending to neither storm nor blade. If you wish to strangle this indignation from my throat, you'll need to squeeze harder."

"...You're a crane historian?"

Chu Tiankuo studied Ling Shuanghun with unpredictable intensity. "Child, are you trying to provoke me?"

"Exactly!" Ling Shuanghun lifted his chin. "If these words shame you beyond bearing, then snap my neck now. But if you let me live, don't lay a finger on any of us three again."

"You must have heard—the bamboo scrolls of us crane historians update in real time."

"Though my kin don't ordinarily pry into others' records, should my soul-lamp extinguish, the first thing our historians will examine are my recent writings. Having lurked in Camellia Town for ten years, you wouldn't want your secrets exposed so soon, would you?"

The moment these words landed, the gray-robed man froze—hand still at Ling Shuanghun's throat—like a statue.

After a long pause, he finally said, "You bluff well. Since when do historians record village gossip?"

Ling Shuanghun laughed heartily. "A happy coincidence—I happen to specialize in unofficial histories."

"..."

After weighing his options, the gray-robed man snorted and withdrew his hand.

As the pressure on his throat eased, Ling Shuanghun secretly exhaled in relief.

It was as if, on that narrow bridge, one beast had chosen to retreat.

Its opponent didn't press the advantage but instead stepped back respectfully, creating space between them.

Softening his tone, Ling Shuanghun entreated, "I know not only the past but also that despite issuing life-or-death bounties, you've never harmed anyone here."

"Not long ago, I stayed briefly at the Hanson Sect. One midnight, I saw Sect Leader Song by candlelight, gazing wistfully at a painting of you three playing together in younger days."

Seeing Chu Tiankuo stiffen, Ling Shuanghun pressed his advantage.

"Elephants return to ancestral graves when dying; cranes fly homeward before death. Brother Chu, in all these years, have you never once thought of going back?"

"..."

After a long silence, Chu Tiankuo suddenly asked, "What else do you know?"

Ling Shuanghun had exhausted his knowledge during their confrontation.

But this didn't stop him from exercising his clan's greatest talent—fabricating truths on the spot with straight-faced conviction.

"I also know that though your demeanor remains cold, your heart is clearly moved."

"Is that so." Chu Tiankuo's voice remained flat, yet his next words were unexpected. "Then you know... far too much."

In a flash, Chu Tiankuo raised his hand and chopped downward at Ling Shuanghun's neck.

Given his cultivation level, a mere thought could have unleashed a mental assault.

Yet perhaps because Ling Shuanghun had displayed an exceptionally punchable quality, Chu Tiankuo opted for physical violence to teach him a lesson.

"Wai—"

Ling Shuanghun's eyes widened.

He barely managed half a syllable before his body went limp, collapsing unconscious.

Face-planting with the same graceless sprawl as their earlier ambush, the brave crane proved through his pratfall that talk is cheap.

"..."

Wu Manshuang had lunged forward at the first whiff of danger but was half a beat too slow.

Failing to catch Ling Shuanghun, he redirected his motion—tearing off the white silk covering his eyes to glare at Chu Tiankuo with frosty intensity.

The moment their gazes met, Chu Tiankuo even seemed to chuckle:

"You're troublesome. To avoid future complications, I need to make sure you remember this."

He murmured to himself, "Originally, I should have brought a mirror..."

Apparently, Chu Tiankuo was aware that Wu Manshuang's gaze would reflect off a mirror and rebound onto himself.

Yet, in the end, Chu Tiankuo didn’t fetch a mirror.

...He might as well have.

Because with a speed imperceptible to the human eye, Chu Tiankuo reached out, grabbed Yan Luoyue, and shoved her right in front of Wu Manshuang!

Yan Luoyue: "..."

Wu Manshuang: "..."

For an instant, they were so close their noses almost touched, the fine down on each other’s faces clearly visible.

...Even more visible were Wu Manshuang’s obsidian-like pupils, shimmering like dark gems.

Yan Luoyue saw her own reflection in the serpent-eyed boy’s gaze.

The edges of her silhouette were haloed in a faint glow, cast against the black of his irises like snowfall trapped inside a crystal ball.

And then...

There was no "then."

From the very moment their eyes met, Yan Luoyue had...

...frozen stiff, completely paralyzed.

Wu Manshuang hastily shut his eyes, gritting his teeth as he hissed, "You—"

This time, the killing intent in his voice was so palpable it seemed ready to tear through his skin and spill out.

Only then did Chu Tiankuo pull Yan Luoyue away before locking eyes with Wu Manshuang again.

Naturally, Chu Tiankuo remained utterly composed, his speech unaffected. The attack had achieved nothing.

In the boy’s stubborn, furious eyes, Chu Tiankuo’s ashen, diminished reflection flickered.

Chu Tiankuo observed this for a moment before suddenly quirking his lips into a smile.

The mockery in that smile was so sharp it felt like skin being flayed off, bones scraped bare.

He murmured, "For your age, you’ve done well. But without absolute certainty, even a desperate, life-risking strike is little more than a tantrum."

With that, Chu Tiankuo raised his hand like a blade and struck again.

Wu Manshuang instantly followed in Ling Shuanghun’s footsteps, collapsing to the ground—proof that brute force was equally ineffective against this boss.

By then, Yan Luoyue had finally shaken off her paralysis.

The moment sensation returned to her limbs, she saw Chu Tiankuo striding toward her with ominous intent.

"Wait—" Yan Luoyue blurted, "I don’t know much, I’m terrible at verbal sparring, and I definitely don’t use violence to simulate tantrums! So please don’t knock me out!"

Chu Tiankuo: "..."

Yan Luoyue took a deep breath. "Thank you for braiding my hair earlier—you did a lovely job. By the way, are you interested in dress-up games? We could compete to see who can style more types of braids?"

Chu Tiankuo: "..."

His gaze swept over Yan Luoyue’s hands and feet.

Still numb from the earlier paralysis, she flexed her fingers and toes, trying to restore circulation.

But whatever Chu Tiankuo misinterpreted from this, it gave him pause.

After a long moment, he said, "Relax. I won’t make you stub your pinky toe on a wall corner or slam your fingers in a door."

"...Oh. Right."

Yan Luoyue blinked before recalling that particular trope.

Chu Tiankuo then asked, "...But when you were younger, did someone treat your brain that way?"

Yan Luoyue: "???"

What the hell did you just say?!

—She’d endured this twice now! Was the personal insult escalating?!

But considering words and fists were useless, while idiotic misunderstandings had inexplicably kept her unscathed so far...

Yan Luoyue decided to replicate past successes.

Noting Chu Tiankuo’s soft spot for childish antics, she covered her face and whimpered, "Big brother, save me!"

Chu Tiankuo stiffened slightly. "I’m not your big brother."

"I wasn’t calling you," Yan Luoyue mumbled through her fingers. "I miss my shixiong. His name is Jiang Tingbai."

"......"

This time, Chu Tiankuo’s silence stretched longer.

That name—once familiar, once his rival—felt like a hook from the past, yanking him back eighty years.

For a fleeting moment, Chu Tiankuo stood again at the Sword Dao Grand Assembly, immersed in the fleeting vibrancy of youth.

But the nostalgia lasted only a blink.

Those days of unrestrained passion and ink-splashed recklessness were now impossibly distant to this ashen version of Chu Tiankuo.

So distant that "Jiang Tingbai" sounded like a name from another world.

"So, you’re Jiang Tingbai’s junior sister," Chu Tiankuo said slowly.

He looked down at Yan Luoyue.

The girl had the fresh, budding beauty of early spring, her hair styled in a familiar updo adorned with two crimson camellias.

Tao Tao had once worn her hair like this too, camellias tucked behind her ears...

Tao Tao... had also been this vibrant, lovely girl.

She’d only just blossomed into womanhood, only just confessed to her shidi.

Before she could make her mark, before she could seal her love, her life had ended like a camellia snapped at its peak.

Chu Tiankuo exhaled, long and weary, as if surrendering.

He didn’t strike. Instead, he dragged over a chair and sat.

As the man’s sword-straight spine curved, the icy aura around him crumbled away.

Now, he seemed less terrifying—just exhausted.

"Stop crying. It won’t soften me," Chu Tiankuo sighed.

"Tao Tao was probably smarter than you. She never just wailed ‘big brother’ when in trouble—why do you think I named her Tao Tao?"

"Really?" Yan Luoyue immediately dropped her hands, revealing a perfectly dry face. "Then I’ll stop. No hitting, deal?"

Chu Tiankuo: "..."

He closed his eyes. "Fine."

Seizing the moment, Yan Luoyue edged closer.

"Don’t blame Xiao Ling. He owes Sect Leader Song a life debt and wanted to help find someone—so what really happened in Camellia Town back then? Can you tell me?"

Chu Tiankuo rubbed his fingers, deliberating in silence for a long while before answering.

Instead, he asked, "Do you know how demonic entities are categorized?"

Yan Luoyue quickly rifled through her memory. "Four types, right?"

Back when a stray Othermother Demon had escaped the demon realm’s seal and hidden near Yunning Great Marsh, Feng Xiaoyuan had explained this.

Demonic entities were classified into four major groups based on their threat characteristics.

One category consists of demons born from mixed parentage, such as the Mud Burrowers and Green-Maned Fiends. Aside from their bloodthirsty and murderous nature, their traits are similar to those of demonic beasts.

Another type is known as Puppeteers—creatures capable of sifting through memories and manipulating cultivators like marionettes.

No one knows their origins, but whenever a Puppeteer appears, it heralds an overwhelming calamity.

There is also a kind of demon that devours its opponents' cultivation, absorbing their attacks before retaliating with the same force.

Back then, Yan Luoyue had merely noted this as a dry piece of trivia.

But after the exchange of techniques at the Talisman Peak, she couldn't shake the suspicion that this description likely referred to the massive, spherical demons known as Rolling Gluttons.

As for the last type of demon, records are scarce. It is said to feed on emotions and delights in toying with its prey.

Chu Tiankuo gave a slight nod. "After the Sword Dao Grand Assembly, the three of us journeyed south and arrived at Camellia Town..."

And there, they crossed paths with that final type of demon.

Chu Tiankuo cast an inscrutable glance at Yan Luoyue.

"You and I—we were both unfortunate."

"The three of us encountering that demon was no different from the three of you encountering me."

...

The gap in cultivation between Yan Luoyue's trio and Chu Tiankuo at this moment was as vast as heaven and earth.

Unfortunately, the same insurmountable chasm had existed eighty years ago between Chu Tiankuo and his two companions.

Chu Tiankuo would always remember the night before they stepped into Camellia Town.

It was the last stretch of peaceful, tender time in their lives.

After that, all three would pay a terrible price—parting either with their lives or their youth.

That night, Chu Tiankuo sorted through the prizes he had won at the Sword Dao Grand Assembly, dividing them evenly into three shares by category and value.

Though he alone had secured first place at the Sword Dao Grand Assembly, ever since they were children, the three of them had always split everything equally.

Song Qingchi, being the sect leader's son, naturally received occasional extra resources from his father or the elders.

But after obtaining these privileges, Song Qingchi would always sneak the spoils back to share.

The three of them would shut the door, exchange secretive grins like thieving mice, and divide the "loot" into three piles.

Even Tao Tao—

Though she was just an orphan girl their master had picked up, her joy and vitality were always generously shared with her two senior brothers.

By the time the Sword Dao Grand Assembly rewards were nearly divided, only a single peach blossom hairpin remained.

Without hesitation, Chu Tiankuo placed it in Tao Tao's pile. Then, after a moment's thought, he took it out and tucked it into his sleeve.

Perhaps because her name was tied to peach blossoms, Tao Tao had adored them since childhood.

Cups, plates, curtains, fabrics—anything adorned with peach blossoms became part of her collection, more than Chu Tiankuo could count.

If she spotted something with a peach blossom motif, she would empty her purse on the spot to buy it.

At first glance, Chu Tiankuo had instinctively earmarked this hairpin for his little junior sister.

...Such a beautiful peach blossom hairpin—Tao Tao would surely want to wear it the moment she saw it, unable to wait even a night.

If he waited until tomorrow to give it to her, he'd likely endure her half-serious, half-teasing complaints.

A faint smile curled Chu Tiankuo's lips as he decided to deliver the hairpin to her tonight.

This way, he could resolve the issue of the extra prize, and...

With an amused smirk, he thought: Besides, Qingchi would pretend not to notice, just to see Tao Tao happy.

Tucking the hairpin into his sleeve, he strode lightly toward Tao Tao's courtyard.

Chu Tiankuo's movement techniques were superb—even when closing within an inch of someone, he melded into their shadow as if he belonged there.

So, even as he approached within ten paces, the two beneath the camellia tree remained oblivious to their senior brother's presence.

Chu Tiankuo arched a brow, watching the scene before him with a peculiar expression.

Though they said witnessing improper sights would summon styes, such a splendid performance wasn't an everyday occurrence.

There, Tao Tao had one fist planted against the tree, stretching onto her tiptoes to loom over the flustered Song Qingchi, thoroughly pinning him in a "tree slam."

"Well? Say something!" she demanded.

Song Qingchi stammered, "T-Tao Tao..."

Tao Tao thumped his chest. "No stuttering! Show some backbone!"

Despite having a tiny fist waved under his nose, Song Qingchi suddenly smiled.

"Tao Tao," the scholarly youth in green robes said gently, "you know I'm an artificer. My flames burn hot."

"So what?" Tao Tao's eyes widened. "Are you going to set me on fire, Senior Brother?"

"No." Song Qingchi gazed at her unblinkingly. "But aside from my flames, there's another part of me that's hot."

"..."

Chu Tiankuo, standing in the shadows not far away, nearly choked.

In that instant, he viewed his seemingly innocent junior brother in a whole new light.

For a moment, he even wondered if Song Qingchi had a secret twin.

As a healer, Tao Tao understood such matters earlier than most.

Her eyes grew rounder by the second.

Though she had been the one aggressively pinning him against the tree, hearing her usually reserved senior brother say such a thing made her own face flush crimson.

"Ah!"

With a startled cry, she covered her face and tried to flee—only for Song Qingchi to pull her into an embrace from behind.

The young man tilted his head slightly, pressing his lips shyly to her ear, his warm breath melting into the sensitive shell.

"You know..." he murmured sheepishly, "the way my heart feels about you... has always been burning just the same."

"..."

In his arms, the fragrant, delicate girl slowly turned her head.

She must have been the most adorable girl in the world.

Her sweet scent drifted into Song Qingchi's senses, her raised fists were charmingly delicate, even her ominous glare—

"Tao Tao?" Song Qingchi hesitated. "You're not happy? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I should beat you to death, you big idiot!" Tao Tao, caught between embarrassment and fury, rained a flurry of punches upon the green-robed youth.

"That's it? That's all you've got? You—you're terrible! How could you say that?!"

Fresh from his successful confession, Song Qingchi now endured a beauty's violent retaliation.

Twenty paces away, beneath the tree's shade, Chu Tiankuo braced against the trunk, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter at the antics of this quarrelsome pair.

The clueless, beleaguered young man ducked behind the tree, shielding his head.

"Alright, alright, no more hitting! I'll pick flowers for you, how about that?"

"No no no!"

"You don't like camellias? Then I'll pick peach blossoms—"

"Idiot! Where would you find peach blossoms in winter?"

"Then we'll wait for spring. I'll gather a hundred, a thousand for you... For every year we're together, we'll plant a peach tree, until we've grown an entire grove. How does that sound?"

"...Plant a whole peach grove together?"

"Plant a whole peach grove together!"

This is enough.

The content that followed was truly unfit for further listening.

With a satisfied smile, Chu Tiankuo quietly withdrew from the place.

The peach blossom hairpin in his embrace had yet to be gifted, yet it seemed as though peach blossoms had already bloomed in the world.

The next day, they arrived at Camellia Town.

The moment they stepped into the town, Chu Tiankuo sensed something amiss.

Though the three of them had slain numerous demonic creatures along the way, the chaos they encountered had already given Chu Tiankuo an inkling that the rule of the Hongtong Palace was not as peaceful and prosperous as they claimed.

But the eeriness of Camellia Town felt different...

Chu Tiankuo’s thoughts were abruptly cut short.

In the next instant, it was as if a taut string in his mind snapped—his vision darkened, and his body collapsed weakly to the ground.

From the corner of his eye, he saw his junior brother and sister fall simultaneously.

The three of them dropped in perfect unison, like three parallel lines destined never to meet again.

...

When Chu Tiankuo awoke, he found himself locked in an empty room.

His cultivation remained intact, yet his limbs felt stiff and unresponsive, as if they no longer obeyed his will.

A demonic creature—or perhaps something else entirely—hovered ominously above his field of vision like a shifting gray mist.

The mist rippled slightly—perhaps the equivalent of a human crooking a finger—and Chu Tiankuo found himself sitting up against his will.

Gritting his teeth, Chu Tiankuo demanded, "Are you... a puppeteer?"

Yet he distinctly remembered that puppeteers bore no resemblance to this formless gray haze.

Those controlled by puppeteers had their consciousness utterly erased, reduced to mindless puppets—nothing like his current state.

The gray mist spoke, its voice neither male nor female, an unsettling blend of both.

"I am no puppeteer," it murmured, drifting lazily. "You know... I’m still hesitating."

Chu Tiankuo cut straight to the point. "Hesitating about what?"

The mist chuckled. "I’m hesitating... over whether to choose you or your junior sister as my ingredient."

Had his limbs not been paralyzed, Chu Tiankuo would have drawn his sword and lunged.

Even now, veins bulged on his forehead as he strained against his restraints. "Leave my junior siblings alone!"

He spoke through clenched teeth. "Whatever you plan to do, take me instead!"

The moment the words left his mouth, the gray mist burst into uncontrollable laughter.

It was a dreadful sound, like mold creeping against the nape of one’s neck on a damp, rainy day—devoid of joy, dripping with malice.

"...What’s so funny?" Chu Tiankuo asked coldly. "Never seen a piece of beef leap onto the chopping block before? Allow me to enlighten you."

"—I, Chu Tiankuo, have trained in the sword for sixteen years. My flesh is as tender as roast duck skin, as crisp as deep-fried pork, as succulent as braised ribs—a premium cut, wouldn’t you say?"

The mist only laughed harder, its mirth taking an eternity to subside.

"You misunderstand," it sneered. "I don’t feed on human flesh. I feast on emotions."

This was no ordinary demonic creature—its power granted it the luxury of pickiness.

Much like gourmands among humans, who savor and excel in the art of eating, this creature took pleasure in meticulously preparing its chosen meals.

And its method of preparation was...

"Slowly, now. Let’s bring the water to a gentle simmer first," the mist taunted with a vicious grin. "Go on. Between these two, you must choose one to die."

It manipulated Chu Tiankuo’s limbs, forcing him into another clearing.

There, two wooden cages stood side by side.

Inside one crouched a disheveled, savage-looking man, his face twisted with malice.

The other held a trembling woman, her eyes wide with terror.

"One is a bandit sentenced to execution—guilty of murder, robbery, rape... over a dozen crimes. The other? Well, just an ordinary village woman."

Suddenly, Chu Tiankuo’s limbs regained their freedom.

The mist chuckled. "Your sword is in your hand. Choose one, and cut off their head."