AUOF - 9

Sang Li remained silent for a long while. “Is this contact absolutely necessary?”

Ji Hengyu’s faint, wordless smile was the best answer.

Fine then.

It seemed there was no avoiding this call.

If that was the case, there was no point in rinsing her mouth either.

Sang Li went back into the house and picked two more green onions. Under Ji Hengyu’s inscrutable expression, she quickly ate them. Eating just the onions left her mouth dry, and the sharp taste brought tears to her eyes. Once she confirmed her breath carried a strong odor, she calmly summoned the dual-life curse.

As before, the paper effigy floated before her, a lazy flame burning at its chest.

“Sang Li.”

The connection was soon established.

The tone was as casual and condescending as ever. Though he called her name, it sounded like he was addressing some insignificant trifle.

Sang Li glanced at Ji Hengyu and feigned seriousness: “This subordinate has followed your orders and successfully infiltrated Ji Ze’s group.”

She emphasized the term “Ji Ze”—first, to demonstrate loyalty; second, to openly provoke the man sitting across from her.

After speaking, she secretly observed Ji Hengyu’s expression.

He didn’t appear upset—or even show any emotional change. Sang Li was slightly disappointed.

Yan Jinglou, however, seemed pleased. “Mm, you’ve done well this time.”

“So...”

Before Sang Li could say more, a sudden chill ran down her neck.

She glanced down and was startled to see the fan had transformed into a translucent, pale blue crystal sword. The blade shimmered with icy light, resembling an icicle frozen atop a high mountain.

The sharp edge pressed tightly against her neck, while the wielder continued to sip tea calmly without sparing her a glance.

Cold sweat dripped down her skin, and Sang Li couldn’t help but tremble uncontrollably.

“That... That, my lord, you can now tell me where Shen Zheyu is being held. I’ll find a way to lure him over.” After speaking, she swallowed hard and desperately signaled Ji Hengyu with her eyes.

He remained unmoved, the blade never leaving her slender, graceful neck.

The paper figure on the other end remained silent.

Anxious and uneasy, Sang Li finally heard Yan Jinglou speak: “Something’s not right.”

Her heart sank. “What’s not right?”

Yan Jinglou: “I know Ji Hengyu’s character well. He’s cautious and distrustful, difficult to approach. Even his three personally-taught disciples may not fully earn his trust. How did you manage to get him to take you along?”

He continued: “I found it odd last time—your behavior and speech were markedly different from usual.” Yan Jinglou’s tone turned dangerous. “Sang Li, have you developed thoughts you shouldn’t have?”

These words struck fear into Sang Li like a blade pressing closer.

With one sword still at her neck and another metaphorical blade now hanging over her head, she truly experienced what it meant to be caught between a rock and a hard place.

“I haven’t, my lord, I...”

Before she could finish defending herself, a sharp pain suddenly twisted in her dantian.

The overwhelming agony forced a muffled groan from her lips. Ignoring the blade at her neck, she clutched her stomach and doubled over in pain.

Ji Hengyu’s gaze flickered briefly. With a wave of his hand, the sword returned to its form as a fan.

Though the threat of drowning receded, the fiery burn of betrayal remained.

Sang Li began to wonder if eating too many green onions had caused her stomach pain, but upon reflection, she realized otherwise.

It felt as though countless ants were gnawing at her abdomen. Under such intense pain, tears streamed uncontrollably from her eyes.

The dual-life curse was inherently restrictive, and Yan Jinglou, that cursed man, had never fully trusted her from the start.

Original host, you weren’t worth it!!

She screamed inwardly, cursing Yan Jinglou a thousand times over.

On the verge of collapsing from the pain, Sang Li didn’t expect Ji Hengyu to help her. Trembling, she forced out a few words through gritted teeth: “I... I seduced his youngest disciple... Ningxi Li. It was Ningxi Li who brought me here.”

Ji Hengyu raised an eyebrow, watching her performance with great interest.

The paper effigy burned silently, stretching the silence unbearably long.

Fortunately, the pain gradually subsided, suggesting Yan Jinglou had believed her story.

She dared not relax. “Ningxi Li has gone to search for other survivors. Currently, only Ji Hengyu and I remain here. If you tell me the location of the array, my lord, I’ll find a way to lure Ji Hengyu there.”

This explanation was foolproof. She stared tensely at the paper figure, her spine rigid, her once rosy lips now pale from tension.

“Hmm...” He chuckled softly, lost in thought.

Sang Li clutched her abdomen. Though the pain had lessened, the lingering burning sensation showed no signs of fading. Unwilling to endure that torment again, she prayed Yan Jinglou would be deceived.

Yan Jinglou said nothing, and a coordinate slowly appeared on the paper figure.

Southeast, Kan True Position.

Conveniently located in the forest behind the town.

“Go,” his voice was calm. “I want them all to die together.”

The paper figure quickly turned to ash, and Sang Li collapsed onto the chair, her heartbeat thundering so loudly it nearly shattered her eardrums.

The Demon Realm, Yinzhou Ten Palaces.

This was the edge of the Ghost Abyss, also the location of Yan Jinglou’s demon palace.

Compared to the ethereal realm of immortals, Yinzhou was dark and gloomy.

But it wasn’t without sunlight.

Fifty thousand years ago, during the Great Lawfall, when the world shattered, the left eye that could see through worldly light transformed into the blazing sun of the Nine Ling Realm. The right eye, which perceived worldly filth, fell into the abyss, forming a massive, flaming crimson vortex.

The vortex resembled a giant, scorching eyeball, eternally suspended at the highest point of the abyss. At its center lay the dark, deep pupil. The flames burned ceaselessly for ten thousand years, casting the entire underworld in a blood-red glow. Nearby mountains and rivers quickly dried up, and weaker demonic cultivators and seeds became wandering ghosts after death, feeding on passing lifeforms.

The demons residing here referred to the vortex as the “Black Sun,” symbolizing its ominous presence.

Compared to the scorching heat and suffocating depths of Fengdu’s center, the edges far from the Black Sun were much cooler. This was also why Yan Jinglou had chosen to build his demon palace in Yinzhou.

Inside Fucha Palace.

Yan Jinglou lounged lazily on a pitch-black throne made of sea serpents, clad in crimson robes, his crown still perched atop his head. Beneath the veil, his features were deep, cold, and stern.

Though many maidservants attended within the hall, none dared approach or disturb him. The vast palace was as silent as a tomb.

“Master, Lady Ningyue has arrived.”

Yan Jinglou raised his gaze slightly: “Let her come in.”

The subordinate bowed deeply and retreated. Not long after, Cui Wanning entered with her attendants.

The woman was gentle and beautiful, her slender figure draped in a flowing white robe that gave her the ethereal glow of moonlight illuminating the hall. Even amidst opulence, her refined and scholarly nature shone through.

In this realm teeming with demonic barriers, she remained untainted, a testament to how well she was protected.

“Ayan, am I disturbing you?”

Cui Wanning smiled softly, her voice like a gentle breeze brushing against one’s ears, instantly soothing.

Yan Jinglou’s posture barely shifted, but his crimson eyes no longer held their usual ferocity. Instead, they exuded calmness and stability, as if all murderous intent had been retracted to the depths of a placid lake, leaving only serene ripples behind.

“Are you feeling better?”

“It’s nothing serious—I can move around now,” Cui Wanning replied lightly as she walked toward the throne. Her maidservants did not dare follow, standing respectfully below.

After a brief pause, she ventured cautiously: “I overheard your conversation just now outside... Was it about Ali?”

Yan Jinglou grunted affirmatively.

Cui Wanning let out a soft sigh of relief and smiled: “Thank goodness. Ali hasn’t written for so long, and I feared she might have...” Realizing it might be inappropriate to continue in front of Yan Jinglou, she quickly changed the subject. “Anyway, as long as Ali is safe, that’s all that matters.”

Yan Jinglou responded: “She won’t be safe for long.”

Cui Wanning froze momentarily: “Why do you say that? Has something happened to Ali?”

Yan Jinglou smirked arrogantly: “Ji Hengyu will soon fall into my Silent Return Array . This array uses my soul blood as its core. As long as I live, Ji Hengyu will never escape it.” His expression turned dark and venomous, nearly growling the words: “I’ll keep him trapped inside, tormented for thousands, millions of years—forever bound without hope of release.”

The Silent Return Array—it was originally created by Ji Hengyu himself.

Thousands of years ago, he was revered as Lord Tianheng, respected by immortals and feared by demons alike.

Yan Jinglou had crossed countless mountains to beg for entry into Gui Xu Sect, only to stand beneath Ji Hengyu on the immortal platform, who looked down at him with disdain.

To Ji Hengyu, Yan Jinglou was nothing more than an insignificant insect! In the end, he mercilessly shattered every bone in Yan Jinglou’s body and cast him into the pitch-black, lightless Rakshasa Mountain.

Ji Hengyu mocked him as weak, inferior.

Now, this supposedly weak and inferior being would drag him into the very tomb he himself had created.

The thought filled Yan Jinglou with immense satisfaction.

He had waited too long for this moment. If avenging himself meant breaking his spine again, so be it!

Cui Wanning hesitated before speaking: “And what about Ali...?”

Yan Jinglou had already regained his composure, leaning back onto the throne with half-lidded eyes. “If she enters the array with Ji Hengyu, she shall remain within it as well.”

He cared nothing for Sang Li’s life or death. From the beginning, she was merely a pawn. To the player, sacrificing a single piece was inconsequential compared to winning the entire game.

Cui Wanning fell silent.

However, Liu Liu, the maid accompanying Cui Wanning, quietly reddened her eyes.

Liu Liu was a small demon saved by Sang Li a hundred years ago. Originally serving directly under Sang Li, she was later transferred to Cui Wanning when the latter arrived at the Ten Palaces of Yinzhou.

Sang Li had treated Liu Liu exceptionally well, and Liu Liu remembered her kindness deeply.

Her hands clasped tightly in front of her abdomen, loosening and tightening repeatedly. She wanted to plead for Sang Li’s life but knew her words as a mere demoness were insignificant. Speaking up could even endanger her own life.

But... but she had to try. Even if she couldn’t persuade the Demon Lord, perhaps she could appeal to Cui Wanning, asking her to intercede and find a way to spare Sang Li.

She steeled herself, but before she could open her mouth, Yan Jinglou abruptly raised his hand. A black talisman wrapped in foul energy shot toward her throat.

The talisman pierced her throat in an instant, burning like vitriol poured down her throat. The searing pain spread rapidly through her internal organs.

Liu Liu collapsed to the ground, writhing in agony, her entire body twisting violently.

Almost immediately, her tongue burned away into bloody foam, her vocal cords severed as black blood trickled from the corners of her mouth.

Her limbs convulsed uncontrollably, the scene utterly horrifying.

Cui Wanning was startled by the sudden turn of events, momentarily forgetting how to speak.

Yan Jinglou rested his cheek on his hand, lazily closing his eyes. “She harbored treacherous thoughts,” he said coldly, watching Liu Liu silently scream on the floor. “Considering your service to Lady Ningyue, I’ll spare your life this time. If you entertain such ideas again, it won’t end with just losing your tongue.”

With that, he waved dismissively, signaling the demon guards to drag her away.

Cui Wanning remained frozen, her back drenched in cold sweat, utterly petrified.