Outside Zhenhai City, an endless maple forest stretched across the land.
It was late autumn. The leaves burned red like blood.
A group of sixteen men strode through the carpet of crimson leaves. Each was tall and broad-shouldered, their faces fierce and murderous—like a band of warriors marching out to kill an enemy.
Yet the truth was the complete opposite.
They were here to fetch a bridegroom.
At the center of the procession, four burly men carried a crimson bridal sedan chair. Its roof was gilded and crowned with pearls, enamel tassels swaying softly. The silk covering the sedan was embroidered with a hundred birds paying homage to the phoenix, so lifelike one could almost imagine them taking flight from the cloth at any moment.
With each step, the men covered nearly half a li.
One moment they stood at the edge of the maple forest; the next, they had already crossed it entirely and arrived before the gates of Zhenhai City.
There, the old steward of the Chen family—one of the city’s cultivation clans—had been waiting for quite some time.
After a few brief courtesies, the steward led the way.
Walking across the water as though stepping on waves, they traveled north of the city until they reached a small islet.
The old steward bowed respectfully before the main bamboo house.
“Great-uncle, they have arrived.”
Inside the house lived someone who, even in ruin and decline, was still coveted by countless demonic cultivators and wandering practitioners.
And indeed—without the Chen clan ancestor lifting a finger, Li Kui Demon Palace had already sent people to collect him.
The sixteen men waited alongside the steward for a moment.
Then the leader—a dark-faced, broad-shouldered man—spoke calmly.
“He’s not inside.”
No defensive arrays surrounded the bamboo house. The steward had been overly cautious.
He had not extended his spiritual sense to investigate, and even the instincts of a martial man had grown dull with nervousness.
The person he intended to announce… simply was not in the house.
The steward froze.
His heart lurched violently.
If anything went wrong now—if the bridal party had come all this way for nothing—the Chen clan of Zhenhai would offend not only the righteous path but the demonic path as well.
“The small Bamboo Islet is surrounded by formations,” he hurriedly explained. “Great-uncle lacks the strength to break them. He must still be somewhere on the island—”
Before he could finish, the sixteen men had already determined the direction and set off.
⁻
Chen Yixin had not managed to escape the island.
As the steward had said, his life hung by a thread. At best, he had ten years left to live.
Even if he had escaped Bamboo Islet, there was nowhere in the world for him to go.
The only reason he had been allowed to return to Zhenhai alive was because certain people still wanted to watch the spectacle of his downfall for a few more years.
They watched.
And he lived.
When the sixteen men and the steward found him, Chen Yixin was erecting a stone tablet beside a newly dug grave.
Hearing footsteps, he slowly turned around.
Moon-white robes trimmed with silver thread flowed around him, wide sleeves hanging in elegant arcs.
His bearing was ethereal and transcendent.
Even this spiritually barren island seemed transformed by that single turn.
Chen Yixin casually flicked his sleeve, brushing away a bit of dust that had settled on it.
Then he looked at them and smiled faintly.
“You’ve come just in time,” he said lightly, raising a hand.
“Help me set up the gravestone.”
He had been working for most of the day and was truly rather tired.
It was fortunate someone had arrived to help.
The sixteen burly men—and even the steward, who had seen Chen Yixin several times before—stood frozen on the spot.
Every word they had prepared vanished in the gentle autumn breeze.
There is a line of poetry:
“There is a beauty whom once seen cannot be forgotten;
A day apart makes one think of her like madness.”
Yet Chen Yixin’s beauty surpassed even such praise by tenfold, a hundredfold.
His skin was white as newly fallen snow, finer than the finest spiritual jade.
His eyes—clear and deep like autumn waters—seemed naturally filled with the spiritual essence of heaven and earth.
A single glance from them banished all worldly thoughts.
His full red lips curved gently, a shade richer than the finest vermilion pigment.
Such beauty—
Even if he did nothing but sit in the Demon Palace as decoration…
It would still be a rare elegance.
No wonder their Demon Lord—who had remained cold and indifferent for centuries—had suddenly developed the urge to snatch someone away…
—or rather, to marry.
This beauty was truly unmatched in heaven or on earth.
⁻
The sixteen men quickly regained their composure and did not dare look too long.
Following Chen Yixin’s instructions, they set the gravestone upright and began carving the inscription.
The steward remained stunned for quite some time before finally remembering his duty.
He stepped forward and bowed, stopping three paces away.
“Great-uncle… these are the envoys from the Demon Palace.”
By then, Chen Yixin had already seated himself on a large rock beside the new grave.
He nodded slightly in acknowledgment.
Then he studied the grave with great seriousness and commented with satisfaction:
“Very good.”
He had been born in Zhenhai.
He had hoped to die here as well.
Now, before death came, he would have to travel all the way to the southern territories.
Having a grave prepared here—even if it were only a cenotaph—was not so bad.
He looked toward the steward and gave a sincere instruction.
“Have someone take care of it. When I have time in the future, I’ll come back to visit.”
Perhaps someone would bring his ashes home.
Or perhaps, if he happened to pass by one day, he could personally return to clear the weeds from his own grave.
The thought brought a small smile to his lips.
That smile—combined with his already breathtaking features—created an effect that was almost suffocating.
The air around them fell silent.
The sixteen men and the steward all grew noticeably restrained.
⁻
Having arranged his own funeral, Chen Yixin no longer felt any attachment to Zhenhai City or Bamboo Islet.
He looked toward the obvious leader among the demonic cultivators.
His expression was gentle, his tone calm—so reasonable he seemed the easiest person in the world to speak with.
“My health isn’t good,” he said.
“I can’t travel long distances on foot. Do you have any transportation artifacts?”
He knew his body well.
He could not endure hunger.
He could not endure exhaustion.
With only ten years left to live, there was no need to make himself suffer.
“The bridal sedan is prepared,” replied the dark-faced leader.
He waved a hand.
Four men departed immediately, returning moments later carrying the red sedan chair from outside the bamboo house.
From this moment forward—
There would no longer be Chen Yixin of Zhenhai.
Only Chen Yixin of Li Kui Demon Palace.
“That will do,” Chen Yixin said with a nod.
He waved away the steward who tried to help him up.
After resting for another moment, he rose and walked toward the sedan chair on his own.
One of the men lifted the red curtain.
Chen Yixin glanced inside.
Soft cushions. Silk quilts.
Comfortable enough to rest in along the journey.
Supplies on the island were scarce; there had never been much to bring anyway.
Without looking back, he stepped inside.
The curtains fell closed.
The demonic leader nodded once to the steward.
Then the sixteen men departed.
⁻
The steward hurried forward several steps, but by the time he looked again—
They had already vanished.
The island’s protective formations meant nothing to the Demon Palace.
They needed no guide.
The steward gazed toward Zhenhai City, shrouded in sea mist.
Then he looked at the gravestone standing tall behind him.
He sighed softly, though he himself did not know why.
Most members of the Chen clan—and indeed most people in the world—probably believed Chen Yixin must be filled with rage, hatred, and bitterness after everything he had suffered.
But anyone who had actually spent time with him knew the truth.
Chen Yixin had lived on Bamboo Islet for more than three months.
During that time, he simply tended flowers, basked in the sun, and passed the days quietly.
When he learned he was to be married off to Li Kui Demon Palace, he merely nodded.
Everything was as light as drifting clouds to him.
He had lost one move in the great game.
So he accepted defeat.
Today, he had even been in the mood to prepare his own grave.
The inscription he ordered carved on the stone was particularly absurd.
“The Tomb of Chen Yixin—Beauty Who Toppled the Taixuan Realm.”
Chen Yixin had always been perfectly comfortable with his title as the most beautiful person in Taixuan.
But the word “toppled” carried another meaning.
For the storms he had stirred across the land—
None had ever been “light as drifting clouds.”
⁻
The journey from Zhenhai City in the north of Taixuan Continent to Red Fire Prefecture in the southern territories took more than a month.
When they had gone to fetch him, it had taken only ten days.
The return trip took nearly three times as long.
Partly, the distance was great.
But the larger problem was the person reclining inside the sedan chair.
The sixteen burly men had now engraved a new phrase into their hearts:
“Mental exhaustion.”
⁻
Meanwhile, Chen Yixin looked nothing like someone with little time left to live.
Holding a newly acquired map of the southern region, he studied it with enthusiasm while pondering what he should eat that evening.
For him, this entire journey had become a leisurely culinary tour from north to south.
“A-Da,” he called.
“Tell me… are fire fruits better eaten raw, or cooked into porridge?”
Fire fruits were common throughout the southern lands.
Unless they were centuries old and filled with spiritual energy, no cultivator would bother eating them.
Yet Chen Yixin was genuinely troubled by the question.
He wanted to try both.
But lately his stomach had grown weak.
If he ate one fist-sized fire fruit, he probably would not be able to finish a bowl of fire-fruit porridge.
And Chen Yixin had always had refined tastes.
If he tried something for the first time, it had to be the best version.
“…Perhaps we could taste them first?” suggested the demonic cultivator Nan Ke, his face stiffening.
Even as he spoke, he shot meaningful looks at the others.
Immediately, the group sprang into action.
Some dashed off to pick fruit.
Some rummaged through storage pouches.
Others began preparing a fire.
Their coordination was flawless.
Chen Yixin nodded amiably.
“That works.”
“Then I’ll sleep for a while first… cough…”
He covered his mouth and coughed lightly.
There was no need to check the handkerchief.
It was certainly stained with blood.
He smelled the metallic scent and frowned faintly.
A hand reached through the curtain.
Chen Yixin placed the bloodstained handkerchief into it.
Then he lay down peacefully to sleep, waiting for them to determine which cooking method was best.
⁻
The secret behind Chen Yixin’s ability to command such obedience was simple.
He coughed blood.
A lot of it.
Enough to frighten even demonic cultivators.
They absolutely could not allow Chen Yixin to die on the road.
So whatever he wanted—
They did.
Nan Ke cast a small spell to wash the blood from the handkerchief.
He was just considering how to return it without disturbing Chen Yixin when—
A figure suddenly appeared beside him.
So quickly it was as if he had arrived in the blink of an eye.
The newcomer calmly took the handkerchief from Nan Ke’s hand.
“D-Demon Lord!”
Nan Ke’s worried face lit up with awe and admiration.
He dropped to his knees with a loud thud.
“Why haven’t you returned to the Demon Palace yet?”
The Demon Lord, Wenren Li, glanced at Nan Ke and the others kneeling around him.
He could not help asking the question.
Since when had his demonic guards mastered cooking?
They had built campfires, prepared food, and set up camp with alarming proficiency.
Nan Ke froze.
Then realization dawned.
They had already reached Red Fire Prefecture in the southern territories.
The Demon Palace was less than an hour away.
He did not dare hide anything.
Lowering his head respectfully, he answered honestly:
“…Young Master Chen…”
“…is hungry.”
Futile Devices Scans 
Leave a comment