Futile Devices Scans

Outside Zhenhai City stretched an endless maple forest. It was deep autumn, the leaves red as blood. A group of sixteen men traveled through the carpet of crimson maples, each one broad-shouldered and full of murderous aura, looking as though they were heading off to kill someone in vengeance.

Yet the truth was exactly the opposite.

They were going to fetch a bride.

In the center, four burly men carried a red bridal sedan. Its canopy was crowned in gold and pearls, enamel tassels hanging from its frame. The silk draped around the sedan was embroidered with a vivid scene of a hundred birds paying homage to the phoenix, so lifelike it seemed the birds might fly out from the carriage at any moment.

With each step they crossed half a li. One moment they were still at the edge of the maple forest, the next they had already passed through it and arrived before the gates of Zhenhai City, where the old steward of the Chen Residence, a cultivation family, had long been waiting.

After a few brief courtesies, the old steward led the way. Crossing the waters atop rolling waves, they arrived at a small islet north of Zhenhai City.

“Great-Uncle Ancestor, they’ve arrived.”

Standing before the main house on the small island, the Chen family steward bowed respectfully as he spoke.

No matter how fallen the person inside had become, cultivators and rogue demons throughout the world still fought to have him. Look at this—without their old ancestor needing to spend much effort at all, Li Kui Demon Palace had already come to fetch him.

The sixteen burly men stood there with the half-white-bearded steward for a while before the black-faced leader finally spoke.

“He’s not inside.”

There were no formations around the bamboo dwelling. The old steward was being overly cautious. Without even using spiritual sense to investigate, even the instincts of an ordinary martial man would have detected it—yet nervousness had dulled his senses. The person he intended to announce to was not inside the house at all.

The Chen steward froze at the words, his heart dropping with a thud. The wedding party had already arrived. If anything went wrong now, wouldn’t the Zhenhai Chen Clan offend even the demonic path as well?

“There are formations set around Little Bamboo Islet. Great-Uncle Ancestor currently lacks the strength to break them, so he must still be somewhere on the island…”

Before he could finish, the sixteen burly men had already pinpointed the direction and headed off.

Chen Yixin indeed had not escaped the island. As the old steward had said, his life was hanging by a thread. At most he had another ten years to live. Even if he escaped Little Bamboo Islet, there would still be no place in the world left for him.

The only reason he had returned alive to Zhenhai was because someone still wanted to watch his downfall for a few more years.

They watched.

He survived.

When the sixteen burly men and the steward finally found Chen Yixin, he was in the middle of erecting a stone tablet beside a freshly dug grave.

Hearing approaching footsteps, Chen Yixin slowly turned around.

He wore moon-white robes edged in silver thread, wide sleeves hanging low. His bearing was peerless beyond mortal dust. Even the spirit-energy-starved little island seemed transformed by that single turn of his body.

Chen Yixin flicked his sleeve lightly, brushing away a bit of dirt that had accidentally stained it. Looking at the newcomers, he revealed a faint smile and casually waved a hand.

“You arrived at just the right time. Help me set up the gravestone.”

After working for most of the day, he truly was a bit tired. He had been worrying over not having anyone to help him.

The sixteen burly men—and even the steward, who had seen Chen Yixin several times before—stood frozen on the spot, all words swept clean away by the breeze.

There exists a beauty whom, once seen, can never be forgotten. One day apart and longing becomes madness.

But Chen Yixin’s beauty exceeded even such descriptions tenfold, a hundredfold.

His skin was white as condensed snow, surpassing even the finest spiritual jade in the cultivation world. His autumn-water eyes naturally contained the spirit of heaven and earth within them, so breathtaking one forgot the mortal world at a glance. His full red lips rested in a slight pout; even the finest cinnabar could not reproduce such color.

To bring such a beauty back to the Demon Palace—even if one did nothing at all with him and merely admired him as scenery—would already be an elegant pleasure.

No wonder their cold-hearted Demon Lord, who had remained aloof for thousands of years, had developed thoughts of snatching someone away… no, of marriage.

Such beauty was almost impossible to find in either heaven or earth.

Once the sixteen men recovered their senses, they no longer dared stare openly. Following Chen Yixin’s instructions, they set up the gravestone and continued carving the inscription.

The old steward stood dumbfounded for a long while before finally remembering what he had meant to say. Bowing as he stepped forward, he stopped three paces before Chen Yixin.

“Great-Uncle Ancestor, these are the people from the Demon Palace.”

By then, Chen Yixin had already sat atop a large stone beside the new grave. He merely nodded lightly in acknowledgment.

Then he continued carefully admiring the grave he had dug for himself and commented in good spirits:

“Very nice.”

He had been born in Zhenhai and originally wished to die there as well. Now, before death, he still had to travel all the way to the Southern Domain. Being able to leave behind a grave—even if only a cenotaph—was already not bad.

Looking toward the old steward, he instructed seriously:

“Have someone watch over it. When I have time in the future, I’ll come back to visit.”

Perhaps someone would return his ashes here. Or perhaps, if he had the chance, he would personally come back and pull weeds from his own grave.

Thinking of this, faint ripples of a smile spread across Chen Yixin’s lips.

He was already extraordinarily beautiful to begin with. Once he smiled, those peerless features created an almost suffocating effect.

The surroundings quieted.

The sixteen men and even the old steward unconsciously grew restrained.

Having settled his own funeral affairs to his satisfaction, Chen Yixin no longer felt any lingering attachment to Zhenhai City or Little Bamboo Islet. Looking toward the obvious leader among the demonic cultivators, his expression was warm and approachable, his voice refined and gentle, as though he were the easiest person in the world to speak with.

“My health is poor right now, so I cannot travel quickly. Is there some kind of transportation treasure available?”

He knew his own body best.

Now he could neither starve nor tire himself. He only had ten years left to live, so there was no need to continue suffering unnecessarily.

“The bridal sedan has already been prepared.”

With a wave from the black-faced leader, four men departed and soon carried the red sedan from outside the bamboo house over to the new grave.

From this moment onward, there would no longer be a Chen Yixin of Zhenhai—only Chen Yixin of Li Kui Demon Palace.

“That’s good then.”

Chen Yixin nodded.

He waved off the old steward when the latter tried to help him up. After resting a moment longer, he rose and slowly walked toward the bridal sedan on his own.

One of the burly men lifted the tasseled red curtain aside. Chen Yixin peeked inside.

Soft cushions and brocade bedding—it would not interfere with his rest along the journey.

Resources on the small island were scarce anyway; there was nothing much worth bringing along. Without another backward glance, he slowly stepped into the sedan, and the curtains fell shut behind him.

The leading demonic cultivator nodded once to the old steward, and the sixteen men retreated together.

The old steward followed for several steps before losing all trace of them.

The formations surrounding Little Bamboo Islet meant nothing to the people of the Demon Palace. They had no need for further guidance.

He looked toward Zhenhai City veiled in sea mist, then turned to the tall gravestone standing behind him and sighed softly, though even he did not know what exactly he lamented.

Most of the Chen Clan’s direct descendants—and likely most people in the world—probably believed Chen Yixin should now be consumed by resentment, fury, pain, and grief after all he had suffered.

But anyone who spent even a little time with him would know reality was entirely different.

The steward did not know what Chen Yixin’s temperament had once been like, but this current Chen Yixin possessed none of that rage or violence people imagined. During the more than three months he had lived on Little Bamboo Islet, he simply raised flowers and basked in the sun. Even after learning he was to be married into Li Kui Demon Palace, he merely nodded once in acknowledgment.

Everything was taken lightly.

He had lost by one move in the game, and so he accepted defeat.

Today, perhaps on a whim, he had even built himself a cenotaph. The inscription on the stone was especially absurd enough to make one laugh helplessly.

“Tomb of Chen Yixin, Beauty Who Toppled Taixuan.”

As always, Chen Yixin accepted the title of Taixuan’s greatest beauty quite comfortably.

Yet the word “toppled” did not refer merely to beauty capable of overturning Taixuan. Every storm Chen Yixin had stirred up so far had never once been “light and peaceful.”

From Zhenhai City in the far north of Taixuan Continent to Crimsonfire Province in the Southern Domain, the journey took over a month.

The sixteen men and Chen Yixin together required nearly triple the time it had taken them to arrive.

Part of that was because of the vast distance.

The other reason was the exhausting person reclining inside the bridal sedan.

At this point, the sixteen burly men had engraved a new phrase into both body and soul:

Mental exhaustion.

Meanwhile, Chen Yixin looked nothing like someone close to death.

Holding a newly acquired map of the Southern Domain in hand, he enthusiastically pondered what he should eat that evening. He had somehow transformed the entire journey into a leisurely tour of eating, drinking, sleeping, and sightseeing from north to south.

“A-Da, tell me—are fire fruits tastier eaten raw, or cooked into fire fruit porridge?”

Fire fruits were an extremely common fruit in the Southern Domain. Unless they were over a hundred or thousand years old and had developed spiritual energy, cultivators normally would not bother eating them.

Yet Chen Yixin had become tangled over the matter.

He wanted to try both methods. But lately his digestion had worsened. If he ate one fist-sized fire fruit, he likely would not be able to drink a bowl of fire fruit porridge afterward.

And since he naturally loved fine things, his first taste naturally had to be the best version possible.

“Th-this… perhaps we should taste-test them first?”

The demonic cultivator Nan Ke immediately changed expression upon hearing this. While replying, he simultaneously signaled the others with his eyes.

Instantly, some men darted off to gather fire fruits, others rapidly pulled supplies from storage pouches, while others started building a fire.

Their coordination was flawless and highly practiced.

Chen Yixin remained perfectly agreeable as always.

“That works too. Then I’ll sleep for a while first. Cough…”

As he spoke, he covered his mouth and coughed lightly.

There was no need to look to know the handkerchief would be stained with blood. He could already smell the metallic scent. His brows furrowed faintly.

Immediately, a pair of hands reached in through the curtain.

Chen Yixin placed the bloodstained handkerchief into those hands before peacefully lying down to sleep, intending to wait for their tasting results afterward.

The reason he had managed to make these people so obedient was because he possessed a special skill no one else had.

Coughing blood.

Not just a little—he coughed it out in alarming quantities, enough to terrify even demonic cultivators.

They could not allow Chen Yixin to cough himself to death on the journey.

Naturally, that meant whatever he said went.

Nan Ke used a small spell to clean the blood from the handkerchief and was still wondering how to return it without disturbing Chen Yixin when a figure suddenly appeared beside him in the blink of an eye, snatching the handkerchief away.

“D-Demon Lord!”

The worry in Nan Ke’s expression instantly transformed into something entirely different—joy and worship.

The moment he recognized the newcomer, he dropped to his knees with a thud.

“Why haven’t you returned to the Demon Palace yet?”

Wenren Li swept his gaze across Nan Ke and the others, all of whom had stopped what they were doing to kneel in greeting.

He truly had to ask.

When had his demon guards learned cooking skills? Setting up camp, lighting fires, cooking meals—they looked astonishingly proficient.

“Ah…”

Nan Ke froze.

Only then did he realize they had already entered Crimsonfire Province within the Southern Domain. They were less than an hour away from the Demon Palace itself.

Daring to conceal nothing, he lowered his head and answered honestly:

“Young Master Chen… was hungry.”

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