Chapter 52:

On the day of departure, it was said that Elder Qixia was feeling unwell and thus wouldn’t be seeing them off. Wen An had initially wanted to ask why, but upon seeing Yaoguang behind Xue Ying, he immediately lost his voice. He nudged Du Yizhou’s arm and whispered, “Is there a Yaoguang No. 2?”

Du Yizhou, whose cover had been blown by Xue Ying and who had just fought with Wen An, replied coolly, “How about a Grain Rain No. 2?”

The topic was dropped. To prevent Shen Jin from causing trouble, the sect leader, under Du Yizhou’s murderous glare, dug out a long-neglected, money-losing artifact from the Taichu Sect’s treasury.

It was called “Heart-to-Heart,” but in reality, it was more like “Shared Burden.”

The artifact was said to have belonged to a loving couple in the past. The wife was a sword cultivator who often got into fights, frequently returning bruised and battered. The husband, heartbroken, specially crafted a pair of bracelets that could share the other’s injuries.

“And then?”

“One of them found a lover, and the other kept jumping off cliffs. Since the injuries were shared, they were stuck in a cycle of near-death experiences—utter misery.”

The sect leader fastened the bracelet onto Xue Ying’s wrist. The red bracelet contrasted beautifully against her snow-white skin—it actually looked quite nice.

Xue Ying fiddled with the bracelet, understanding the sect leader’s overprotectiveness. The artifact was mainly to guard against Shen Jin ambushing her. But if the injuries were shared, and Shen Jin ended up losing an arm or a leg, she’d be at a disadvantage.

“Isn’t there something more advanced, like a master-servant contract or a pet contract?”

The sect leader couldn’t fathom what went on in Xue Ying’s head. “I’ve told you not to read too many novels. Even pigs dream of becoming healers—why would anyone agree to serve you like a slave? Enough nonsense. We’re a respectable sect; we can’t just do whatever we want.”

Shen Jin, on the other hand, wore his bracelet like it was a torture device. No longer pretending to be Cen Wuwang, he fully embraced his identity as the Demon Lord—speaking in a deliberately low voice, walking with an air of importance, and only glancing at people from the corner of his eye. Everything was for the sake of maintaining an aura of mystery. In the end, the sect leader had to beg him.

“Could you at least pretend a little? Officially, you’re still our Taixuan Sect’s Yuhengzi.”

Shen Jin pulled his hand back, extremely sensitive about being bound to Xue Ying. The moment the sect leader spoke, he snapped back, “Hah, hypocritical moralist. If you’re so worried about me tarnishing your Taixuan Sect’s reputation, then you shouldn’t have let me out.”

“Not at all,” the sect leader clenched his fists. “It’s just that your current attitude makes me want to punch you.”

Shen Jin was acting like an arrogant fool—utterly punchable.

After a mix of carrots and sticks, Shen Jin finally settled down. The sect leader took care of all the miscellaneous arrangements and hurried the two of them on their way, practically setting up a bonfire at the mountain gate to burn paper money for good luck.

Lady Hou and Lord Ming were left behind. Officially, they claimed to admire Daoist culture and would study at the Taixuan Sect for a few years before returning. In reality, it was to prevent Lord Ming from scheming too much, Lady Hou from backstabbing, and Shen Jin from causing trouble. If the three of them teamed up, Xue Ying would be at a disadvantage.

On the day of departure, the sect leader saw them off with tears in his eyes. Only after they boarded the flying ship did he remember something—he’d forgotten to tell Xue Ying how to undo the Heart-to-Heart bond.

Oh well. The artifact only bound their physical bodies and wouldn’t interfere with Yuhengzi’s return. They could deal with it later.

Though Lord Ming couldn’t accompany them in person, his spirit was always with Shen Jin. The night before departure, he bombarded Shen Jin with countless tragic love stories.

Lady Hou added dryly, “Lord Ming, you’ve struck out three times already. Still not giving up?”

First, he tried a master-disciple romance, and Shen Jin ended up being sent to a retirement home by Xue Ying. Second, he believed in some so-called “genius beauty,” only to apologize to her through prison bars. Third, he went for a “domineering CEO” persona, only to run into an actual business tycoon.

Calling him a “bad strategist” would be an insult to bad strategists.

Lord Ming refused to admit defeat. “This time is different. I’ve learned my lessons. My Lord, listen to me. From what I’ve observed, modern Daoist realms don’t care for romance anymore.”

Shen Jin, chewing on a char siu bao delivered by a Taixuan disciple, responded with empty agreement—no prizes for getting it right.

Undeterred, Lord Ming doubled down on his failures. He took a bite of a molten lava bun and mumbled, “Pure, beautiful friendship. My Lord, you can play the emotional card. Talk to the Sword Immortal’s disciple about the Demon Realm, act pitiful, lower her guard. Once you’re in the Demon Realm, even if there’s friction, it’ll be easier to deal with.”

He swatted away Lady Hou’s hand and pulled the snacks closer. Damn the Taixuan Sect for trying to tempt him with food! As a demon with dreams and ambitions, he wouldn’t be lured into a retirement lifestyle here.

Shen Jin rolled his eyes. “Unnecessary. Once we’re in the Demon Realm…”

He let out a sinister chuckle. That little fox Xue Ying would be at his mercy.

Whether sincere or not, once aboard the flying ship, Shen Jin made a point of “accidentally” running into Xue Ying. After enough encounters, they exchanged a few words.

At first, it was: “Are you free? Let’s spar.”

Predictably, he got his ass handed to him.

Or: “Are you interested in the Demon Realm?”

“Hahaha, not at all.”

Conversation dead on arrival. Sometimes Shen Jin wondered why he’d ever fixated on Xue Ying. Wasn’t Wen An a better option? Was Elder Qixia not obedient enough? Or was the sect leader too gentle?

Yet, Shen Jin persisted, growing more determined with each failure. Every morning, his first act was to psych himself up: He would win Xue Ying over, gain her trust, and then stab her in the back, whispering in her ear:

“Surprised? Angry? Sword Immortal’s disciple—too late.”

No, that line didn’t sound cool enough.

After washing up, Shen Jin sat at his desk, scribbling and revising his “Demon Lord Villain Monologue.” Next door, Xue Ying knocked and poked her head in, her tone brusque: “Shen Jin, morning training.”

“Coming, coming.” Shen Jin tossed his pen aside and headed out. Along the way, he bought a red-tasseled spear. With a proper weapon, he at least wouldn’t be pinned to the ground by Xue Ying within three moves like before.

They’d been training together for a while now, and some cultivators on the ship would occasionally spar with them. Today, a crowd gathered on the deck to watch their session.

One was a stunning beauty with masterful sword skills; the other, a dashing figure with impeccable spear techniques. Even if one didn’t understand the fight, it was still a feast for the eyes. Cheers erupted after each bout.

Xue Ying was used to spectators during training, but Shen Jin felt awkward. Out of consideration for Cen Wuwang (since taking care of Shen Jin was indirectly taking care of him), Xue Ying offered encouragement: “You’ve improved a lot.”

Shen Jin instinctively smiled, about to respond modestly, when he suddenly caught himself.

Why was he about to say thank you? What was he even doing?

The incident left him fuming all day, refusing to eat. That night, Xue Ying knocked on his door again: “Want dinner?”

“No!”

Shen Jin snapped. They were cultivators—why bother with food? Did she think he could be bribed so easily?

“Really? Mangshan’s teppanyaki is legendary. Once we leave, you won’t get another chance.” Xue Ying held up skewers, her tone earnest. “It’s delicious.”

Shen Jin: “…I’ll think about it.”

They ate until midnight. Under a sky full of stars, Shen Jin trailed behind Xue Ying. Perhaps it was the beautiful night, or maybe the alcohol, but his guard slipped. “Why are you so nice to me? I’m a demon—one who wants to kill you.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them, then resented Xue Ying for playing the emotional card.

Xue Ying, munching on a candied hawthorn skewer, didn’t turn around. “Shishu told me to try understanding others.”

Since Shen Jin was currently wearing Cen Wuwang’s body, taking care of him was, in a roundabout way, understanding Cen Wuwang. Made sense.

Shen Jin’s chest warmed, but he refused to look at her, muttering threats instead: “Don’t get sentimental. You’ll regret it once we reach the Demon Realm.”

Xue Ying brushed it off. The Demon Realm had its own sect leader. She’d heard Du Yizhou brag endlessly about how amazing their leader was—capable of plucking the moon from the sky or catching turtles in the sea. What could one measly Demon Lord do?

Come to think of it, the Demon Realm didn’t have bus stops. Wouldn’t the return trip be a hassle?

She glanced up at the flying ship hovering above the forest. The Taichu Sect had offered to lend them one, but the sect leader declined, citing the need for a low-profile journey for safety.

Thus, Xue Ying—busy saving the four realms—and Shen Jin ended up taking the equivalent of a bus, stopping and starting along the way…

By the time they reached the Realm of Consciousness, Shen Jin had filled half a notebook with villainous monologues. As they disembarked, the ship’s owner—a woman with a sweet voice and a beautiful name, Fei Ji (the dream girl of countless men)—bid them farewell: “Passengers, this journey has concluded successfully. We hope to see you again.”

—

Their first impression of the Realm of Consciousness was that of country bumpkins in the big city. Unlike the Daoist Realm’s picturesque landscapes, the Realm of Consciousness was… unique. The entire realm was surrounded by a sea of blood, where rivers of blood from the Demon Realm converged. When these tainted waters met pure qi, violent chemical reactions occurred.

Geographically speaking, the icy, dry currents from the polar regions swept through, leaving barren lands in their wake.

The impoverished environment bred discontent, driving its inhabitants to seek solace in spirituality—in other words, cults flourished.

Foremost among them was Luyeyuan, an ancient sect that once boasted millions of followers, with every household worshipping the Buddha’s disciples.

And then…

Luyeyuan practiced gender discrimination. The women revolted, founding Tianyinge to oppose them. Today, the two factions were evenly matched. When asked if they regretted their actions, Luyeyuan admitted: “Very much so.”

Who knew women’s purchasing power could be so terrifying? The men were a disappointment.

Setting aside history, Xue Ying’s first impression of the Realm of Consciousness was: “Wow, the ocean—so much water.”

The blood-red sea stretched endlessly, merging with the twilight sky in a breathtaking display. Along the shore, ascetics crawled on their knees in pilgrimage. A few here and there wouldn’t be remarkable, but the coastline was lined with countless devotees—a staggering sight. Interestingly, a group of Tianyinge disciples passed by, clad in luxurious robes, playing instruments, their fragrant breeze trailing as they sang.

Fascinating.

Shen Jin caught up and explained, “This is a pilgrimage.”

His tone was dismissive, but he knew the details. “Most people in the Realm of Consciousness can’t cultivate due to the tainted qi, so they turned to faith. Pilgrimage is the most common practice—kneel sincerely, donate generously, and maybe a high monk will enlighten you. Tianyinge claims equality, but their inner circle is just as exclusive as Luyeyuan’s. The only difference is their facade.”

Xue Ying recalled Yingjun’s visit to Taisu Valley. “Is the Buddha’s disciple the same?”

Shen Jin: “Not quite. Selecting a Buddha’s disciple or saintess is strict, like in your Daoist Realm. They must be naturally gifted, one in a hundred, before even being considered.”

Xue Ying gazed at the pilgrims. As a Daoist, she couldn’t comprehend their fervor. “Even if life is hard, they don’t need to seek refuge in faith.”

Shen Jin understood the Realm of Consciousness better. “You rarely visit, so you wouldn’t know. Beyond poverty, this realm faces external threats.”

“External threats?”

Shen Jin replied calmly, “The Asura born from the sea of blood.”

No one knew where the Asura came from, only that they were bloodthirsty, gluttonous, and fond of beauty. When Shen Jin unified the Demon Realm, he encountered some Asura—utterly unreasonable, reckless to the point of absurdity. Compared to Shen Jin’s ruthlessness, even the Asura valued their lives. Those in the Demon Realm were beaten into submission, but here, they acted like untouchable mobsters, constantly harassing Luyeyuan and Tianyinge.

Initially, Tianyinge and Luyeyuan were mortal enemies. Then the Asura raided both, forcing them to ally against the common foe.

Today, their fragile balance was maintained solely by their shared “friend,” the Asura.

“They abduct women,” Shen Jin added, thinking of the wild Asura women. “And pretty boys.”

Xue Ying blurted, “Speaking from experience?”

Shen Jin took a moment to process the jab, then scowled. “Ridiculous. Do I look like some weakling to you?”

Xue Ying reasoned, “But in stories, every Demon Lord is brooding and tragic, with a childhood of abuse leading to emotional scars. Don’t you want a redemption arc?”

Imagine an ugly villain claiming to be evil versus a handsome man confessing his tragic past before turning to darkness. Who would the crowd sympathize with?

Shen Jin was livid. “…What do you sword cultivators even do all day?”

Nothing much. They were human—besides training, they gossiped. Even someone as aloof as Du Yizhou secretly wrote romance novels. Xue Ying countered, “So, do you want redemption or not?”

Shen Jin: “No!”

Preposterous. As the Demon Lord, he didn’t need forgiveness from hypocrites.

The Asura topic ended there. Xue Ying turned to asking for directions to Luyeyuan. The area was a hub, bustling with travelers and guides. One particularly enthusiastic child approached her: “First time here, big sister?”

Xue Ying studied him—a little kid with rosy lips, fair skin, and an adorable smile, reminiscent of Tang Ke’ai. The Realm of Consciousness truly bred lovely people: Yingjun was well-mannered, and now this sweet-talking boy.

“Yes, I’m here to see a friend.”

Hearing that she was here to meet a friend, the child’s smile brightened even more. Jumping up and down with excitement, they waved their hands eagerly. “Big sister, pick me, pick me! I know the World of Consciousness like the back of my hand!”

Xue Ying was a bit overwhelmed by the enthusiasm. “It’s not some obscure corner—just Deer Park. It should be easy to find.”

Before she could finish, the child had already extended their hand, rubbing their fingers together in a very suggestive gesture.

Confused, Xue Ying turned to look at Shen Jin, who had just been angered by her earlier and was now leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. When she glanced at him, he merely raised an elegant eyebrow and said nothing.

That expression on his face felt oddly unsettling.

She hesitantly mimicked the gesture, rubbing her fingers together twice, wondering if this was some special way of greeting in the World of Consciousness. But then the child suddenly spread their hands open. “Five hundred.”

Xue Ying blinked. “What?”

“Five hundred spirit stones! Deer Park charges an entrance fee. Since you’re new here and don’t have a World of Consciousness ID, I get it. I’ll buy the tickets for you—two hundred fifty each. Sound good?”

Not sensing anything amiss, Xue Ying obediently handed over five hundred spirit stones and watched as the child scampered off. Seeing that Shen Jin still hadn’t spoken a word, she worried he might be too angry for his own good—after all, he needed to stay healthy and plump. Softening her tone, she coaxed, “Alright, don’t be mad. I know I was wrong.”

Anger harms the liver, and Shen Jin was currently using Cen Wuwang’s body. It wouldn’t be worth it if he died from rage.

Shen Jin’s expression eased slightly, but then those strange thoughts from earlier resurfaced. He quickly reminded himself—this was the same woman who had once nearly cursed him into oblivion. Women’s words couldn’t be trusted. No falling for your mortal enemy.

“…Then do you know what exactly you did wrong?”

Xue Ying nodded with a smile. “Yes, yes. I shouldn’t have made you angry.”

She thought her apology was sincere enough, but Shen Jin exploded. “You’re just brushing me off!”

Xue Ying was baffled. She had already apologized—why was Shen Jin still angry? Were all people from the demon realm this temperamental?

“What do you want me to do, then?”

“It’s not about what you do—it’s about your attitude!”

“I think my attitude is fine. What more do you want?”

“Fine? You call this fine?”

“Shen Jin, are you just picking a fight? Or are you in such a hurry to see your mom now that we’re at your doorstep?”

“Look at you—not only refusing to admit your mistake, but now you’re insulting me! And you still claim you’re not wrong?”

The child returned with the tickets and, seeing the two locked in a heated argument, tried to mediate. “Big sister—”

“Shut up!”

The child: “…”

Damn it. After years of playing cute and dumb, this was the first time someone had snapped at him. Unacceptable! Why were they taking their fight out on an innocent bystander?

The argument escalated until Shen Jin pulled out a small knife, snarling, “Apologize, or I’ll slit my wrist right here.”

He wasn’t afraid of pain—one slash, and Xue Ying’s wrist would hurt too. Let’s see how she’d wield her sword then.

Xue Ying remained eerily calm, drawing her sword Yaoguang. “Let me do it. I’ve trained with the sword for years—my hand is steadier than yours.”

How dare this bastard use Cen Wuwang’s body to threaten her? He had a death wish.

After thoroughly beating Shen Jin, Xue Ying deeply understood the saying, “The pain of the child is the suffering of the mother.” Suppressing her own discomfort, she turned to the child with a gentle smile. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

The trembling child: “N-no problem…”

Xue Ying took the tickets with profuse thanks. She truly was blind in the World of Consciousness, so having a guide was helpful. Since she’d already spent the money, she might as well squeeze every last drop of value. “Little brother, thank you. Could you show us the way?”

The child forced a weak smile. “Might as well see it through. Of course.”

They set off one after another. As they moved away from the coast, the true face of the World of Consciousness unfolded before Xue Ying’s eyes—a textbook backwater. Even the poorest regions of the Dao Realm could boast some poetic charm, but the World of Consciousness had nothing. Open your mouth, and you’d get a mouthful of sand.

After a long trek, a white temple gradually came into view—a paradise in the desert. The gems embedded in its walls and even the clouds above shimmered in rainbow hues, screaming wealth.

Devotees streamed in and out as monks chanted softly. Xue Ying stood dazed for a moment before realizing the child had vanished. Left with no choice, she approached a monk at the entrance, handing over the tickets politely. “Greetings, Master. I seek an audience with the Holy Son.”

The monk barely glanced at her words, focusing instead on the tickets—Deer Park. Then he took in her foreign attire.

“Ah, scammed again.”

His gaze turned pitying, radiating Buddhist compassion. “First time here, benefactor? Deer Park is open to all—no tickets needed.”

Xue Ying didn’t grasp it at first, but when the monk mentioned “free,” murderous intent flared in her eyes. “Two hundred fifty each—he swindled me out of five hundred. If I ever see him again…”

That little brat had played her.

Forget the two idiots for now—business came first. Xue Ying pressed, “Master, could you arrange an audience for me?”

The monk pocketed the tickets, treating this easy mark with courtesy. “Every outsider who comes here wants to see the Holy Son. Benefactor, the Holy Son is very busy—appearances require fees.”

Xue Ying faltered, at a loss for words. She was about to pull out the Sect Leader’s letter as leverage when the monk turned away to assist another worshipper.

“Seeking marriage fortunes? Excellent, excellent.”

Standing alone in the grand hall, surrounded by devotees, Shen Jin sneered from behind her. “What’s wrong? The pure, noble Holy Son of your dreams doesn’t match reality? Heartbroken?”

Xue Ying touched her empty money pouch and asked Shen Jin with exaggerated politeness, “Could you perform for me again?”

Shen Jin frowned. “Perform what?”

“That bit where you threaten to slit your wrist and die on the spot. Deer Park is compassionate—if someone commits suicide in their temple, they’d surely drag you to the back for emergency care, right?”

Her tone was sweet, but Shen Jin felt a chill. If he refused now, she’d probably resort to public violence. Thinking fast, he said, “Actually, there’s another way to summon the Holy Son without suicide.”

Xue Ying: “?”

Without explaining, Shen Jin summoned a swirl of demonic energy in his palm. Unleashing demonic power in Deer Park was like running a red light—instantly, screams erupted. Monks swarmed in, and the fortune-telling monk hurled a begging bowl straight at them. Xue Ying dodged reflexively, leaving it to smash squarely into Shen Jin’s face. Both clutched their cheeks in pain.

This “treasure” was utterly useless. Why had she listened to the Sect Leader?

Fortunately, the commotion worked. Lixiang, presiding over a ceremony in the back hall, rushed over. The senior monk, dressed as he had been in Yunmengze—bare-chested with half a neck’s worth of jewels—surveyed the scene with authority. “Who dares cause trouble here?”

Seeing a familiar face, Xue Ying relaxed. “Master, I am a disciple of the Tai Xuan Sect. I seek an audience.”

Lixiang regarded her indifferently. “You—the Sword Immortal’s disciple.”

Xue Ying nodded. Lixiang’s gaze shifted to Shen Jin, then furrowed in confusion. Years ago, he had met Cen Wuwang—the Sword Immortal’s peerless elegance had left a deep impression. This man looked just like him.

Tall, beautiful, with hair so glossy it put women’s to shame.

Before he could ask who this was, the fortune-telling monk shouted, “Elder, this man is a demon!”

The atmosphere grew heavier. Lixiang nodded sagely. “So, your master has fallen to demonic cultivation, and you’ve come to Deer Park for a cure?”

What nonsense? Xue Ying opened her mouth to deny it, but Shen Jin wrapped an arm around her waist, smirking. “Old monk, what can you do to me?”

Before she could shake off his hand, Lixiang turned away in disgust. “Another master-disciple romance? And eloping, no less? Fine, arrange lodging for them. I’ll inform the Holy Son.”

Shen Jin exhaled in relief. He had no desire to tangle with Deer Park’s monks, especially Lixiang—a master of physical enlightenment and stubborn logic. Best to avoid him.

Just as they thought they’d slipped through, Cen Wuwang woke up. Perhaps Deer Park’s spiritual energy was potent—his soul solidified, materializing right before them. He took in the scene, particularly the man holding Xue Ying’s waist, and fell silent.

Everyone else did too. This ghost looked… peculiar. Lixiang’s eyes darted between them, his vajra club hesitating over which target to strike.

Cen Wuwang spoke at last. “What are you doing?”

Xue Ying didn’t want to engage, but remembering Qixia Elder’s advice, she forced herself to stay calm. “As you can see, I’m getting familiar with your body.”

Realizing how that sounded, she quickly added, “And another man’s voice.”