Their expectations did not come to pass. Ning Wuchen merely maintained the posture of having his head knocked to the side, lowering his gaze in silence as he stubbornly kept a firm grip on the youth’s wrist without letting go.
When word had previously reached the cultivation world that Immortal Zhaoyan had broken through to the Integration stage, Ning Wuchen had instinctively wanted to seek out rare immortal herbs capable of healing. Coincidentally, the Huaxu Secret Realm had opened right around that time, and the factions of the Demon Realm likely sensed his objective, resulting in the chaotic situation that unfolded.
He hadn’t bothered to stop them; after all, letting them act served his purpose better than having someone else snatch the prize away.
Regarding anything connected to that person, he always harbored an excessive, maddening obsession. He refused to tolerate a single unexpected mishap befalling him, and the slightest hint of an insecure trigger was enough to plunge him into a boundless panic of losing that person forever.
At this thought, Ning Wuchen instinctively reached out, wanting to brush against the red silk covering the youth’s eyes. Yet a sudden sharp sting flared across the back of his hand. Lowering his gaze, he spotted a distinct set of claw marks freshly left behind.
His gaze shifted slightly to meet the snow leopard currently baring its teeth at him from within the youth’s arms. Although the snow leopard was still quite small in size, its animalistic pupils radiated a fierce expression, and low, threatening growls rumbled deep within its throat, as if warning the man not to covet what belonged to it.
A pair of pristine, fair hands reached out to stroke its head, and the fierce glint in the snow leopard’s eyes vanished instantly. Letting out an ingratiating, affectionate awooo, it took the initiative to nudge its little head forward into the palm of the youth’s hand. It no longer bore any resemblance to a ferocious snow leopard; by any measure, it looked nothing more than a dog trying to please its master.
Ning Wuchen felt as though he must have completely lost his mind to be sitting here feeling sour and jealous over a snow leopard. He stared fixedly at those triumphant blue beastly pupils, finding them gratingly offensive no matter how he looked at them.
Yet petty jealousy was hardly the priority right now. Looking at the red silk covering the snow-white skin of the youth’s face, a dense web of stinging pain permeated straight into his heart, and dark, heavy emotions flashed across his crimson eyes. Why must the Heavenly Dao treat his Changning with such harshness? Why couldn’t he take his place and suffer in his stead?
The secret realm was unsafe, and Changning needed a quiet place to meditate and heal his injuries.
“Changning, I will take you away from this place. How does that sound?”
To his surprise, Shen Zaixin detected a hint of entreaty buried within the other’s cold, clear voice. Curving his lips into a smile, he remarked: “What, are you planning to drag me back to the Demon Realm to make a public display before the cultivation world?”
He knew perfectly well that Ning Wuchen meant no such thing, yet he still used such sarcastic remarks to twist a knife into the other’s heart.
The man fell silent for a moment before replying indifferently: “It is not safe here.”
“And the Demon Palace is safe?”
“With me here, no one will dare disturb you.”
He could easily have escorted Shen Zaixin safely back to the Canglan Sect, but having fallen into demonic deviation, his demonic qi was dark and malevolent, ultimately corroding his state of mind. Even someone as traditionally detached and cold-hearted as he could no longer ignore his own selfish desires.
He wanted to bring Changning back to the Demon Palace, back to his own territory, to stay by his side day after day, just like the old days.
Right now, Shen Zaixin’s spiritual power was completely exhausted, his eye injuries remained unhealed, and fresh internal wounds had now been added to the mix. Accustomed to acting with unbridled flair, whether in the cultivation world or across the demon and human domains, those who loved him loved him to the verge of madness, while those who hated him hated him to the point of weeping blood. Left entirely on his own, before he even managed to make it back to the Canglan Sect, countless opportunists would undoubtedly swarm in to take advantage of his vulnerability.
152: Are you really going to go with him?
“A free bodyguard and wet nurse, it would be a waste not to take advantage,” Shen Zaixin replied indifferently in the privacy of his mind.
With that, the corners of his lips curved upward. Since the two of them were already standing close, the slight upward tilt of his head as he moved made it look as though he were inviting a kiss. His eyes beneath the red silk seemed to be looking straight at Ning Wuchen, and though his tone carried an arrogant, condescending air, the lingering tail end of his voice remained intoxicatingly alluring: “I can’t walk. Carry me on your back.”
The corners of the man’s lips twitched upward into an imperceptible, microscopic arc. He scooped the struggling, protesting, and howling snow leopard out of the youth’s arms and casually tossed it to the demon kneeling on the ground beside them.
Pei Xuezhao prepared to put up a fight, but catching sight of Shen Zaixin’s straight, unyielding lips, it instantly drooped its head and quieted down, resembling nothing so much as a pitiful, abandoned little dog.
It watched with its own eyes as the man scooped the youth up horizontally into a bridal carry. The cold crimson gaze swept over it with what appeared to be casual indifference, causing Pei Xuezhao’s fur to instantly stand on end, though it didn’t dare kick up a fuss and could only complain inwardly.
Clearly feeling wildly smug on the inside, yet putting on an aloof, desire-free expression of utter indifference, truly the epitome of hypocrisy.
“When did I ever say you could carry me?” Shen Zaixin tilted his head slightly, his warm breath spilling entirely across the side of the man’s neck. The next instant, he felt the arms holding him tighten abruptly.
“I misheard,” Ning Wuchen said in a hoarse voice, pulling the person in his arms even tighter against his chest, while carefully keeping the force controlled so as not to cause the youth any discomfort.
He carried the person in his stride as he stepped across the field of corpses covering the ground. The dark crimson hem of his robes became stained with countless smears of filth, and his crimson eyes burned like blood, cold, desolate, and dark, bearing not a shred of the transcendent, ice-cold demeanor that once defined the Qingrong Immortal.
“Ning Wuchen.”
“Mm.”
“You couldn’t even be bothered to serve as the sect leader of the Canglan Sect, so why run off to the Demon Realm to become a notorious Demon Lord?”
Unlike him, who loved stirring up trouble everywhere just to watch the spectacle, Ning Wuchen had always walked alone, indifferent to any rights and wrongs outside of subduing demons and eradicating devils, frequently spending decades at a time locked away within the Azure Sky Palace of Sword Peak, with his sole pastime being sparring in swordplay with him.
Yet someone so detached had not only fled to the Demon Realm after plunging into the Abyss of No Return, but had also subdued a faction of unruly, rebellious demons to crown himself Demon Lord.
Shen Zaixin lowered his gaze, absentmindedly toying with a lock of hair resting against the Demon Lord’s chest. The raven-black strands wrapped around his fair fingertips, exuding an indescribable ambiguity. Seeing that the other remained stubbornly silent, he applied a slight tug to the strands wound around his finger.
Refusing to meet the gaze of the person in his arms, Ning Wuchen stared straight ahead with an expression of unwavering focus, only offering a low murmur after a long pause: “Only by doing this can I better protect you.”
Even though that person had never once needed his protection, every time midnight dreams brought him back to reality and he woke time and time again from nightmares, left stranded amid panic and terror, he remained firmly convinced that he had to do this.
The Qingrong Immortal was nothing more than a useless wretch capable of protecting all under heaven yet powerless to safeguard the one person he cherished in his heart. There was nothing about that identity worth holding onto.
The demonic cultivators trailing respectfully behind exchanged silent glances, each reading the sheer relief of surviving a near-death ordeal in their companions’ eyes.
Had that red-robed Daoist not been present here, given the Demon Lord’s cold and merciless temperament, they likely would have found it impossible to escape with their lives either.
Heading further north from Fuxue City led straight to the Sea of Oblivion. Crossing the Sea of Oblivion brought one directly to the Never-Night Sky of the Demon Realm.
This was hardly Shen Zaixin’s first visit to the Demon Realm. Accustomed as he was to doing as he pleased, he went wherever he fancied, and the Canglan Sect simply treated his missing person absences as routine occurrences.
Every past trip to the Demon Realm had involved hunting for treasures or stirring up trouble for amusement, leaving him with the singular impression of that dark red sky devoid of any sunlight.
Yet at this moment, as the red silk blindfold dropped away, the sight greeting his opened eyes was far from a sky stained entirely in blood.
Before a magnificent palace, an acacia tree swayed gently in the breeze, its fallen blossoms blanketing the stone steps. Standing beneath the tree, Shen Zaixin gazed through the gaps in the canopy overhead to catch sight of a clear, azure sky where white clouds were tinted golden by brilliant sunlight, resembling the accumulated snow on the Sword-Inquiring Platform overtaken by a rare wash of sunlight spilling across the horizon.
Remaining silent for a moment, he let out a soft laugh: “An illusion of this scale must consume a considerable amount of spiritual power.”
Standing right beside him, Ning Wuchen brushed his fingertips through the fallen petals resting upon the crown of the youth’s head, speaking in a low voice: “I heard you mention the sky of the Demon Realm before, and figured you wouldn’t like it.”
“I may not like the sky of the Demon Realm, but—” Shen Zaixin tilted his head up slightly, his eyes sparkling like autumn water curving upward in a manner that seemed capable of drawing a person’s very soul inside, as he pressed his fingertips against the man’s icy mask, “Do you suppose I like the people of the Demon Realm?”
Even though a layer of cold, silver-plated material separated them, Ning Wuchen felt as though the skin beneath his mask was burning as if scorched by fire. That unbearable, restless heat spread all the way down to his heart, where an indescribable, frantic craving raged within his chest, threatening to shatter the final barriers of his reason.
This distance was far too close, ambiguous and dangerous.
A gentle breeze fluttered the red hems of their robes, tangling them together in an inseparable embrace, much like newlyweds clad in wedding attire in the mortal realm.
Closing his eyes in a tight wave of restraint, Ning Wuchen abruptly grabbed the hand that had been tracing temptingly toward his neck, speaking in a strained, husky whisper: “Changning, behave.”
“Behave?” Shen Zaixin withdrew his hand, tilting his head with an expression of feigned innocence: “Could it be that Senior Brother has no desire to join me here within this Demon Palace to—”
He paused, letting out a light chuckle: “Share pillows beneath the acacia, and plunge into the winds and rains of passion?”
“Changning…” The man’s gaze darkened abruptly, his grip tightening around the youth’s wrist.
Even after falling into demonic deviation, the man before him remained as restrained and introverted as ever.
The contemporary cultivation world placed little stock in cutting off desires; whether housing furnace-vessels or taking wives and concubines, such practices were commonplace, and fellow disciples forming Daoist partnerships occurred by the thousands. Yet Ning Wuchen alone had spent hundreds of years tucked away in cold isolation within the Azure Sky Palace, likely failing to indulge in even a single instance of self-pleasure.
To maintain self-discipline and ritual propriety to such an extreme degree meant he was truly single-minded in his devotion.
Yet Shen Zaixin’s absolute favorite pastime was shattering that very same restraint and lofty aloofness.
“Why must Senior Brother wear a mask?” Losing interest in pressing further, he stared curiously at the mask adorning the man’s face.
“The demonic tribes are notoriously difficult to tame. To sit upon this throne as Demon Lord, one must always pay a price.” Ning Wuchen’s expression remained tranquil, as though the injury was not carved into his own flesh, yet the words that immediately followed from the youth instantly sent a fresh wave of tension through him.
“Let me see.”
Lowering his gaze, Ning Wuchen spoke in a soft murmur: “Changning, it isn’t pretty.”
Despite his resistance, he slowly loosened his grip on the youth’s wrist.
The silver mask was removed, exposing the half of his face eroded by demonic qi directly to Shen Zaixin’s view. Seeming terrified of catching a flicker of disgust within the youth’s eyes, the man closed his eyelids to shut out the sight, leaving only his trembling eyelashes to betray his turbulent anxiety.
Until a feather-light kiss landed gently upon his hideously scarred skin.
“This is the proof of your ascension as Demon Lord.” A voice as intoxicating as peach blossom wine whispered seductively beside his ear, “It is the medal of your victory.”
Staring blankly at him, Ning Wuchen wished he could carve his very heart out and lay it before him. He knew full well the youth’s fickle nature of treating life as a game, such smooth words had likely been spoken to countless others before, yet hearing them addressed to him still sent his heart racing past the point of control.
How he longed to journey into the clouds and rain with his Changning, making that person surrender to joy solely because of him, but Changning did not love him.
The clouds and rain of passion were meant only for those who truly loved one another. He was willing to wait, to wait for the day when Changning truly fell in love with him.
“I…” Before he could manage another word, an anxious female voice abruptly cut him off.
“Lord Demon Lord! An intruder has somehow sneaked into the Demon Palace, and the Treasure Pavilion has caught fire!” The newcomer wore a green gauze dress and possessed an exquisite, striking visage, none other than the Demon Palace guardian, Mu Qing.
Ning Wuchen cared little about what happened to the Treasure Pavilion, but for an intruder to slip in right at this moment… If Changning were to get hurt, it would be unacceptable. With this thought, he murmured a few parting words to the youth and departed alongside Mu Qing.
Yet the moment the man turned his back and left, someone seized the opportunity to sneak in, attempting to lure the crimson apricot tree inside his courtyard into climbing over the garden wall.
Atop the eaves, a handsome, sharply featured young man watched the flash of red beneath the acacia tree with his gaze, offering a teasing smirk: “Immortal, I happen to carry a scar upon my body as well, left behind from slaying a ferocious beast. Might I ask if you wouldn’t mind bestowing a kiss upon mine as well?”