To be fair, the East Sea is a blessed land. Due to its remote location bordering the demon realm, most cultivators avoid it. While seafront properties are nice, living there for centuries can lead to dampness and inevitable age-related ailments. Moreover, the demon tribes living across the sea, who eat just about anything, might eventually see long-term residents as potential food reserves.
This East Sea, dismissed as a “chicken rib” by cultivators, is a strategic stronghold for the dragon clan—the first line of defense against the demon tribes. Aquatic creatures don’t fear salt but dread becoming salted fish. The treasures of the sea are endless, and every dragon wears pearls, living in crystal palaces.
Of course, the true homeland of the dragon clan isn’t the crystal palace but the Nine Heavens deep in the demon realm—now the phoenix clan’s stronghold.
No amount of wealth can soothe homesickness. The Dragon King, holding Ao Fugui’s hand, reminisced about their glorious past. They had been dormant for too long, nearly forgetting their former dominance. He was old and could no longer fly, but Ao Fugui was different.
He was a true dragon, the hope of their clan, the treasure forged with a lifetime of luck. This treasure would surely lead the dragons back to the demon realm and restore their might.
And according to his chancellor’s reports, Ao Fugui was indeed making progress.
“The scouts say the Golden Crow is inherently pure, kind, and naive. With proper guidance, it can serve our clan. Now that the Phoenix King is in our hands, with both the Golden Crow and the Phoenix King as bargaining chips, the phoenix clan will have no choice but to surrender.”
Hearing Ao Fugui’s grand promises, the Dragon King’s small eyes narrowed in delight. He repeatedly praised his son, feeling he hadn’t raised him in vain.
Ao Fugui, full of filial piety, added, “Father, you’ve been ill for days. A joyous occasion would lift spirits and prepare our people for the coming war.”
The Dragon King saw no issue—pre-battle morale boost was good. Once the war started, there’d be no time for drinking, so why not let the officials indulge now? He even tasked Ao Fugui with announcing their invasion plans during the wedding for a double celebration.
Kneeling by the bed, Ao Fugui wore solemn black robes, his usual exuberance replaced by calm composure, revealing no emotion.
He exuded the aura of a powerful figure from a neighboring literary work—one who loved taking others’ wives.
And who was now being cuckolded.
The Dragon King asked, “Which of your brothers or sisters is getting married?”
Ao Fugui, suppressing humiliation, replied, “It’s you, Father.”
The Dragon King was puzzled. He hadn’t planned to marry recently. While he was flirtatious, he wasn’t shameless enough to collect concubines for no reason.
Then Ao Fugui said, “I’ve prepared a peerless beauty for you.”
His expression was tragic, his tone heart-wrenching, and his demeanor suggested his wife had been stolen.
Ao Fugui clenched his fists, emotions churning in his chest. He truly loved the Marquess, but until he conquered the demon realm, he wasn’t worthy of standing by her side.
He needed her to win his father’s trust and his teacher’s favor. He needed achievements, power—only by reaching the summit could he reclaim his beloved.
That’s how the stories went.
Before the hero rises, the heroine is given to the king, tearing the lovers apart. To reclaim her, the hero struggles until he ascends the throne, winning the kingdom but losing her…
No—he wanted both the kingdom and the woman.
The Dragon King had a bad premonition. Holding Ao Fugui’s hand, he advised earnestly, “Son, we dragons aren’t like mortals. You’re a true dragon, destined to be king. If you’re tired of being crown prince, I’ll abdicate tomorrow. An eight-year-old Dragon King isn’t unheard of.”
So sacrificing his beloved for power and reenacting *The Song of Everlasting Sorrow* was unnecessary. He feared becoming a burden, leaving the demon realm unconquered while he was scorned by future generations.
*Look, what an idiot.*
The Dragon King refused to be that idiot!
Ao Fugui snapped back to attention, bowing respectfully. “If we just hand over the Marquess because the Taichu Sect demands it, our clan’s dignity will be shattered.”
If he lost his wife, what was the point of scheming for the throne? Since the Marquess refused to marry him, he’d respect her wishes—let her become his stepmother. At least then…
They’d still live under the same roof.
The Dragon King didn’t grasp Ao Fugui’s plan. “But the chancellor said the demoness’s fate was agreed upon long ago.”
Otherwise, why would the Taichu Sect give them the Five-Colored Divine Feather? Given the auction-house conflict, they’d been merciful not to grind Ao Fugui into the dirt.
Ao Fugui’s expression darkened. “Father, you’re mistaken. Back then, we were at a disadvantage. But times have changed—the Golden Crow is ours now. What’s there to fear?”
A massive Golden Crow, capable of rivaling the sun.
Typical arrogance after gaining a powerful backer.
The Dragon King saw nothing wrong—dragons should flaunt their success. But he needed confirmation: did the Golden Crow wear a dog tag?
*Property of the Dragon Clan. No unauthorized reproductions.*
Ao Fugui recalled hiding in a lake to report the phoenix clan’s unlicensed operations. Just as he gloated over their imprisonment, the Golden Crow descended, nearly boiling him into soup. Now that it was in the East Sea, Ao Fugui’s confidence wavered.
“…Father, don’t worry. Everything’s under control.”
Meaning it wasn’t.
The Dragon King questioned, “Why should I marry?”
This had nothing to do with the Golden Crow.
Ao Fugui’s eyes reddened, his lips trembling as he choked out, “Don’t you trust me, Father?”
The theatrics worked. Ao Fugui, who’d once rolled on the ground for love, now wept for his clan. The Dragon King patted his back, soothing his precious son.
He’d even slurp squid if it made Ao Fugui happy.
After coaxing the Dragon King to sleep, Ao Fugui left the palace, sighing at the sky—no, blowing bubbles.
How could he make the Golden Crow serve him? Stories featured not just an unattainable heroine but also a villainess—a noble-born, bloodstained, arrogant princess who fell for the hero, only to be discarded after being used.
The Golden Crow fit perfectly: noble (the only one in four realms), bloodstained (chaos in Yunmeng Marsh), arrogant (immature thinking), and a princess (Qiuqiu claimed her father had a throne to inherit).
The key details might not align, but that wasn’t the point.
Enlightened, Ao Fugui went to propose to the Golden Crow.
After arriving in the East Sea, the phoenixes accompanying Qiuqiu were captured. Now she feasted on seafood with pretty dragon maidens, forgetting about them when distracted by food.
Ao Fugui found Qiuqiu drinking with a dragon princess, surrounded by empty jars. The little girl couldn’t hold her liquor—her tail dragged as she boasted like a peacock.
The dragon princess probed, “Where’s your family?”
Qiuqiu hiccuped. “In the Great Wilderness.”
Her ramblings about three thousand worlds, sages creating realms, and being a celestial maiden here to earn merits were dismissed. The princess tempted, “You’re a Golden Crow. Why stay with phoenixes? Join us—we’re hospitable.”
Qiuqiu tilted her head, then burst into tears. “Daddy says I’m ugly.”
Ao Fugui’s tears brought rain; Qiuqiu’s brought magma. Flames erupted, boiling the sea. The dragon princess was half-cooked; weaker attendants became seafood.
The “little girl” was now a bird larger than Ao Fugui, wings stirring fiery currents—teaching him how to boil water underwater.
As shrimp and crabs cooked, drunk and ravenous, Qiuqiu devoured them, embodying the heartless villainess.
Ao Fugui’s face twisted. Drawing his sword, he challenged the boss: “Fiend, where do you think you’re going?”
The giant bird turned, golden eyes locking onto him, boiling water bubbling—just missing ingredients.
Ao Fugui’s face burned—three-quarters cooked.
His lines shifted from heroic slaying to romantic confession: “From the moment I saw you, I was captivated. In my dull life, you taught me what longing is.”
Under the apex predator’s gaze, his heart screamed for mercy.
“Since then, you’ve been the light I chase, the dream I cling to. My heart is yours.”
Five-quarters cooked.
“Today, reunited, I won’t hide my feelings anymore. I’ll proclaim them boldly.”
Seven-quarters cooked.
“I want to marry into your family.”
Fully cooked.
The flames receded, the bird vanished, and the scorched crystal palace crumbled. Qiuqiu stood atop the debris, eyes clearer.
“Daddy doesn’t like raising partners.”
Ao Fugui understood. “How old are you?”
She counted on her fingers. “Three kalpas, halfway to four.”
To Ao Fugui, that meant three and a half.
He said, “You’re three and a half; I’m seven and a half. That’s childhood sweethearts, not raising.”
Great demons matured slowly—Qiuqiu was indeed a minor. With the age gap dismissed, there were no issues.
One dared to propose; the other dared to accept. Youthful impulsiveness led to an immediate wedding.
Qiuqiu beamed. “You’re the second to confess to me.”
Ao Fugui frowned—his first time, her second. Jealous, he asked, “Who was the first?”
She patted her stomach, satisfied. “He’s very happy now.”
**
In the modern four realms, there’s a trend called “flash marriage.” The day after Ao Fugui’s proposal, the dragon palace prepared for a wedding—the Dragon King and crown prince were both getting married.
Neighbors were baffled. *Are dragons this wild? Father and son having a double wedding? What does the mother think?*
Well, the mother had no thoughts.
Ao Fugui’s birth mother died young, and his stepmothers came and went, leaving him closer to his sisters.
Invitations were sent, and guests, seeing the dragon clan’s “simpleton son” as easy prey, agreed to attend—then cursed the dragons for demanding double gifts.
Xue Ying and her group, staying in a luxury suite, also received invites. Yan Zhi delivered them, facing three sword cultivators.
“Honored Daoists.”
The left and right guardians stayed silent as Wen An, head disciple of Tai Xuan Sect, spoke. “Chancellor, what’s the meaning of this?”
Locking them up without warning—was this a declaration of war?
Yan Zhi was embarrassed. Personally, she liked Tai Xuan and Tai Chu Sects, but officially, they were nuisances.
As the saying goes: *The four realms’ police are eternal; sword immortals come and go.* Tai Xuan was the Daoist world’s big brother, allied with Cang Wu. War would mean open hostility—but not yet.
She smiled helplessly. “It wasn’t my decision. The crown prince ordered it, and as his subject, I obeyed. My king will soon marry the Marquess.”
Before Wen An could protest, she added, “The crown prince will also marry the Golden Crow.”
Ao Fugui truly despised Tai Xuan and Tai Chu—now he gloated, untouchable.
To protest or not? His actions severed ties with Tai Xuan, but with the Golden Crow backing him, retaliation was impossible.
If they fought the dragons, what if the Golden Crow intervened?
One tantrum had turned Yunmeng Marsh into a disaster zone. If she visited Tai Chu Sect, it’d become a volcano, the divine turtle soup—no one would dare complain.
Yan Zhi understood their silence. “The crown prince invites you to the wedding. Once it’s over, you’re free to leave.”
Subtext: *Go home and meditate. Don’t interfere—or we’ll unleash Qiuqiu.*
Before Wen An could reply, Xue Ying cut in. “Understood. By the way, Tai Xuan is poor. The gift money—”
Yan Zhi twitched. “What about the breakup fee I gave you?”
Xue Ying said shamelessly, “Spent on raising men.”
Her juniors needed feeding—she wasn’t wrong.
Yan Zhi coughed, recalling past absurdities. “Forget it. We’re old friends—no gifts needed.”
After Yan Zhi left, the smile faded from Xue Ying’s face. “Senior Brother, I won’t be returning to the Tai Xuan Sect for now.”
Not only was the matter of the Demoness unresolved, but she had also promised Cang Wu to take care of Qiu Qiu.
Wen An found the situation troublesome. The Golden Crow was one thing, but if the Demoness remained in the East Sea and managed to bewitch the Dragon Clan into plotting something nefarious—like mobilizing an army to pressure the Tai Xuan Sect into returning the Demon King or reopening the demon realm’s passage—it would be disastrous.
*What era is this?* Wen An thought irritably. *Ancient wars and schemes? Even readers would find this outdated.*
Before any conclusion could be reached, Cen Wuwang sent a blunt message:
**Stay out of it.**
Wen An relayed the message to Xue Ying. True to their master-disciple relationship, Xue Ying’s response was just as terse:
**”Oh.”**
Wen An’s headache worsened.
—
When the Demoness was informed that she was to be married into a prestigious family, she was utterly baffled.
She had only agreed to be imprisoned in the Tai Xuan Sect—not to become some noble bride in the Dragon Clan.
“Are you misunderstanding something?”
Yan Zhi, who disliked the Demoness, replied coldly, “Misunderstanding? A mere demon entering our Dragon Clan and now becoming a Dragon Consort—you should be groveling in gratitude. How dare you call it a misunderstanding? Do you not wish to be a Dragon Consort?”
The Demoness nodded earnestly. “I don’t.”
Why would she abandon her position as one of the Three Dukes of the Demon Realm to become some consort in the Dragon Clan? She wasn’t insane.
Yan Zhi was momentarily speechless but quickly regained her composure. “This is not a request. You have no say in the matter.”
The Demoness fell silent, and Yan Zhi assumed she had accepted. After a few more words, Yan Zhi left. The moment the door closed, Feng Yuemian from the neighboring cell sneered, “Impressive. You effortlessly became the Crown Princess without lifting a finger.”
He had sold his skills, his body—everything short of his soul—yet still failed to secure the title of Crown Princess. Meanwhile, the Demoness lounged in prison and won by default.
The Demoness ignored Feng Yuemian. They weren’t acquainted, and though villains usually stuck together, the Demon Realm and the Phoenix Clan were too distant for any camaraderie. Even if their ancestors’ graves were dug up, they wouldn’t be considered enemies.
She had been obedient so far because the Dragon Clan posed no threat, and Cen Wuwang had vouched for her. But now that the Dragon Clan was forcing her into marriage, was she not allowed to rebel?
With a delicate hand, she gripped the prison bars and tore them apart.
Feng Yuemian’s next taunt died in his throat as he watched her step out of her cell, fresh and unbothered, ready to bid farewell to her neighbor.
Panicked, Feng Yuemian blurted, “Wait!”
Facing the Demoness’s stunning beauty, he scrambled for words. “I—I am the Phoenix King! I have a hundred tons of gold in the Demon Realm! If you free me, I’ll share half with you and help you conquer the Three Realms, making you the ruler of Four!”
The Demoness was unimpressed. “Phoenix King, no offense, but cultivators don’t lack gold.”
Her Demon Realm was littered with demon crystals—why would she want his measly gold?
Desperate, Feng Yuemian gritted his teeth. “If you free me, I’ll give you anything!”
Meeting the Demoness’s mature, alluring aura, his face flushed as he added, “Including my three-hundred-year virginity.”
The Demoness: “…”
She wasn’t some lust-driven fiend, yet this Phoenix King was practically throwing himself at her. Then again, free advantages shouldn’t be ignored. She extended a slender hand and said bluntly, “Hand over anything valuable on you.”
Feng Yuemian had nothing on him—his wealth was stored in the Nine Heavens. “Can I write an IOU?”
The Demoness wasn’t interested in credit. After a moment, her gaze landed on his backside. “I’ve heard Phoenix tail feathers are excellent crafting materials.”
She eyed his rear. “A few shouldn’t be a problem, right?”
By the time they left the prison, Feng Yuemian was limping, clutching his backside with tears in his eyes. “I told you to stop!”
The Demoness, satisfied, patted his cheek and returned one feather—like a generous patron tipping after a good time.
“Be good, don’t cry.”
She planned to slip back to the Demon Realm. Outside, the usually golden crystal palace was draped in red silk, resembling scrambled eggs with tomatoes. Rumor had it the Crown Prince was getting married.
Feng Yuemian, noticing her silence, teased, “Regretting it?”
Nearby, crabs scuttled past, chattering. “I wonder what the Crown Princess looks like?”
“Who knows? But the Crown Prince’s bride is that ugly black bird.”
Feng Yuemian’s face darkened. He grabbed one crab and demanded, “Who is the Crown Prince marrying?”
The crab snapped its pincers, but Feng Yuemian roasted it on the spot. Turning to the remaining crab, he hissed, “Ever had crab roe powder?”
Terrified, the crab spilled everything: not only was the Dragon King marrying the Demoness, but the Crown Prince was also taking a bride—a certain Qiu Qiu, a large, ugly black bird.
Feng Yuemian smacked it with his wing. “You have no right to call her ugly!”
The Demoness didn’t understand Feng Yuemian’s seafood vendetta. Since the East Sea had nothing to do with her, she prepared to leave.
But Feng Yuemian stopped her. “Help me obtain the Five-Colored Divine Feather, and I’ll weave you a carpet from my own feathers.”
A phoenix only had so many feathers, but Feng Yuemian was determined to fight the Dragon Clan to the end. Marrying a demoness was one thing, but a Golden Crow? Where did that leave the Phoenix Clan’s dignity?
—
News of the Demoness and Feng Yuemian’s escape soon reached Ao Fuguì. He nearly flooded the palace in rage.
Beside him, Qiu Qiu gnawed on a lamb chop, greasy-faced. “Who’s the Demoness?”
Ao Fuguì forced himself to calm down. The Demoness could be recaptured, but losing Qiu Qiu would doom the Dragon Clan to subjugation by the Phoenixes.
“No one important. Didn’t you miss Daoist Xue Ying? She’s coming tomorrow.”
The little girl cheered and devoured the rest of the chop, bones and all. Mermaids swarmed to dress her in bridal attire.
Qiu Qiu blinked. “Why do I have to be the bride?”
The mermaids, aware of her temper, looked to Ao Fuguì for help.
Distracted, he replied, “Only brides get to wear pretty dresses.”
“But aren’t *you* marrying *me*?” Qiu Qiu’s innocent eyes gleamed as her raven-like shadow loomed over Ao Fuguì.
“I’ll be the groom, you the bride. Deal?” She licked her lips, eyeing his tender flesh.
Torn between survival and dignity, Ao Fuguì shamefully agreed to be the bride.
Qiu Qiu was delighted. After downing a basin of seafood soup, she placed the red veil over Ao Fuguì’s head, then lifted it. With a disappointed sigh, she said, “Not as pretty as Daddy. Oh well.”
Ao Fuguì: *Nonsense! I’m the most beautiful in the world!*
The Dragon Palace hadn’t seen a celebration in ages, and the double wedding was an opportunity to flaunt their wealth.
The floor was paved with crystals, walls adorned with fist-sized pearls, and gemstones glittered under glowing orbs. Starlight shimmered in the sea—actual celestial dust from the heavens.
Visiting cultivators were awestruck, realizing how petty their worries about wedding gifts were. The Dragon Clan was *this* rich—why would they care about donations?
Then came the catch: “Since the Dragon King’s wedding is canceled, just pay for the Crown Prince’s.”
The guests paled. Paying double for one event?
To salvage their losses, they networked aggressively. Wen An, as the Tai Xuan Sect’s head disciple and Cen Wuwang’s student, became the prime target.
Cen Wuwang, aloof as ever, ignored them. Xue Ying, preoccupied, stayed silent. The burden fell entirely on Wen An, who wished he had three heads and six arms to handle the crowd.
Just as he was drowning, Yan Zhi arrived, announcing the newlyweds.
The guests dispersed to witness the grand entrance.
To the lively tune of suonas, Qiu Qiu bounded in, dressed as the groom, her oversized robes adding to her childish charm. Beside her, the “bride” Ao Fuguì stood, their height difference comically stark.
Someone asked, “Where’s the groom?”
Though awkward, strength ruled. Qiu Qiu had insisted on being the groom, and Yan Zhi had no choice but to play along.
“A playful role reversal,” she explained with a smile.
The height difference, however, sparked outrage. “Prime Minister Yan, no offense, but the groom looks twelve. The Crown Prince is a grown man—this is too much!”
Age gaps weren’t the issue—it was the blatant cradle-robbing!
Yan Zhi remained unflappable. “Our Crown Prince may be of age in name, but not in maturity. They’re childhood sweethearts.”
So it was just kids playing house. The guests lost interest, though some pitied the forced political marriage.
The ceremony proceeded, officiated by an excitable octopus.
“Do you take Qiu Qiu as your wife? For better or worse—”
Before the vows could finish, a voice rang out:
“I object!”
The crowd perked up. *Finally!* No wedding was complete without a dramatic interruption.
At the entrance stood two figures—a stunning woman and a handsome man in bridal attire.
Gasps erupted. “Am I seeing things? Why is the gatecrasher also in a dress?”
*Do demons have a cross-dressing fetish?*
Qiu Qiu turned. “Mianmian?”
Feng Yuemian, though dressed as a bride, was unmistakable. His once-proud demeanor now radiated fragility as he clutched his skirt, voice trembling.
“That year, under the apricot blossoms, you asked me to dance, just as your parents did. I agreed. Now you marry another—what of me?”
A single tear rolled down his cheek, heartbreakingly beautiful.
A sympathetic guest consoled him, “Young master, let it go. Dragons are fickle. Someone like you deserves better.”
Yan Zhi’s face darkened, but Ao Fuguì ripped off his veil and snapped, “He’s here to steal my husband!”
The guest blinked. “Oh. So it’s not a same-sex thing. But—why are you all obsessed with children?”
Ao Fuguì scoffed. “None of your business!”
Meanwhile, the Demoness whispered to Feng Yuemian, “With this crowd, don’t blame me if I ditch you.”
Feng Yuemian wiped his tears. “Thank you.”
Ao Fuguì’s jealousy flared. Not only was Feng Yuemian sabotaging his wedding, but he was also cozying up to the Demoness—the woman *he* wanted!
*Unforgivable!*
Feng Yuemian struck first, “Crown Prince Ao, what do you mean by stealing my beloved wife?”
Ao Fugui was so angry he almost laughed. He had heard of concubines being promoted to wives, but never of food being treated as a spouse. He had already investigated—Feng Yuemian was merely Qiuqiu’s reserve food. If not for Cangwu standing in the way, Qiuqiu would have devoured him eight hundred years ago.
Did he even consider what kind of story this was? Playing out some tragic romance between a vampire and a human?
“Who was it that poisoned Qiuqiu in Yunmengze? Which clan suppressed Qiuqiu beneath a volcano? Feng Yuemian, don’t gild your actions. If such deeds can be called deep affection, then my dragon clan must be the epitome of boundless love. The four realms should be grateful.”
Exposed publicly, Feng Yuemian’s face turned pale and then flushed with anger. He knew he was at a disadvantage—arguing with Ao Fugui was pointless. The only one who could turn this situation around was Qiuqiu.
“I was wrong in the past, but now I realize my mistakes. Qiuqiu, can you forgive me?” Feng Yuemian pressed a hand to his chest. “The phoenix dance is only performed for the one I love, and you are the only one who has ever seen mine.”
Ao Fugui scoffed from the side, “How laughable. You disguised yourself as a man to join a talent show, singing and dancing for who knows how many people. And now you dare claim purity in front of Qiuqiu? Feng Yuemian, you have no shame!”
“Do you even understand what it means to fake it till you make it, or the elegance of a phoenix’s descent? You uncultured four-legged reptile.”
“Pah! Your so-called ‘culture’ is just being promiscuous, isn’t it?”
The two of them bickered endlessly, while the onlookers listened with relish. Oh, so the Phoenix King nearly became the Dragon Crown Prince’s bride? You demon clans are truly open-minded.
Xue Ying stood up and walked over to Qiuqiu. The little girl was completely oblivious, staring at the emcee with drool at the corner of her mouth. When she saw Xue Ying, she smiled sweetly and called out, “Sister Xue Ying.”
Xue Ying still remembered Cen Wuwang’s words: “If the dragon and phoenix clans keep arguing, I’ll strangle them all.” She crouched down and asked Qiuqiu, “Do you really want to marry Ao Fugui?”
Qiuqiu corrected her, “It’s ‘take as a husband,’ not ‘marry.'”
Fair enough. Xue Ying pressed on, “What about Feng Yuemian?”
Qiuqiu looked confused, so Xue Ying helped clarify, “Feng Yuemian likes you.”
Though she suspected Feng Yuemian’s “like” was about 80% water—once dehydrated, it would vanish like a jellyfish on the beach.
Qiuqiu nodded firmly, “I like Mianmian too. His cooking is delicious.”
The two quarreling men paused mid-argument. Feng Yuemian instantly perked up, nearly kicking Ao Fugui in triumph.
But before he could reach Qiuqiu, she added, “I like Guigui too.”
The little girl smiled brightly, counting off the people she knew. “I also like Sister Xue Ying, and Daddy. I like anyone who’s nice to me.”
Well, the audience finally understood—this was just a naive child who knew nothing of love or romance. So why was the dragon clan so insistent on marrying her? Were they pedophiles?
Xue Ying thought Qiuqiu was too young to marry. She advised her, “Liking someone and marrying them are two different things. Don’t confuse them.”
Qiuqiu seemed to realize her mistake and frowned, recalling her father’s romantic history. She followed the family tradition seriously. “Mianmian danced for me, and I slept with him. Daddy says that’s called ‘getting on the bus first and paying later.’ I should marry Mianmian.”
Based on Xue Ying’s observations of Qiuqiu, this “sleeping” was likely just a figure of speech.
Before Feng Yuemian could cheer, Ao Fugui shoved him aside and declared passionately to Qiuqiu, “If you want to see dancing, I’ll show you the Dragon Soaring Through the Heavens. If you want to sleep, I’ll stay with you for three days and nights.”
No way was he letting the Golden Crow slip away.
Feng Yuemian had had enough. He was the one who came first—whether he was coerced or willing back then, he was Qiuqiu’s rightful fiancé. What right did Ao Fugui have?
“Don’t think I won’t hit you.”
The moment Feng Yuemian spoke, Ao Fugui slapped him. Feng Yuemian froze for a second before shrieking, “You dare hit me?!”
“I’ll hit you whenever I want. Do I need to pick a date?”
The crowd rushed to mediate. “We’re all from the demon clans—no need to fight over a woman. If you tear each other apart, the humans will take advantage.”
Reconciliation was impossible. Both sides knew that from this point on, it would be a fight to the death.
Feng Yuemian raised his hand, and the Five-Colored Divine Feather, which should have been deep within the dragon palace, appeared in his grasp. Ao Fugui and the others paled. Yan Zhi cried out, “Phoenix King, don’t act rashly!”
Feng Yuemian’s expression was icy. “If you don’t want the dragon palace reduced to ruins, return Qiuqiu to the phoenix clan and swear the dragons will never set foot in the demon realm again.”
Ao Fugui stopped Yan Zhi, gripping his sword as scales appeared at the corners of his eyes. He refused to back down. “Phoenixes are weakened in water. What can he do with the Five-Colored Divine Feather? Expecting my dragon clan to cower like turtles? Dream on.”
The tension between them silenced any further attempts at mediation. As the standoff continued, Yan Zhi turned to Qiuqiu. “Can you make them stop?”
Qiuqiu nibbled on a spirit fruit. “Why should I? When spring comes, everyone acts like this.”
Yan Zhi was speechless. A random thought floated through her mind: Spring has arrived, and the mating season for animals begins again.
She was genuinely curious how this Golden Crow had been raised—her morals were so skewed.
“These two are fighting because of you. One is the Phoenix King, the other the Dragon Crown Prince. Even if no one dies, the disgrace to both clans—”
Before she could finish, Wen An gasped. Yan Zhi turned to see that Cen Wuwang, who had been silently observing, had suddenly intervened to forcibly mediate.
With a single move, “Parting the Clouds to See the Sun,” Cen Wuwang stunned the crowd. A bystander asked, “Who is that?”
“Not sure. Probably from the Tai Xuan Sect.”
“Ah, that explains it.”
The cultivators below murmured among themselves. The two combatants, however, were annoyed. Ao Fugui said, “Out of respect for the Tai Xuan Sect, I’ll give you face. But if you insist on interfering, don’t blame me for being rude.”
Cen Wuwang deflected Ao Fugui’s sword. He didn’t care about courtesy—the dragon and phoenix clans had old grudges. If they couldn’t talk it out and resorted to fighting, it was his duty to mediate. If mediation failed, he’d just beat them into submission.
Displeased with the feel of the weapon in his hand, Cen Wuwang glanced up. “Bailu.”
Xue Ying’s face darkened. Suppressing her anger for the sake of the situation, she tossed the newly acquired Bailu to him and snapped, “Return it when you’re done.”
Cen Wuwang ignored her, taking Bailu and turning to thrash Ao Fugui and Feng Yuemian. Xue Ying fumed, complaining to Wen An. Restrained by the presence of outsiders, she only managed a single, “Senior Brother, look at him!”
Wen An nodded absently, his suspicions growing. Xue Ying was willing to lend Bailu to their uncle and even acted coquettishly? They really were…
With Bailu in hand, Cen Wuwang held nothing back. What he did couldn’t even be called a beating—it was more like mopping the floor. Ao Fugui, caught off guard, was slammed from the sky and landed face-first. He scrambled up, clutching his cheek but not daring to cry out in pain. Feng Yuemian fared no better, covered in bruises.
Cen Wuwang’s one-versus-two display left the crowd in awe—except for Qiuqiu, who remained uninterested. Sitting down, she munched on snacks and asked, “Whoever wins, I’ll take as my husband.”
That single sentence reignited the feud. The two immediately joined forces, declaring in front of Cen Wuwang, “Kill the swordsman first.”
No matter what, Qiuqiu wouldn’t end up in a swordsman’s bed.
Feng Yuemian summoned the Five-Colored Divine Feather, while Ao Fugui charged as the vanguard. Cen Wuwang raised his sword, ready to slay the dragon, when the Divine Feather suddenly shimmered. A radiant light flashed, and Bailu vanished from Cen Wuwang’s grip. Seizing the opening, Ao Fugui’s sword pierced Cen Wuwang’s chest.
Xue Ying lost her mind on the spot—her Bailu!
Ao Fugui seemed surprised by how easily he succeeded. But before he could react, Cen Wuwang grabbed the blade embedded in his chest and unleashed a sword aura with his free hand, forcing Ao Fugui back. At the cost of severe injury, Cen Wuwang wrenched the sword away.
Gathering half his spiritual energy, his sword intent surged. Facing the two beasts, he smiled faintly.
“Don’t worry. I won’t kill you.”
**
Wen An later wrote in his memoirs:
“That day, the rain in the dragon palace was heavy. Tears melted into the water, so no one knew you had cried. Uncle returned wounded, his robes stained red with blood, yet his face remained deathly pale. His steps were heavy, leaving bloody footprints as he walked step by step toward my junior sister. I heard her trembling voice, wanting to say something to him, but no words came out.
Uncle rarely smiled. Even at life’s end, he remained stern. He raised his hand as if to scold her, but his figure swayed—then collapsed into her arms. I heard him whisper in her ear.
He said…
‘The secret stash is under the Qingjing Terrace.'”
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage