As his words fell, a black-robed figure materialized out of thin air. He stood right beside Ning Wuchen, yet the latter remained completely unaware, as if certain sensory perceptions had been blocked from him entirely.
The man possessed a pair of exceptionally unique dual-colored eyes. Walking slowly over to stand before Shen Zaixin, he let out a helpless sigh: “When did you figure it out?”
Lost in thought over something, Shen Zaixin let out a meaningful, quiet chuckle. He leaned close to the man’s ear and whispered a few words. The man’s composed aura instantly fell into disarray, his head turning away in discomfort to reveal the slightly reddened tips of his ears.
Observing Yun Shi’s bizarre reaction, 152 asked out of sheer curiosity: [What on earth did you say to him?]
“He looks identical to Xie Linfeng, and even the frequency and intensity are roughly the same. Probably the only real difference is… he has more practice?”
Intimately familiar with every single sensitive spot on his body and thoroughly accustomed to his physical responses, it was as if they had gone through such acts countless times before.
Having neither origin nor destination, appearing in the Demon Realm out of thin air—which entity was the primary body was crystal clear.
152: [I am no longer pure; I actually understood that!]
“Shen Zaixin, stay.” Yun Shi fixed his gaze upon the semi-transparent soul form before him. Every single time, he still ended up uttering these words, yet that person had never once been willing.
Yun Shi—or more accurately, Xie Linfeng from the initial worldline—had caught a glimpse of the truth behind this world the moment Shen Zaixin died and departed the realm for the very first time.
As a child of destiny, every single action he took would inevitably be detected by the Heavenly Dao. Consequently, when resetting the worldline, he had fractured his own soul into five fragments and distributed all his fortune among the four split souls, thereby scattering the attention of the Heavenly Dao so that his primary soul form could manage to preserve its memories.
Yet everything came with a price. A primary soul carrying memories could not fully integrate into this world; he could not excessively interfere with its course, and for the most part, he had to dilute his own presence, relying solely on sensory resonance with his split souls to feel the existence of that person.
Shen Zaixin offered no reply. His soul form practically pressed tightly against the man, resting a hand loosely on the man’s shoulder while his lips brushed lightly, now and then, against the side of the other’s neck. “When I was intimate with Xie Linfeng, did you feel it too?”
152 shrieked frantically: [Host, I’m begging you, stop asking! A moment from now, the main system is going to banish me to the incineration station for broadcasting inappropriate content!]
Yun Shi closed his eyes. Even knowing the other person was merely deflecting the topic, he still answered in a raspy, hoarse voice: “I did.”
As the primary soul, he could voluntarily choose whether or not to share the sensory resonance, but every single time that person engaged in intimacy with a split soul, he still…
At that exact moment, the cold, mechanical chime of the main system arrived belatedly: [Task failed. Preparing to depart from the plane.]
Closing his eyes, Shen Zaixin felt the wondrous sensation of his soul gradually detaching from this world, before losing consciousness altogether.
Opening his eyes slowly, the man—whose dual-colored pupils glowed with an unusual light—watched as the other’s soul gradually grew transparent and faded from view. A dark, obsessive look filled the depths of his gaze as he murmured softly to himself: “I will not let you leave.”
A burst of brilliance emerged from his body, followed by his physical form turning gradually transparent and dissolving into countless pure white points of light as time froze in place.
[Warning! An anomaly has been detected by the program!]
[World departure failed once again. Forcibly resetting the plane.]
[Beep]
[Reset complete.]
Fuxue City lay to the south of the Unending Sea, situated right at the border dividing the cultivation world and the Demon Realm.
The major events that had transpired at the Canglan Sect a few days prior had already transformed into the hottest topic of gossip among the wine shops and teahouses across the city.
“Hey, have you heard? The Canglan Sect’s Immortal Qingrong actually lost control of his spiritual energy and exposed his demon identity during a lecture, ending up slaughtering quite a few people!”
“You don’t even need to tell me that; who in the cultivation world doesn’t know? If Shen Zaixin—Ning Wuchen’s junior brother—hadn’t rushed back in time, I reckon every single cultivator present that day would have become a ghost beneath the Shuangchi sword!”
“Eh? Wasn’t that Zhaoyan Immortal’s given name Shen Changning? Why has it been changed?”
“Sigh, that name was given to him by Ning Wuchen. Former senior and junior brothers with such deep affection suddenly turning into enemies—Immortal Shen must have changed his name out of sheer disappointment and heartbreak.”
“Doesn’t that make Immortal Shen a rather pitiful figure, then?”
As two patrons were chatting away, an arrogant and thoroughly punchable voice chimed in from a neighboring table: “You lot are really quite amusing. Instead of realizing how pathetic you yourselves are, you’re actually wasting pity on that high-and-mighty so-called Immortal?”
Turning their heads to look, they saw a tall, slender youth dressed in dark clothes leaning lazily against the window by the adjacent table. Bound in a spirited, high ponytail, his right hand casually played with a long saber resting on the table. His features were handsome and striking, and beneath a stray lock of flying fringe, his narrow, upturned eyes were filled with mockery and ridicule.
“Where did this brat come from? What could you possibly know? Buzz off!”
Switching hands to play with his saber as if determined to pick a fight with them, the youth continued: “Take that Immortal Shen you were just talking about. Not only did he rightfully squeeze out the senior brother to become the peak master of Sword Peak, but he also reaped a great reputation, taking all the benefits for himself. And yet you still think he’s pitiful? Talk about wanting to have your cake and eat it too.”
The two patrons flew into a sudden rage, standing up abruptly: “Brat, are you looking for trouble?!”
Just as the two sides were about to come to blows, the innkeeper hurried over. Before he could even utter a word of dissuasion, a voice sweeter and more intoxicating than fine wine echoed through the air: “Pardon me.”
Everyone was instantly captivated by the gentle, breeze-like voice. Following the sound, they saw a Daoist priest in crimson robes descending from the second floor at some point, standing right in the midst of the three individuals who had been at daggers drawn. A strip of red silk covered the Daoist’s eyes, yet it failed to conceal his peerless appearance; the vibrant shade of red lacked any vulgar gaudiness, serving instead to set off his skin—which was whiter than snow—and lips as red as cinnabar.
Was this really a Daoist priest slaying demons? He looked far rarer and more precious than the gilded cage-birds kept by those aristocratic great clans.
One of the patrons stared blankly at the subtly curved corners of the Daoist’s lips. Being right at that fierce, impulsive age and having consumed a fair amount of alcohol just moments prior, his mind was lightly floating, entirely captivated by the striking beauty. He swallowed a few mouthfuls of saliva unconsciously, quietly shifting to stand behind his companion to conceal an involuntary reaction.
Standing so close, the dark fragrance lingering around the Daoist drifted continuously toward his nose, threatening to hook a person’s very soul away after him.
Taking in the man’s reaction, the roguish youth felt an inexplicable surge of irritation flare up within him, though he couldn’t help wondering why he was acting so strangely. Had he really grown so righteous and intolerant of vice that he couldn’t even stomach a minor bit of sleaziness?
Retreating in silence, the three individuals made way. The crimson-clad Daoist gave a slight nod in gratitude, stepping out of the inn at a leisurely pace.
Having merely glanced at the man, the youth felt as though his heart were being scratched at by tiny claws. Uttering a thoroughly vexed click of his tongue, he abandoned his verbal sparring match, followed the Daoist right out of the inn, and trailed behind him.
Shen Zaixin strolled aimlessly amidst the bustling flow of pedestrians. Though his eyes were covered by the red silk blindfold, the overly glaring daylight still caused him a degree of discomfort.
Every single time he finished enduring a heavenly tribulation, various physical ailments would invariably plague him. Last time it had been deafness, and this time around it was blindness—truly an irritating nuisance.
[Have you truly decided to abandon the mission?]
Shen Zaixin’s entry into the Canglan Sect had been entirely accidental in the first place. He had originally thought he could enter the demonic path and fake his death to secure the identity of the Demon Lord, only for Ning Wuchen to turn out to be the one who fell into demonic deviation in the end!
If the host refused to take up the mantle of Demon Lord, how could the mission possibly proceed?
“I never had any intention of carrying out the mission in the first place,” Shen Zaixin said indifferently.
[But didn’t you want to play the part of an all-powerful Demon Lord just a moment ago?]
“Well… I suddenly grew tired of being a Demon Lord. Playing the villain offers zero challenge anymore,” Shen Zaixin curved his lips with a pleased smile. “Playing the role of an immortal is much more refreshing.”
What he left unsaid was that he had once experienced a dream; though the rest had faded from memory, he clearly recalled spending several hundred years in that dream acting as a capricious Demon Lord, and the novelty had long since worn off.
152 sneered: [Hmph, if you’re going to play an immortal, you’ll be the most hypocritical immortal of them all!]
“Is being hypocritical a bad thing?” Shen Zaixin chuckled softly: “What people love most in this world is a hypocritical immortal, isn’t it?”
Someone like Ning Wuchen, who silently slogged away doing good deeds for all living beings, simply failed to win public favor and ended up drawing endless trouble onto himself.
At the thought of Ning Wuchen, he let out a rare, helpless sigh. He had already been prepared to abandon his plan to enter the demonic path, yet that man had broken into his chambers in the middle of the night, stubbornly sucking away the dormant demonic seed within his body with a single kiss.
So much for being the number one swordsman in the world—he was nothing more than a hopeless romantic fool lost in the mortal dust.
Yet he hadn’t bothered to stop any of it; he was merely curious as to how Ning Wuchen had figured out that he once desired to enter the demonic path.
While lost in thought, a tattered, ragamuffin child suddenly bumped into him, darting off into the crowd in a flash and vanishing from sight.
Reaching down to check his waist, Shen Zaixin confirmed that his money pouch had indeed disappeared.
Now that was a rare sight—someone actually daring to pick a pocket on him, of all people, after spending so many years acting as a villain.
The child had likely assumed that because his eyes were covered, he would be easy prey, but the belongings of a grand arch-demon were not so easily stolen.
Following the lingering soul imprint left on the money pouch, Shen Zaixin walked leisurely all the way until he came to a halt before a dilapidated temple, sensing someone approaching him and standing still in place.
“Is this money pouch the Daoist’s?”
The newcomer’s voice was as unrestrained and carefree as his person, ending on a rising lilt. Though unable to see him, Shen Zaixin instantly recognized him as the very same youth who had been openly mocking the patrons back at the inn.
“You did that on purpose,” Shen Zaixin said flatly.
“My sincerest apologies.” The youth came to a stop right in front of him, holding out the money pouch. “I found the Daoist rather familiar, resembling an old friend from a dream, and felt a sudden urge to strike up a conversation. I am Xiao Feng. Please forgive me if I’ve been overly abrupt.”
Despite repeatedly apologizing, Shen Zaixin failed to detect a single trace of genuine remorse in his tone. Taking back the money pouch, he chuckled softly: “What a coincidence. I happen to be the very ‘Immortal Shen’ who ‘wanted to have his cake and eat it too,’ according to you, Young Master Xiao.”
Xiao Feng: “…”
So this was what it felt like to pick up a rock only to drop it on your own feet.
Strange as it seemed, he had always considered himself an easygoing, untrammeled spirit who never paid undue attention to others—otherwise, he would never have chosen to be a carefree wandering immortal. Yet upon laying eyes on this Immortal Shen, both his eyes and his heart seemed to belong to him no longer, dragging him relentlessly toward the man’s side.
Could this be what people called love at first sight?
“However—” Shen Zaixin rested a hand lightly upon the youth’s broad shoulder, his fingertips tracing in a suggestive caress, “I also feel that Young Master Xiao resembles an old friend of mine.”
Clearly, it was the chilling cold of September, yet Xiao Feng broke out in a sweat under that hand resting on his shoulder. Refusing to budge an inch, he lowered his gaze to stare at the person standing close enough to touch. The man wore some unknown fragrance that kept drifting toward the tip of his nose; just as he tried to catch a clearer whiff of it, the scent would slip away again, serving as the ultimate tease.
“Doesn’t that mean the Immortal and I are bound by a rather remarkable fate?”