Chapter Thirty-Nine: A Reunion

The figure was snow-white, but the only things that registered in Liu Chou’s vision were those eyes—scarlet as blood, like a cluster of flames erupting to incinerate the world. In an instant, they ignited his entire conscious space. His memories, thoughts, perceptions, and emotions were all frozen. A sensation of utter helplessness flooded his soul.

This feeling did not stem from an external force, but from within. It was birthed from the depths of Liu Chou’s soul, spreading and growing rapidly until it consumed his entire existence.

The sensation was so vivid and overwhelming that it instantly severed the connection between his soul and his physical form. Controlling his own body became agonizingly difficult; the power burgeoning from within his soul was usurping his link to the flesh, compressing the space his soul occupied, and gradually replacing him.

The world fell into a deathly silence. Liu Chou could neither hear, see, nor smell; he could not perceive the slightest change in the outside world. Both his demonic power and his innate strength lay dormant, paralyzed under the weight of this influence.

Master Fulu had once mentioned such a phenomenon. In this world, whether god, demon, or monster, cultivation generally followed two paths: the first was Body Tempering, refining the physical vessel to be unimaginably powerful; the second was Spirit Tempering, cultivating demonic or celestial power to manipulate the laws of the heavens and drive supernatural arts.

These were the most common methods, accessible to all. Yet, beyond them, some beings with unique bloodlines possessed rare, unconventional techniques.

One such method was Soul-Binding. Practitioners of this path often had mediocre martial skills and lackluster magical arts, but they could directly affect the souls of living beings—imprisoning, probing, stripping away, or manipulating them. Though considered an unorthodox path, it was terrifying and nearly impossible to resist.

The small demon had used Soul-Binding.

Liu Chou did not surrender. Through all the trials and tribulations of his past and present lives, his will had been forged like steel. He began to desperately call upon the Demon-Refining Pot within his consciousness. As he focused his mind, a faint ripple spread out like water.

Indeed, as an ancient artifact, even though the Demon-Refining Pot lacked a spirit and was broken, it was no mere trinket.

As Liu Chou struggled, the snow-white demon’s face revealed a look of astonishment. She faltered for a moment, then raised a hand to stop the two old men behind her. "Stay outside," she commanded.

The two elders were short and hunched. One was an old man leaning on a dragon-headed cane with a gourd hanging from it; the other was an old woman, similarly dressed, but with a small bottle hanging from her staff. Neither showed a shred of demonic aura, a sign of profound cultivation.

If these two were demons, their strength must have reached the high level of a monster, perhaps even a half-step Great Demon. Such beings were equivalent to ascetics on the verge of immortality, or powerful celestial servants who needed only to pass a tribulation to ascend. Yet, they were strangely subservient to this young female demon. At her word, they stopped at the street corner, never to advance or speak another word.

Their behavior was that of loyal attendants or bodyguards.

Had Liu Chou not been sensory-deprived, he would have recognized her. This young demoness, with her flowing white robes and pretty face—save for the flatness of her chest—was a fox demon named Qingmei, one of the few friends he had known in Ghost Valley.

Her full name was Tushan Qingmei.

Qingmei’s eyes caught Liu Chou’s form. Despite his changed height and features, the demonic aura he emitted remained constant. Her eyes, capable of piercing through the ripples of the soul, recognized him instantly.

"Is that... Liu Chou?"

The shock of seeing an old friend caused Tushan Qingmei to lose her composure. Memories of Ghost Valley flooded her mind, flickering like pages in a book, finally settling on a dim, haunting scene.

Under the canopy of green willows, blood spilled like water. A woman lay beneath the boughs as three vicious thugs approached, their faces twisted with malice. Standing in their way was a man less than three feet tall, ugly and dwarfish, who leapt up with a roar, brandishing an iron rod to strike.

The scene made Qingmei shudder, followed by a long, melancholy sigh.

In a split second, Liu Chou’s senses returned. He leapt up and, without pausing to look back, bolted like lightning through the alleys, vanishing in a heartbeat.

He could not afford to look.

The intense sense of crisis urged him to flee immediately. In the face of such a formidable enemy, escape was the only rational choice. This was not a game or a story; there was no time to satisfy his curiosity.

This was a real battlefield where blood was spilled and lives were wagered. It was neither glorious nor exhilarating; it was brutal, realistic, and fraught with the constant threat of death.

Back at the street, Qingmei stood in a daze, watching Liu Chou’s figure disappear. She turned slowly to look at the battered and nearly collapsed lieutenant.

Closing her eyes and reopening them, the scarlet hue faded, replaced by cold indifference. "Uncle Seven, Aunt Nine, do not let this man continue to wreak havoc. It is an eyesore."

The two elders nodded slightly. Uncle Seven stepped forward. With a single stride, the air around him rippled and folded, his figure blurring like a wisp of smoke. By the time he reappeared, he was already in front of the lieutenant.

The lieutenant was caught off guard, and before he could react, the dragon-headed cane had pierced his chest. A torrential wave of demonic power tore through the wound, flooding his meridians. In an instant, spiderweb-like cracks appeared across the lieutenant’s body. His tough flesh shattered like ice, and he collapsed with a crash.

It was simple and clean, like stirring stagnant water in a pond—utterly devoid of ripples.

The lieutenant’s guards fell into chaos. Some roared and charged at the old man, while others turned to flee for their lives. The old man remained calm, his cane striking out repeatedly. With a series of soft thuds, the guards and officers fell to the ground one by one.

Such was the chasm between them—the difference between a man and an ant, between a god and a mortal.

Liu Chou ran until the stinging sensation behind him vanished. He was already outside the city. He encountered many small demons along the way, but because he possessed strong demonic traits and moved with great speed, no one stopped him. Once he reached safety and paused to catch his breath, a dark shadow flashed—Jinjing emerged from the dense forest.

Liu Chou shifted his form, suppressing his demonic traits and returning to his human guise.

Jinjing led him deep into the woods, where Guan Lan and the others were waiting alongside Mowen and two corpses. Guan Lan’s face was grim. Though they had known of Liu Chou’s plan, seeing it come to fruition was a profound shock. An entire city of tens of thousands, including the lieutenant of the Tianshan Escort, had been wiped out with such ruthless efficiency. Deep down, everyone had to admit: compared to elaborate schemes, this was the most direct and thorough way to eliminate future trouble.

"Perhaps I was wrong before..."

This thought took root in Guan Lan’s mind, and the events that would later befall him all stemmed from this realization.

Liu Chou did not notice the change in Guan Lan’s expression. His gaze was fixed on the two corpses. After inspecting them, he frowned. "This man looks familiar."

"He is the lieutenant. If I am not mistaken, he is one of the sources of this mission," one of the guards answered, seeing Guan Lan lost in thought.

"I see!" Liu Chou realized. He crouched to search the body and added, "If he is the lieutenant, why is there only one guard with him? Where are the others?"

The guard glanced at Jinjing and Mowen, thinking, *You only brought two demons as guards; are you any better?* But he dared not say it. Guan Lan, prompted by a nudge from another guard, returned to reality and answered:

"Only this one remained. I suspect the others died fighting or were buried in Black Fire City."

"I see."

Liu Chou stood up, holding a bamboo tube sealed with red wax and stamped with an official mark. He crushed the wax and pulled out a scroll of parchment.

Guan Lan started to caution him against tampering with official correspondence, but remembering the slaughter he had just witnessed, he held his tongue. After Liu Chou finished reading, Guan Lan asked, "What does it say?"

"It mentions our retreat, reports the demonic attack on Black Fire City, and requests that the Mirage Chief, Chi Xiaodou, investigate the incident."

"Phew, good thing we took your advice, or we would have been doomed," Guan Lan sighed in relief. "Destroy it. Without this letter, we can write our own version of the events."

"No, we cannot destroy it," Liu Chou said, tucking the tube into his robes. His eyes narrowed with deep intent. "The letter only mentions that we retreated upon encountering the enemy; it does not accuse us of disobeying orders. The main point of the letter is actually aimed at someone else, not us."

"Who?"

"Jie Kong."

Guan Lan gasped. "Why point the finger at Jie Kong? Could he have orchestrated this? Was the lieutenant kept in the dark?" A look of shame crossed his face. "I fear we have wronged him."

"Wronged him? Hardly!" Liu Chou disagreed, shaking his head. "Perhaps he was not the mastermind, but he could not have been unaware of the dangers at Black Wind Pass. Otherwise, why not send the two lieutenants instead of letting us take the risk?" Liu Chou paused, then continued, enunciating every word for Guan Lan and himself:

"He wanted to protect his own kin and friends, so he sent us to die. That kind of behavior deserves to be punished!"