Chapter 81: Linghu Xiao Qi

Ji Feichen unfolded the map. After Fang He and the others from the Celestial Sect conferred, they sent people to scout the surrounding areas. The information that returned matched Ji Feichen's map with only minor discrepancies.

Thus, their next goal was clear—to seize control of the Immortal Mansion and, after that, to eradicate the Demonic Sect entirely.

Yet a problem soon arose: there were five qualified inheritors within the Celestial Sect, and with Tao Wanru from the Demonic Sect, there were six contenders in total. Who, then, would claim the Immortal Mansion?

Debate broke out among the assembled cultivators. The Taiyuan Palace wished to claim the mansion as another residence for itself, which infuriated the other great sects. The Taiching Sect, meanwhile, held out, leveraging the situation to align with others and oppose Taiyuan Palace.

Two days passed, and Ji Feichen’s wounds had healed considerably. Jing Xuan made time to visit him, but found his room empty and went out to search nearby.

He finally found Ji Feichen beneath an osmanthus tree—its golden flowers glowing, their fragrance drifting for miles. The blue-robed man sat beneath the branches, drinking alone, his gaze lost in the shimmering blossoms above, a melancholy shadowing his expression.

Seeing this, Jing Xuan approached, greeting him and sitting down at his side. “Why drink in solitude, junior brother?”

“It’s nothing,” Ji Feichen sighed. “Only some old memories came to mind. By the way, senior brother—if the Demonic Sect does not attack by tomorrow, I intend to leave for a while, to seek my own fortune within the Immortal Mansion.”

“Alone?” Jing Xuan was startled. “The mansion is full of hidden dangers—how can you manage by yourself?”

“There are causes and effects I must understand for myself. Besides, these past days, the Celestial Sect has been wrangling endlessly over the mansion’s inheritance. Where is the dignity of immortals in all this?” Disappointment colored Ji Feichen’s face. “Scheming and bickering—how are they any different from mortals?”

Jing Xuan’s expression turned awkward. Indeed, the Taiching Sect and Hongyang Grotto had allied, unwilling to let the mansion fall into Taiyuan Palace’s hands. Factions had formed, and Ji Feichen, refined and solitary, clearly found it all beneath him.

“Enough, there’s no need to discuss it further.” Ji Feichen turned to drink with Jing Xuan. To speak of immortal dignity—how could he, who had once moved among the Demonic Sect, criticize them? It was only an excuse to separate himself from their quarrels.

At dawn the next day, Ji Feichen departed.

None of the immortals could rightly stop him, though Fang He made a final attempt: “You carry the Demon-Subduing and Evil-Repelling Sword—a treasure of the Lingwei Sect. How do you intend to handle it?”

Lingwei’s heirloom rightfully belonged to one of their own. Li Xuange and the others looked at Ji Feichen, eyes bright with anticipation.

“A few days ago, I found this blade in the Immortal Mansion. There is a prophecy: ‘The sword shall slay three demons; the worthy will be revealed.’ I am not learned enough to discern its meaning. But from what I have seen, none of you are its destined wielder. My journey is to find the one worthy of inheriting Lingwei’s sword.”

His words drew no small amount of resentment. Li Xuange, knowing Ji Feichen’s bluntness and his own unsuitability for the sword, took no offense, but others heard only mockery.

Ji Feichen wasted no more words and turned to Fu Yutang, “We’ve spoken little these days. I know you distrust me because of my brother. Rest assured—if your family’s tragedy is truly his doing, I will give you an answer one day.”

Fu Yutang’s family had been “killed” by Ji Feichen as a token of loyalty—yet, by strange fate, Fu was an inheritor of the Cloud Sky Pavilion.

“Still, your cultivation method shares a deep connection with mine. For your help in saving my life, I must show my gratitude.” Ji Feichen pointed, and streams of black and white energy sprang from his hand, twisting together in the air to form a divine dragon, which landed before Fu Yutang and transformed into a golden pair of shears.

“These are the Twin Forces Dragon Beard Shears. They can save your life three times.”

Watching Ji Feichen perform magic almost identical to that of his own master, Fu Yutang’s lips parted, but recalling the tragedy of his family, he remained silent, watching Ji Feichen’s lonely figure walk away.

Zhang Yuanchu muttered, “Your brother harmed his family, but what grudge do you have with him? You two even share the same lineage—why so much enmity?”

“If I kill his brother one day, whose side will he take?” Fu Yutang shot back, and Zhang Yuanchu had no reply.

The Celestial Sect resumed quarreling over the mansion’s fate. Once Ji Feichen had left, he found a secluded spot to hide. Stretching, the gentle, cultivated aura of the Celestial Sect fell away, replaced by something far more ominous.

A sudden chill wind arose, demonic energy thick in the air. The man murmured, “The Celestial Sect’s path is set—now for the Demonic Sect.”

Following his connection to the Demon Dragon Mace, he reached a cold pool, reclaimed his treasure, and fully adopted the guise of a demonic cultivator. Producing the Heaven-Obscuring Talisman, he immediately received a response: “What took you so long? By the way, are you healed?”

A white-robed youth lounged upon a cloud-bed, the talisman at his side, lazily conversing with Ji Feichen. “Looks like the Celestial Sect fed you plenty of rare elixirs.” A furry tail curled around a bunch of amethyst grapes, tossing them into his mouth.

Hearing the laughter from the other end, Ji Feichen snapped, “What, are you dissatisfied that I’ve recovered?”

“Not at all—why would I care? I’m not the one who was injured.” Tu Shan replied with cheerful indifference. “So, how do you plan to contact the Demonic Sect?”

“I’ll meet with the Underworld Sect, gather a few spiritual herbs for Blackpool, and then find a way to leak information about the two brothers.”

The Demonic Sect, was it? The youth played with his dark hair, suddenly asking, “Isn’t there someone surnamed Yang in the Radiant Sun Demonic Cult?”

“Their young master?”

“Yes. You should seek him out. Tell him you know ‘Seventh Son’—let him look after you.”

“‘Seventh Son’? Is that your name?”

Tu Shan replied vaguely, “Back when I infiltrated the Radiant Sun Demonic Cult to seek the Sacred Land’s map, I befriended him. Use my name, and you’ll pass for one of their own.”

“That doesn’t sound like your real name.”

Whether Tu Shan’s true name was Tu Shan was still in doubt.

“Linghu Xiao Qi—that’s the name I used. Claimed to be the seventh in the family. Just mention it, and he’ll understand.”

Linghu was the great surname of the current fox clan, whose demon king was said to bear that name.

Ji Feichen’s eyes narrowed. “Is that your real name?”

“No. Someone else’s—just using it for now.” The youth yawned. “Enough chatter—go on, I’m off for a nap.”

Compared to Ji Feichen’s struggles outside, Tu Shan’s days were utterly carefree. With the Sacred Land as his resource, he had no worries about cultivation for a lifetime. Yet, the grand vow he had once made showed no sign of fulfillment.

After severing the connection, Ji Feichen continued to wander the Immortal Mansion.

Most treasures in the mansion fell into three categories: those left by the Lingwei Sect for their own, those left for future Celestial Sect inheritors, and those relics left behind by immortals and demons of ages past.

“The first kind I cannot touch; the second, I can claim as the independent cultivator Qing Hong. What I need now is the third.”

Ji Feichen searched through the remains of immortals and demons, but soon gave up. The immortal corpses might be unguarded—their souls long reincarnated and their treasures scattered—but the demonic ones, like Tian Chengzi, were full of traps for the unwary.

“Besides hidden demon souls, each corpse is guarded by deadly poison—nothing but trouble.” Ji Feichen was about to leave when he saw, in the distance, blood-red water engulfing a demonic corpse, swallowing its demon soul before it could even scream.

“The Boundless Blood Sea?” Ji Feichen was startled as black light erupted from the corpses around him. “The Soul-Devouring Curse!” Many demon souls, lingering near their remains, waited to possess the greedy. Now, seeing the blood, they rushed to reincarnate.

“In my Blood Sea, all find ultimate bliss—none may escape!” Sinister laughter echoed as dark red streams shot forth, weaving a dense net to ensnare all the demon souls.

Ji Feichen frowned, considered, and then turned away. Better to avoid trouble—it was only demonic infighting.

But as Ji Feichen tried to retreat, the other party refused to let him go.

“Who’s there? Show yourself!” Blood surged, waves crashing toward Ji Feichen.

He sighed, flicked out the Demon Dragon Mace from his sleeve, and drew a line in the air. A murky screen of Weak Water rose before him, blocking the blood. Layer upon layer of demonic energy formed dragon scale armor upon his body.

Demonic might burst forth as Ji Feichen declared, “Friend of the Blood Sea, I have no wish to oppose you. The Great Way is vast—let us go our separate paths. What say you?”

“Underworld Sect?” The voice in the blood sea cackled, not answering, but instead used blood to cut off Ji Feichen’s escape. “The Underworld Sect has opposed us lately, seeking the position of Demonic Sect leader. Perfect—using this one as an example will raise my rank.”

The inheritances of the Four Great Sacred Lands were each unique. The Supreme Palace lineage was singular, as were Taixiao and Taiyuan, though all had master-disciple traditions. The Blood Sea, however, was entirely different—based on competition, with no masters or disciples.

Their sect recruited talents from outside, teaching all the demonic arts. Those who mastered blood curses and reached the Mortal Shedding Realm continued; those who failed became “blood cattle” to nourish others’ cultivation.

This was merely the first step. To be recognized as a true disciple, one had to attain a Dao Fruit—yet places were limited. Only the top ten of each generation could become Blood Sea inheritors; the rest were consumed as nourishment.

With each generation, rankings were everything—no master or disciple, only numbers. The Blood Sea master and elders held single digits; Earth Immortal disciples had two digits. Human Immortals began from three digits. The current inheritor, Song Shaoming, was number 801; this demon before him was 783.

Thus, he belonged to an earlier generation than Song Shaoming, and was older. When the Sacred Land’s inheritors were chosen, the Blood Sea master favored the youngest, most promising talents, like Song Shaoming. Those from earlier generations were overlooked.

Song Shaoming, upon attaining his Dao Fruit, had sworn a great vow: “A million corpses, rivers of blood—only then may I gather the Blood Sea.”

To “gather the Blood Sea” was to attain the Earth Immortal level. In other words, for Song Shaoming to succeed, a million must die by his hand or design.

Heaven and earth are impartial, treating all things as straw dogs. What mortals call morality is but a creation of later beings. The Daoist Sects cultivate merit and incense, but the Demonic Sects care nothing for such things.

To heaven and earth, neither good nor evil matters—only that one’s heart remains true.

To cultivate a demon fruit by killing a million was rare even among the demonic.

Thus, Sun Xiaoyan grew anxious. He risked entering the Immortal Mansion to practice soul arts and strengthen himself, for he and Song Shaoming were enemies, and one day the latter would certainly seek vengeance.

“Killing a Human Immortal of the Underworld Sect would let me perfect my Blood River Sutra with their Dao Fruit.” Others might not know, but within the Four Sacred Lands, it was common knowledge: the Underworld Sect and the Blood Sea shared direct lineages from the Demon Ancestor, their arts mutually convertible.

The Underworld and Blood Sea Dao Fruits were but two sides of the same coin.

Sun Xiaoyan refused to let Ji Feichen go, and Ji Feichen abandoned all hesitation. A turbid river rose behind him, writhing like a dragon, serpents coiling, repelling the encroaching blood. Using the rolling Weak Water, he began to devour the blood one strand at a time.

Murderous intent and demonic aura shrouded the sky. Like a primordial behemoth, the human-shaped demon dragon strode forward, killing intent condensed and locked onto Sun Xiaoyan.

“So be it—if you won’t let me pass, then let us fight. I am curious to know what makes your Blood Sea worthy of leading the demonic world for millennia.”