The entire Sin Cleansing Platform was instantly enveloped in a blood-red haze, overwhelming the sky and earth.
Panic-stricken, everyone scattered and fled in all directions, resulting in countless casualties within moments.
Simultaneously, the nine spheres of light formed by the little demons swirling around Chu Weiliang were transported to various distant locations by the violent energy unleashed during her soul’s disintegration.
Her final command to them: “Live, and wait for my return…”
One thousand years later, in the Moon City capital of Galan Kingdom, at the Spring Breeze Teahouse.
“And so, the once-in-a-millennium peerless genius Chu Weiliang, burdened with disgrace, had her soul extinguished by her master’s sword.”
“In her final moments, she performed the Celestial Demon Disintegration, unleashing carnage. While this confirmed all accusations against her, it also devastated Northern Xuan’s elite, leaving them severely weakened.”
“Following this, Northern Xuan declined over the next century. Meanwhile, Demon Lord Jun Fuyi inexplicably failed his ascension and vanished without a trace. The Demon Realm fell into internal strife, with nine factions warring against each other, plunging it into chaos.”
“Not long after, the Demon Realm Gate collapsed. Evil spirits across the land grew restless, seeking to summon Jun Fuyi and his Silent Riders army back. All of Northern Xuan was plunged into catastrophic disaster.”
“Until Sword Sovereign Wen Shubai emerged abruptly—! To learn what happens next, tune in for the next installment.”
THWACK!!!
The storyteller’s wooden block jolted awake someone who had slumbered for a thousand years.
Chu Weiliang’s eyes snapped open.
“Master!!!”
The two words tore from her throat, raw and desperate.
Her emotions remained frozen at the moment of near-death—the lingering devotion to Fang Jixue before his imminent disintegration, the profound despair toward the world, and… the blood-soaked vengeance of the Sin Cleansing Platform.
A millennium later, her soul had returned. Surging memories converged like tidal waves, churning in her chest like infernal flames. Though she opened her mouth, only those two words emerged instinctively: Master.
Yet, as her focus returned, she found herself facing a round table surrounded by young men in identical sect robes.
Crimson upper garments and dark lower robes adorned figures of refined handsomeness and elegant postures. Each held a sword with one hand and a teacup with the other, frozen simultaneously as seven or eight pairs of unblinking eyes stared at her.
Um…
After the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, Chu Weiliang finally grasped her situation.
She was currently a wisp of a remnant soul, possessing a puppet servant doll.
Less than ten percent of her former cultivation remained, while ninety percent of her three souls and seven spirits had been scattered during the Celestial Demon Disintegration, sent to unknown locations along with the nine little demons.
Thus, she needed to swiftly recall all the little demons, gather her dispersed soul fragments, and reconstruct her physical form.
The group before her belonged to Brahma Heaven Palace—a minor sect that had emerged after her death.
Brahma Heaven Palace was an peculiar sect.
Despite its imposing name, its influence was modest. It specialized in sword cultivation, accepted only male disciples (excluding unattractive ones), and generally remained aloof from worldly affairs.
Within the entire sect, there were only two females.
One was the five-year-old daughter of the Grandmaster, Wen Mian.
The other was a puppet doll enlightened by the Grandmaster to care for the child—Little A Liang, which was Chu Weiliang’s current vessel.
This Grandmaster was none other than the Sword Sovereign mentioned in the storyteller’s tale—Wen Shubai.
Wen Shubai perpetually wore silk gauze covering his eyes, cultivated the supreme sword path, and pursued the Supreme Emotionless State.
Legend has it that the silk gauze over his eyes must never be removed, perhaps because… he was too handsome, so devastatingly handsome that wherever he went, hordes of women would chase after him, adoring him relentlessly.
Wen Shubai, unable to bear the constant harassment, eventually retreated to a secluded mountain, naming his sanctuary Brahma Heaven Palace. He even erected a sign at the entrance.
It read: Female beasts and women forbidden entry.
Currently, the party from Brahma Heaven Palace was en route to the Thousand Machines Sect, invited to attend the wedding banquet of Fang Jixue and An Nan Chan.
Chu Weiliang’s lips curled into a faint, mocking smile.
So those two were getting married.
How laughable! To defy the Grand Master-Disciple Ethics so brazenly!
…
Just then, a large group of young women dressed in sect attire flooded into the teahouse—they were the “Yu Yaonu” of the Thousand Machines Sect.
Leading them was a higher-ranking girl, sword in hand. She kicked over the storyteller’s table, sending him sprawling, then bent down and seized him by the topknot.
“You again! How dare you spread rumors everywhere about Princess Nanchan, openly and covertly fabricating support for the traitor Chu Weiliang and the demonic evils of the Demon Realm? Do you think my words, Zhuang Yanxin, are a joke?”
With that, she raised her sword to shave off the storyteller’s hair.
Chu Weiliang found the scene grating. Her indifferent eyes suddenly darkened.
From the neighboring table, Qin Buji’s teacup shot out like a faint purple streak of light, flying straight toward Zhuang Yanxin.
Clang!
Zhuang Yanxin’s sword-wielding hand abruptly stiffened like a chicken’s claw, forcing her to drop her weapon mid-swing.
“Who—!!!” she shrieked.
It was the Thousand Machines Sect’s Meridian-Sealing Seal!
With Zhuang Yanxin’s meager cultivation, she was nothing but a speck of dust before Chu Weiliang—utterly powerless.
“Who is it?! Show yourself! How dare you stir up trouble right under the nose of the Thousand Machines Sect? Today, no one leaves until I drag you out!”
Though the seal on her hand remained unbroken, her arrogance didn’t wane in the slightest. With a sharp command, the Yu Yaonu swiftly fanned out, surrounding everyone in the teahouse, swords pressed to their necks, ready to interrogate them one by one.
But then, a rapid series of crisp smacks echoed through the room.
All the Yu Yaonu cried out in unison, each slapped sharply across the face from a distance. Their skirts billowed like blooming flowers as they spun three full circles in the air before crashing to the ground in a messy heap.
An overwhelming, supreme pressure pinned them to the floor, grinding them relentlessly. They writhed and struggled in agony, utterly humiliated, unable to rise.
It was the pressure of a Ninth-Level Supreme Sword!
“Who dares touch my Ah-Niang? Daddy will flatten every one of you!”
A little girl’s milky voice, laced with threat, rang out from outside, accompanied by the delicate chime of bells.
Following the sound, a tiny figure—no taller than three stacked chopping boards—stumbled in, struggling to step over the high threshold. She wore a pink dress, a pink-and-white plush flower hairpin, and little rabbit-embroidered shoes adorned with tinkling bells. In her left hand, she clutched a candied hawthorn stick; in her right, a clay figurine. Her small arms splayed out for balance.
Behind her, a tall, mountain-like figure cast a long shadow in the sunlight, enveloping the little girl in its presence.
Before the man outside even entered, Qin Buji hastily dropped to his knees with his fellow disciples, bowing in reverence.
“Greetings, Grand Master Uncle! We have been waiting here for days. We never expected that upon your arrival, the situation would be so… uh… so…”
He struggled for the right words.
“So utterly impressive, eh?” the man outside drawled, finishing the sentence for him.
His voice was filled with displeasure and disdain, yet it remained as mellow as a calm deep sea, as clear as glacial spring water.
“Being threatened with a sword at your nose and not fighting back—are you waiting for others to gild my reputation?”
A silver brocade cloak swept along the ground as he approached.
Atop his head, a white jade hair clasp, resembling frost-covered coral branches, was fastened to one side of his temple with a jade hairpin.
Across his face, a palm-width strip of silk gauze was tightly bound, concealing his eyes and accentuating his tall, straight nose bridge, making him appear like a sealed deity.
The tassels of the hair clasp and the long silk gauze tied behind his head draped gracefully over his satin-like black hair, gilded with golden dust by the sunlight from outside the door.
The corners of his lips were sharp as a blade, and the collar of his silver cloak was fastened tightly.
The world’s most fastidious ancestor, Sword Sovereign Wen Shubai, had arrived.
Pure and chaste, your male lead is clean and untouched.