AUOF - 72

The Demon Realm, Yin Prefecture.

Five pharmacists took turns guarding the Lotus Palace. Under the relentless application of various elixirs and spells, Cui Wan’ning managed to cling to life by a thread. However, her condition remained dire.

Though her life was preserved, her soul was at risk of separation.

Yan Jinglou had rushed through the night, his weary figure finally arriving back at the demon palace.

He strode into the inner hall, his clothes dust-streaked, his brows damp with the moisture of the journey.

Everyone in the room immediately knelt down.

Yan Jinglou ignored their prostrations and hurried to the bedside, bending down to assess her condition.

Cui Wan’ning’s already frail frame had grown even thinner after her grievous injury. Her pale skin clung tightly to her emaciated body, her vitality on the verge of fading completely.

Yan Jinglou gently brushed her cheek, then turned to ask, “How is she?”

The pharmacists were well aware of how much Cui Wan’ning meant to him.

This question wasn’t just about her—it also concerned their own fates.

Terrified but unable to conceal the truth, one of the kneeling pharmacists stammered, “It… it seems unlikely.”

Yan Jinglou’s expression sharpened instantly, his overwhelming spiritual pressure crashing down like a tidal wave, shattering every porcelain piece in the chamber.

The pharmacists kowtowed frantically, trembling with cold sweat.

“Lady Cui’s soul is as fragile as a thread, her spirit difficult to gather. If not for the Soul-Luring Flower anchoring her life force, she would have surely…”

The more they spoke, the more agitated Yan Jinglou became.

With an impatient wave of his hand, he dismissed them all, then sank onto the bed, gripping Cui Wan’ning’s hand tightly.

—Her hand was icy cold.

In the prolonged silence, he stared unblinkingly at her unconscious face.

Though his mind was restless, Ji Hengyu’s words crept in once again, stirring doubts amid his grief.

The first time he found Cui Wan’ning, chaos reigned.

The mortal realm was embroiled in turmoil, and she had fled with a group of refugees.

Yan Jinglou recognized her at a glance, certain she was the one he sought.

He had infused a drop of his own soul blood into the Soul-Capturing Pearl. Even if the pearl couldn’t fully preserve her life, it would ensure she had support in her next reincarnation. As for the soul blood, its purpose was to allow him to find her instantly in the vast sea of humanity.

There was no mistake.

He couldn’t possibly be wrong.

But just as Yan Jinglou pushed these thoughts aside, another realization struck him—

He hadn’t personally handed the pearl to Luo Wanwan.

That day, Yan Jinglou’s spine had been shattered by Ji Hengyu. Clinging to life by sheer willpower, he crawled from Luoshan Mountain to Xiaozhong Mountain.

He was dying.

Gasping for breath, he lay in the muddy rain-soaked ground, gazing distantly toward the direction of the Luo residence.

Was it the maid?

Yan Jinglou suddenly froze, suspicion flickering across his features.

Yes—he had entrusted the pearl to her personal maid.

His body felt stiff, immobilized as he stared at Cui Wan’ning, trying to discern something deeper.

That seed of doubt grew larger, burrowing deeper until it threatened to consume him entirely. Just then, Cui Wan’ning stirred awake.

Still dazed, she was startled by the intensity of his gaze.

Summoning her strength despite the pain, Cui Wan’ning weakly grasped his large hand. “Ayan,” she murmured softly, her voice delicate and inherently fragile.

Yan Jinglou’s eyelashes fluttered slightly, and all traces of emotion vanished from his face.

“Are you feeling any better?”

“You’re here now, so I am.” Cui Wan’ning coughed repeatedly, her eyes gradually regaining a faint glimmer of light that only made her appear paler.

She smiled faintly. “Can Ayan stay with me?”

“Yes.”

“Then come up here.” With great difficulty, she shifted further into the bed, attempting to make space for him.

Fearing she might aggravate her wounds, Yan Jinglou hesitated for a moment before removing his boots and lying down on the inner side of the bed.

She turned over, nestling against his chest.

The faint scent of blood lingered on Yan Jinglou’s robes.

He reveled in slaughter, and this scent accompanied him almost constantly.

Each time Cui Wan’ning saw him, she recoiled in fear from it. Knowing this, Yan Jinglou always cleaned himself thoroughly before visiting the Lotus Palace. This time, however, he had been too rushed to attend to such matters.

In contrast, her body was enveloped in the aroma of medicinal herbs.

The bittersweet fragrance sent Yan Jinglou into a fleeting daze.

Luo Wanwan had always been frail, afflicted by a congenital illness since birth.

Confined to her chambers, she suffered frequent ailments—minor illnesses every three days, major ones every two. Aside from a few streets near the estate, she rarely ventured anywhere. She smiled sweetly and told Yan Jinglou that he was her first friend, expressing how happy that made her.

Luo Wanwan also said that she had never left Xiaozhong Mountain since she was born. If she ever recovered, she dreamed of traveling to Chang’an to see the flowers. If not, she wished to visit Tian Mountain to admire the snow. Even listening to the rain in a bamboo grove would be wonderful.

Back then, Yan Jinglou had thought her talkative and hadn’t given her any promises. Yet she went ahead and made plans with him anyway, her eyes brimming with hope as if the day they spoke of was just within reach.

Unfortunately, she never left Xiaozhong Mountain in the end.

Yan Jinglou had returned once, only to find the imperial succession conflict in full swing. Factional strife had brought the entire court to the brink of collapse. The Luo family, entangled as one of the implicated factions, saw their eldest son die in battle while the rest of the family was exiled to a desolate island. Even Luo Wanwan’s grave had been vandalized by anti-party zealots, leaving it in ruins. Over time, battered by wind and rain, even her tombstone disappeared without a trace.

Her remains were scattered, impossible to gather fully. In the end, Yan Jinglou erected a new grave for her.

It was ironic, really.

Though he and Luo Wanwan had never confessed their feelings or formalized their relationship, when carving the epitaph, his selfishness led him to inscribe: “Wife of Yan Jinglou.”

A sharp pain throbbed in his chest.

The recurring memories clung to him like an incurable disease, grinding his breath into fragments.

Cui Wan’ning lay nestled against his chest, her frail body so light it felt weightless.

In the past, this would have stirred pity, guilt, and unease within him. But now, all those emotions were consumed by doubt.

Had he truly made a mistake?

Yan Jinglou didn’t want to admit it. Beyond Luo Wanwan, the passage of time had blurred many of his memories. He only recalled that the maid was two years older than her. Originally destined for a brothel, the young girl had been saved by Wanwan, who pitied her plight and bought her freedom to serve as her personal attendant.

Wanwan had said the girl was good, had even saved her life once, and would never betray her.

The conflicting thoughts clashed violently in his mind, making his temples throb and deepening the ferocity etched between his brows. His complexion grew ashen.

“Ayan, haven’t you slept in days?”

He grunted in response: “Hmm.”

“Then I’ll sing you a tune.”

Yan Jinglou’s eyelids drooped heavily.

She closed her eyes, her voice weak and wavering—

“Oh autumn moon, oh autumn moon,

In the distant celestial palace, stars gleam,

A cup of fine wine bends my wish…”

The melody was slow, her breaths uneven and faltering.

It reminded him faintly of the Mid-Autumn Festival, when she’d accidentally gotten drunk and leaned on his shoulder, humming a little ditty.

“One wish: may our immortal paths be long,

And tonight, may we meet again;

Two wishes: may you know my heart,

Year after year… drawing your longing.”

She had said the song was meant only for him.

Because [I think of you].

But Wanwan was a noblewoman, and he was a penniless nobody. To make reckless promises would only hurt her. So he resolutely set out for Gui Xu, determined to return with a longevity pill for her if he succeeded.

Yan Jinglou exhaled a heavy breath.

That Mid-Autumn night had been just the two of them—no one else. There was no way he could have mistaken the person.

After a moment’s hesitation, Yan Jinglou slowly tightened his arms around Cui Wan’ning. “Don’t be afraid. I will save you.”

He wouldn’t let her slip away from him again.

Absolutely not.

“Ayan, it hurts so much…” Cui Wan’ning whimpered in pain. “I think I’m going to die, so I might as well say it, even if it disgusts you.”

Yan Jinglou said firmly, “You won’t die.”

She shook her head weakly. “I’ve heard that a nine-tailed spirit fox can revive the dead and restore souls. But I am human, fragile and feeble. Who knows when illness or disability might strike? I only feared leaving you, which is why I resolved to kill her…”

The more she spoke, the tighter Yan Jinglou clutched her.

Cui Wan’ning tried to continue, but waves of pain overwhelmed her, pulling her back into unconsciousness.

There wasn’t much time left.

Yan Jinglou’s jaw tightened, his nerves taut like a drawn bow.

Without another word, he lifted Cui Wan’ning into his arms and rushed out.

“Lord Demon…”

The woman in his arms was as light as paper, yet he moved swiftly and carefully, ensuring her body didn’t jostle.

Yan Jinglou commanded Shao Jun in a low tone, “Summon all the pharmacists and dispatch a covert guard unit. We’re going after Sang Li.”

Shao Jun’s brow twitched. “Sang Li is under Ji Hengyu’s protection now, and Your Excellency’s injuries are still unhealed. This might…”

Yan Jinglou’s cold gaze swept over him, silencing Shao Jun instantly. “Understood.”

Yan Jinglou settled her gently into the carriage, murmuring reassurance. “Wait for me. As soon as I find Sang Li, I’ll save you.”

________________________________________

Near Xiaozhong Mountain, the two were stopped at the checkpoint.

The guards weren’t soldiers but demon-hunting cultivators dispatched by various sects and families. Judging by their demeanor, they were clearly from prominent lineages.

Both Sang Li and Ji Hengyu had concealed their auras, appearing outwardly like two elegantly dressed nobles.

“Could you tell us what’s happening inside?”

Half of her face hidden behind a veil, Sang Li’s harmless aura lulled the guards into lowering their guard. “A malevolent force has wreaked havoc on the city and is still at large. Many cultivators have fallen victim.”

Sang Li replied, “We merely wish to pass through here to reach Xiaozhong Mountain. We won’t linger.”

The guard shook his head. “At dawn tomorrow, various sects will lure the enemy into a formation here. If you aren’t in a hurry, please wait another day.”

With no other choice, the pair retreated to a nearby town to take shelter.

The malevolent presence had spread fear far and wide. The once-bustling town was eerily empty, its inhabitants fleeing elsewhere to avoid danger. Those who remained locked themselves indoors, leaving the streets deserted and desolate.

After great effort, they finally found an inn that was open.

Spotting someone at last, Sang Li seized the opportunity to inquire about the situation. “Innkeeper, do you know what’s happened at the checkpoint?”

There were no attendants in the inn; the kitchen staff consisted of his son and daughter-in-law, while he and his wife handled serving guests.

Seeing that they were strangers and not locals, the innkeeper answered honestly. “To be frank, this western region has been unstable lately.”

“What do you mean?”

“Many people have gone missing, reportedly abducted by that evil force. In short, it’s best not to head toward the checkpoint.”

Sang Li asked, “Has anyone seen this malevolent entity?”

The innkeeper shuddered, visibly unnerved. “Those who’ve seen it are already dead. Who dares approach such a thing?”

Not wanting to dwell further on the topic, he hurriedly finished serving their dishes before retreating to the kitchen with his wife.

The table was laden with bland vegetarian dishes, doing little to whet their appetite.

As Sang Li poured wine for Ji Hengyu, hesitating whether to suggest taking a detour, a group of people entered the threshold.

“Waiter! Bring us some wine!”

One man slammed his sword onto the table and took a seat with his two companions.

Dressed in Daoist robes and wearing ceremonial caps, they were unmistakably disciples of the Wuding Sect.

“Coming right up, honored guests! What would you like to eat, esteemed masters?”

The innkeeper bowed obsequiously, his attitude noticeably warmer toward these three compared to Sang Li and Ji Hengyu.

“Bring us several jugs of wine and whatever dishes you have.”

“Right away, please wait a moment.”

Suddenly, the trio glanced over.

Their eyes lit up, and they began whispering among themselves, conspiratorially murmuring something.

Pretending to sip her drink, Sang Li noticed the big-eyed creature hidden in her sleeve grow restless.