When the sun tilted toward the west, the barren, grassless land finally gave way to scattered greenery. Thin blades of fresh grass appeared in clusters, followed by short, twisted trees. In the distance, a faint gurgling seemed to ride on the breeze.
They had walked the entire day beneath the scorching sun. Yan Dan pushed herself forward stubbornly, refusing to voice a single complaint. She was the least capable of the four—if even she dared to complain, she would have no face left at all. She pressed her dry lips together, focusing on every subtle sound around her. The faint trickle of water grew clearer and clearer.
Yan Dan finally exhaled in relief.
Thank goodness… I’m not so thirsty that I’m hearing things.
But the moment she rushed ahead and reached the water source, all her delight evaporated. Though the stream flowed, it was littered with thick, sickly green clumps drifting along the current. Before she even crouched down, a suffocating stench slammed into her face.
Yu Mo stared at the stream, voice even. “No idea what’s floating in there.”
Yan Dan felt tears sting her eyes. In this moment she didn’t care what it was—only that there was no drinkable water. An ancient, panicked echo rose from deep within her heart:
No water… no water… If I can’t drink, I’ll die here…
Tang Zhou studied the stream for a moment, then slowly shook his head. “I can’t quite tell… though it looks a bit like—”
Yan Dan, already trembling, stretched a hand toward the water. The instant she heard his tone change she panicked. “Don’t say it!”
But she was a heartbeat too late.
Tang Zhou announced loudly, “…Eggs.”
Yan Dan collapsed against his collar and shook him furiously. “Are you not thirsty? Not tired? I told you not to say it!”
Liu Weiyang stepped forward without a word. Kneeling by the creek, he dipped a handful of water, splashed it across his face, then scooped another and drank it as if it were nothing.
Yan Dan froze, horrified.
He drank it. He really drank it…
Before she recovered, she saw Yu Mo crouching down as well, lifting a handful of the polluted water. Logically, she knew they had no choice—without water, they wouldn’t make it to the next source. But the thought of drinking this—the stench, the clumps, the green eggs—made her stomach churn.
She grabbed Tang Zhou’s sleeve with shaking fingers. “You—you wouldn’t really drink this, would you?”
Tang Zhou glanced at her. His tone was matter-of-fact. “You don’t dare to drink.”
“Of course I don’t! It’s not shameful to admit that! Smell it! Look at those green insect eggs—if you pinch one, it’ll burst into a puddle of green filth—”
“Yan Dan.” Yu Mo’s voice snapped sharp. He soaked a silk handkerchief in the stream, didn’t bother wringing it out, and handed it to her.
Yan Dan took it silently. She begrudgingly wiped her face and moistened her cracked lips. Holding the handkerchief between two fingers, she frowned. “Yu Mo, why do you even carry a silk handkerchief? And this embroidery—Bailing Embroidery! Such fine stitching, ruined like this.”
Seeing that everyone had at least moistened themselves, Liu Weiyang finally spoke calmly, “This isn’t ordinary insect spawn. It’s a corpse-lame’s egg.”
Yan Dan clamped a hand over her mouth. “A… corpse-lame?”
She knew the name: a type of insect that fed on corpses. She recalled teasing that villager back in Qingshi Town. She hadn’t expected the karma to come back like this—talking about it was one thing, but swallowing it…
Liu Weiyang continued, “Look at the quantity. There must be many corpses nearby. The road ahead won’t be easy—stay alert.” His sleeve flicked and he walked off.
Yan Dan gagged. Her skin crawled with phantom itches. She flung the embroidered handkerchief aside—no matter how beautiful the lark patterns were, she refused to keep something soaked in corpse-eating insect filth.
They moved forward. The vegetation thickened, trees growing tall overhead. Against the fading sunset, several wolf-sized beasts lay sprawled in the grass, grooming themselves lazily, looking almost harmless.
Even as Yan Dan walked past, they didn’t stir. She glanced again—
One beast suddenly rose, shaking itself violently.
Her heart dropped.
Before she blinked, its body elongated grotesquely, its face stretched unnaturally long, its dull eyes bursting with wisps of blood-red veins.
Six human-faced badgers shot up at once, snarling as they pounced.
Just one earlier had thrown her into chaos—six at once left no room for thought except to run. Liu Weiyang’s jade flute flashed as he blocked one beast, shouting, “Take the winding path!”
Badgers lunged fast; running straight meant instant death.
Yan Dan sprinted a few steps when a cold gust swept behind her. She dropped and rolled instinctively, narrowly dodging a leaping badger. Before she could rise, another sprang from her left. She scrambled away on hands and knees and found herself staring directly into its warped human face, close enough to touch noses.
Her limbs locked in terror.
A sharp flash sliced through the forest—blood droplets burst in the air. The creature shrieked and hurled itself at the sword qi. Yan Dan seized the chance to dodge aside. Yu Mo, sword drawn, stepped into view. Blue light shimmered along the spine of his blade—something like a dragon, or a fish—before plunging straight into the badger’s abdomen.
A spray of wet, pale organs splattered the ground. The remaining beasts backed away, claws scraping, screeching but unwilling to approach.
Yu Mo grabbed Yan Dan’s wrist and pulled her forward. Being dragged along, Yan Dan couldn’t help thinking—couldn’t Yu Mo practice some less gruesome magic? His spells always ended in storms, blood, or disembowelment…
As she muttered internally, the grip on her wrist tightened. Yu Mo’s steady steps faltered. Yan Dan looked over—and froze. Half his face was smeared with dried blood around his swollen, injured eyes. It was a wonder he could walk at all.
He turned away, smiling faintly. “It’s nothing. Watch the road.”
She steadied him, guiding him across smoother ground. “Your eyes…”
“A scratch. It’s fine.”
“Yes, last time you were gravely injured too, so of course—”
“…Don’t look at me. Look ahead.”
Yan Dan forced herself to look forward. But even on flat ground, she felt the earth trembling faintly beneath her feet. It must be my imagination. There can’t be earthquakes here… right?
Liu Weiyang’s voice came from behind, calm as ever. “Go west.”
Yes—he had been the only reliable one since entering this artifact’s demon realm. She obeyed instinctively, climbing the western slope—until her breath caught.
There was no path ahead. Only an abrupt cliff.
Before she could react, someone shoved her hard from behind.
She fell.
Yan Dan twisted midair and released Yu Mo’s arm, desperate not to drag him with her—his eyes were already injured. She grasped blindly—fingers snagging a vine jutting from the cliff wall.
By sheer luck, she caught it.
She turned her head—and saw a cold gleam slice downward. Her lifeline snapped cleanly.
The drifting sword qi was followed by pale sleeves fluttering in the wind, and Liu Weiyang’s indifferent eyes.
Yan Dan plummeted—yet landed not on crushing stone but into a soft, sucking swamp. She struggled, panicked, until she realized the harder she fought, the faster she sank. So she lay still, letting the slow current push her toward the shore.
Half a cup of tea later, she crawled onto solid ground.
A deep rumble thundered across the valley—coming from the cliff she’d fallen from. What happened up there?
She hurried forward.
But the cliff was gone.
In its place lay rolling hills gentle enough for any mortal to climb. Yan Dan’s heart chilled. Had she been thrown into an entirely different area of the artifact’s demon realm?
She was alone now.
She walked through the forest until the path widened. Far ahead, wisps of green smoke spiraled upward—cooking smoke. Human habitation.
She quickened her pace. Warmth flickered in her chest—smoke, sunset, distant noises… all comforting after such chaos.
She stepped beneath a large ancient tree.
A sudden clang sounded above. Leaves rained down—and a face swung into view, dangling upside down.
The corpse’s expression was twisted in agony, eyes wide, jaw stiffened.
Yan Dan stumbled back three steps. After a moment, she exhaled shakily. “Just a dead person… I thought it was something stranger…”
The corpse wore plain white clothes, its hair tied sloppily with white rope.
A human sacrifice.
Old traditions used living people—often minors—as offerings. Yan Dan remembered Liu Weiyang’s pale robe… had he intended to push her in as a sacrifice?
She studied the corpse. Something felt wrong. Curious despite herself, she drew her hairpin and turned it into a slim jade blade. With one stroke, she slit the collar open.
Dark blue-black spots covered the skin beneath—small ones like coins, large ones like the size of her palm.
Unease prickled her spine.
Smoke rose from the peaceful village ahead, but this corpse…
Should she go around instead?
Sometimes the unknown was far more terrifying than known danger.
After debating, she decided to take the risk—if lucky, she could rest in the village for the night.
Just as she stepped forward—
Crack.
The branch snapped. The corpse dropped lower.
The torn hem of its clothes exposed its abdomen—rotted open and filled with writhing layers of black corpse-lames. Clusters of sticky green eggs coated its insides, identical to the ones she had seen at the stream.
Yan Dan’s stomach lurched violently. Her knees weakened.
A cold hand suddenly clamped over her mouth from behind. She inhaled the familiar faint sandalwood scent—this time tinged with blood.
Liu Weiyang’s whisper brushed her ear.
“Silence.”
Yan Dan only heard Liu Weiyang’s voice brush past her ear, low and close: “Silence.”
Her fingers itched. She really wanted to give him a hard shove at that moment—but she held back. As Liu Weiyang released her hand, the metallic scent of blood intensified. She turned her head and saw that the pale hem of his robe had been soaked through with red.
Liu Weiyang walked ahead. His posture was still straight, but Yan Dan clearly noticed the difference in his steps. She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. If he was injured, that would really be a bargain for her. The matter of him pushing her off a cliff earlier should also be tallied up properly.
Liu Weiyang halted and glanced back, eyes calm and unreadable as always. Yan Dan understood and followed.
Someone had once told her: Friends who share hardships may not share blessings, and enemies may yet walk side by side. Yan Dan agreed deeply with that.
As Liu Weiyang walked past a corpse, the originally twitching body abruptly stilled—then suddenly scrambled upright, retreating in panic, as if desperately trying to avoid him.
Yan Dan saw everything clearly and froze.
He still smelled of blood. Why would a corpse—obsessed with blood—avoid him?
She remembered that Tang Zhou’s blood could neutralize poisons. Her gaze dropped to the blood staining Liu Weiyang’s robe. Could it be… the corpse feared his blood?
She pondered this for a while, then softened her voice as they neared the village entrance.
“Young Master Liu, are your injuries all right?”
He did not stop walking. He simply hummed, neither agreeing nor denying.
Yan Dan felt the futility of arguing with someone who wouldn’t speak, so she stepped forward, grabbed his arm, and looked at him with bright, insistent eyes.
Liu Weiyang had no choice but to stop and look down at her. “What?”
Yan Dan’s eyes lit up even further. Zilin once slandered her by saying her expression could make people lose their appetite for three days. But she never minded—whatever worked, worked. She had seen far too much in her long life; she only cared about getting a good result.
Expressionless, Liu Weiyang tried to withdraw his sleeve. Yan Dan immediately pressed down on it. After spending this much time together, she had a basic grasp of his temperament: he disliked physical contact. If he pulled back, he would do so decisively.
He tried again and failed. “What do you want to do?”
Yan Dan snorted inwardly. Didn’t you drag us all into the demonic phase to die? Didn’t you push me off the cliff? Didn’t you pretend not to hear my hundred questions?
Cause and effect were clear—what you sowed, you reaped. Now was simply the time for him to receive his due.
Seeing she still said nothing, only staring at him with burning intensity, Liu Weiyang finally looked away. “What do you want?”
Yan Dan smiled sweetly, almost obediently.
“Young Master Liu, why don’t I help you bandage your wound? It’ll heal faster.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. Under her persistent gaze, he finally yielded.
“I’ll trouble you, then.”
He found a stump and sat. Lifting his blood-soaked robe, he revealed the wound. Yan Dan crouched beside him. Seeing the depth of the gash, she couldn’t stop her schadenfreude.
“This wound looks like it was made by a sharp blade.”
Not that she truly wanted to heal him—what she wanted was the chance to secretly take a bit of his blood. If the corpses really feared it, she needed to keep some for later.
“It was the stone I scraped against when I jumped from the cliff,” Liu Weiyang said lightly.
Yan Dan blinked. “Jumped off the cliff?”
He studied her silently for a moment. “You truly didn’t know?”
Yan Dan suddenly felt tricked.
“We weren’t walking on a mountain path earlier, but on the back of the Tianfan. When I realized it was about to turn over, I had no choice but to jump.”
Yan Dan had heard her master speak of the Tianfan before—a colossal beast, kin to the purple qilin but vaster, lazier, often lying for centuries until vegetation grew atop its back. But when it rolled over, heaven and earth turned with it. Hence the name turning the sky.
Her face warmed with embarrassment. He had meant well, and she had misunderstood. She placed her hand over his wound and whispered a healing spell. Light rippled softly, and the torn flesh knitted itself closed.
After a pause, Liu Weiyang said quietly, “If it wasn’t you, then who saw the Tianfan?”
Yan Dan casually folded a corner of the silk handkerchief stained with his blood and tucked it away. “Does it matter?”
Liu Weiyang lowered his robe, stood, and walked a few steps. “Thank you.”
Yan Dan muttered, “Strange… where are Yu Mo and Tang Zhou? Don’t tell me they were crushed under the Tianfan. Yu Mo might survive, but Tang Zhou… would be meat paste.”
Liu Weiyang only shook his head.
They exited the village path and saw a stone stele beneath a large tree. Two bold characters were carved on it—Luo Yue.
Even Liu Weiyang’s indifferent gaze flickered in surprise.
The Luoyue clan—descendants of the ancient evil gods, predating heaven and earth’s separation. When Pangu opened the world, Nuwa shaped mortals from clay. The evil gods formed the Luoyue clan from their own flesh and blood.
After the war between immortals and demons, the evil gods perished. The demon realm collapsed. The Luoyue fled into the mortal world, their lifespans shrinking, their appearances distorting as their lineage thinned. They refused to mingle with mortals, and so, over millennia, nearly vanished.
Yan Dan touched her chin thoughtfully.
“The Luoyue here must be from before the demon realm’s fall.”
“Not necessarily,” Liu Weiyang replied. “If the evil gods weren’t wiped out, why would they use human sacrifices?”
A chill ran down Yan Dan’s spine.
Her master had told her: the Luoyue were once breathtakingly beautiful. Their ancestor Xuanxiang had boasted that nothing they created was flawed—unlike Nuwa’s mortals, with their imperfections. Petty resentment between immortals and demons accumulated until war erupted. Xuanxiang had died alongside the Purple Void Emperor and Jidu Xingjun in the Cloud Heaven Palace. From that moment, everything changed.
Yan Dan sighed. “Even the most delicate flower withers eventually. A beautiful face ages the same.”
Liu Weiyang gave her an unexpectedly thoughtful look. She pouted inwardly—I have depth. People just overlook it.
She entered the Luoyue village first. Past the mulberry grove, wooden stilt houses lined the stream, bathed in sunset. It was the most peaceful place she had seen in this demonic phase. The beasts and sculptures earlier were too brutal—she hadn’t appreciated them at all.
“Who are you? How did you get here?”
The voice belonged to a youth—still childish, yet touched by adolescent hoarseness. Yan Dan turned to see a boy and a girl standing in the sunset. The girl peeked from behind him, big dark eyes fixed not on Yan Dan but on Liu Weiyang.
She suddenly smiled, sweet and bold.
“You’re here to marry my sister, aren’t you?”
Yan Dan glanced at Liu Weiyang’s blank face, then burst out laughing.
She found lodging swiftly—thanks entirely to Liu Weiyang. The delicate girl was the young lady of the clan’s most noble household. In mortal terms, a prestigious family blessed by its ancestors—something like the Pei family in the present world.
It had taken only a few sentences to explain things.
The Luoyue did not use surnames. The boy was Nan Zhao. The girl was Shuizhen—his cousin. Shuizhen believed Liu Weiyang was here to marry her elder sister, Nong Cui.
And Nong Cui… was a beauty of the Luoyue clan. She had once dreamed of Liu Weiyang when passing by the Shenxiao Palace and had been devoted to him ever since, vowing she would marry no one else.
When Yan Dan finally met Nong Cui—the delicate, luminous beauty—she could only sigh: Liu Weiyang really attracts peach blossoms everywhere he goes.
So, naturally, Yan Dan sold Liu Weiyang off without hesitation.
A scroll unfurled, revealing a man in blue: his figure framed by faint green mountains and endless rivers. A noble, ethereal presence.
Yan Dan looked at the portrait.
The man’s features truly resembled Liu Weiyang, though the painting lacked his living spirit.
“This is His Highness Xuanxiang,” Nan Zhao whispered. “The most gifted of all evil gods. Sister Nong Cui saw him once as a child. She dreamed of him for years. Even when he died in battle, she believed he would return.”
Yan Dan chuckled inwardly.
“Pity Liu Weiyang isn’t an evil god—he only looks similar.”
Nan Zhao smiled bitterly.
“But he does carry the blood of the evil gods. Sister Nong Cui believes wholeheartedly that he is Xuanxiang.”
Yan Dan fell silent.
It made sense—too much sense. People with similar appearances existed. But Liu Weiyang having evil god blood… and his memories breaking precisely at the battle of immortals and demons…
She had to admit:
Liu Weiyang being Xuanxiang was extremely possible.
She suddenly felt deep sympathy.
Once, he had belonged nowhere—not the Three Realms nor the mortal world.
If he truly was Xuanxiang, then the heavens themselves would reject him.
If the Celestial Court discovered he lived, three hundred thousand heavenly soldiers would hunt him down.
She sighed softly—only to hear Nan Zhao sigh as well.
Yan Dan glanced at him. The young man’s brows were furrowed, his expression desolate.
A thought struck her.
“There’s an old mortal saying—have you heard it?
The falling flower is intentional, but the flowing water is heartless.”
You like Miss Nong Cui, but her heart belongs to Xuanxiang.”
Nan Zhao flushed red instantly. Even without changing color, his reaction said everything.
“I—I know… but I can’t help it…”
Yan Dan patted his shoulder gently.
“If she has no intention, you must let go. A man should show backbone.”
Nan Zhao lowered his head. “Miss Yan is right.”
Yan Dan prepared to continue consoling him when a cold voice cut through the air behind her—
“Yan Dan. Come here.”
She shivered at the chill. After a beat, she realized—it was Liu Weiyang.
It seemed that once the truth came to light, he would inevitably discover how completely she had sold him out.
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