The golden curtain of the world shimmered in silence. Beneath the surface, the ancient blood deed hidden deep in Feng Qingyun’s veins seemed to stir faintly. As if sensing something, it began to react.
But after being suppressed for so long by spiritual energy, the tattered and already fractured blood deed could no longer muster more than a ripple.
Sensing the sudden agitation, Mu Hanyang, still weak from his injuries, acted without hesitation. In a surge of rage and panic, he released his divine consciousness, attempting to peer through the bond and forcibly ignite the blood contract from afar.
But just as he traced the connection back to its origin, an unknown power slammed down and blocked him completely. He froze for a moment, and a fury beyond reason rose within him.
Though his consciousness had been denied entry, the blood deed had already been roused, and on the other side, Feng Qingyun sensed it at once, leaving way for a chill to crawl up his spine. Fighting the shudder coursing through him, he grabbed the hand of the Demon Lord, his voice trembling as he forced the words out: “Stop playing… The flowers have already bloomed… Just cover the blood deed quickly… Or Ruolin…”
For a spiritual plant demon, blooming was the equivalent of a beast entering its mating season. But Feng Qingyun, who had held himself back for nearly a thousand years across two lifetimes before finally blossoming, was still somehow clinging to the last shreds of clarity… So much so that he could even remember to worry about his little sister.
Long Yin lowered his head and bit at Feng Qingyun’s flushed lips, his voice a low murmur as he asked: “Which flower should this Lord cover in blood? Do I need to water them all?”
Feng Qingyun turned his face away, biting his lips hard and shaking his head. He was at his absolute limit, barely managing to squeeze out that earlier sentence that had already drained all his remaining strength. Now pressed again, he could no longer speak. With what looked like a distracted motion, but in truth was sharply precise, he grabbed the largest flower from his main vine that was still curled around Long Yin’s neck.
Holding the flower in both his trembling hands, he lifted it like a silent prayer, as if offering it to some divine being…
…As if offering it to his God, too far gone to realize how suggestive, how intimate the gesture had become.
Long Yin paused, his gaze darkening subtly.
If Feng Qingyun had the clarity to see the expression on his face in that moment, he might have felt a sliver of fear. But his mind was like melted wax, unable to see, to notice, or even to think.
The next moment, Long Yin drew his blade and, before Feng Qingyun could react, he had slashed his own wrist.
“!”
Feng Qingyun’s pupils contracted, as his voice came back in a startled rush: “The back of your hand would suffice, no need to…!”
But his protest came too late.
A gush of hot blood spilled from Long Yin’s wrist, cascading down and drenching the flower in his hands. It seared like molten lava, burning through him until a gasp escaped his lips. Instinctively, he tried to pull away. However, Long Yin clicked his tongue. “You better hold it steady, Little Palace Master,” he said. “If the blood runs dry before the bond takes, I’ll have to water your flowers with something else.”
He said it like a joke, but the heat in his words was unmistakable.
For once, Feng Qingyun didn’t argue back. On the brink of collapse, his mind flashed with a thought so sharp and lucid, it struck through the haze like lightning:
No one… No one should have to give that much for him. Just because Long Yin cared, it didn’t mean he had to let that devotion be wasted.
Especially since… He might care too.
The realization of his feelings slammed into him hard, and for a moment, Feng Qingyun didn’t dare to follow it. Instead, he gritted his teeth and endured the heat of that scorching blood, raising the flower higher despite his trembling hands. The effort made him quiver down to the bone, so in the end, he could only lower his head while shivering, his lips tightly pressed together.
Another wave of blood splashed onto the tender flower as the petals curled instinctively, fluttering as though they were about to release nectar. The process of overwriting a blood deed was never instantaneous. The old, residual mark needed to be drowned again and again by fresh, more powerful blood until it was scoured away, replaced by something new.
But to the bearer of the contract, it wasn’t painful. In fact, it was something entirely different, like having their soul pulled apart from within, intolerable not because of agony, but because of the terrifying intimacy.
Long Yin watched as Feng Qingyun’s face turned ghostly pale, seeing his grip on the flower faltering. After a moment, he hesitated, pulling back his wrist with a frown. “Want to pause?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.
But Feng Qingyun didn’t respond. He seemed lost, so far out of it that he couldn’t hear anymore. Long Yin paused to assess his situation, and just as he moved his hand slightly, letting the blood drip away…
Feng Qingyun stirred.
Without a word and without any expression on his face, he leaned in and flicked out his tongue to lap the blood from Long Yin’s wrist. The crimson, soft, and feverishly hot tip of his tongue slid across the bleeding wound, not like someone who was distressed by the injury and wanted to heal it, but more like…
A frenzied demon, afraid it might close too soon.
Long Yin’s breath caught, and he cursed softly.
As for Feng Qingyun, he was nearly burying himself in the Demon Lord’s arms, eager for another taste. Long Yin lifted his hand, gripped the other’s chin, and tilted it up while asking once more: “Keep going, or do you want to pause?”
Feng Qingyun licked his lips and, a beat late, gently returned the flower in front of Long Yin. With his seductive eyes, famous even under heaven, he stared directly at the blood, while his lips, still bright from the earlier lick, glistened vividly. In a voice soft as a whisper and almost coquettish, he murmured: “…Don’t stop. Keep going.”
Everything about that scene echoed something private and intimate, as the murmurs shared between silk sheets. In his unguarded state and completely stripped of reason, Feng Qingyun was nothing more than a blood-roused rose demon in full bloom.
And yet, Long Yin didn’t look the least bit alarmed, the smile on his face deepening. In the end, he simply raised his hand again, letting his wrist hover over the flower’s petals.
And so continued the ancient, even primitive rite of forging a blood deed. But in that entire ritual, the one in the most pain wasn’t Feng Qingyun.
Far away, in another corner of the world…
No one could say what truly happened inside the Main Hall of the Xiān Gōng Sect. All they knew was that a foreboding aura continued to seep from within, and that their Sect Leader, Mu Hanyang, forbade anyone from entering.
Bai Ruolin stood in silence outside the hall with her fingers clenched tightly around her sword. The expression on her face was unreadable as she stared fixedly at the distant doors.
“Martial Aunt…” Hua Ying, who had just been released from forced seclusion, no longer held any of her former pride. Instead, she approached carefully, asking in a soft voice: “Is Master… Grieving?”
“Grieving?” Bai Ruolin finally turned her gaze, looking at Hua Ying coldly. “Do you think the one who’s actually worthy of his grief is even here, in the Xiān Gōng Sect?”
Hua Ying froze on the spot. Her lips parted, but she said nothing more.
The second wave of overwriting a blood deed lasted a full half-hour. Even for one of the Four Divine Beasts of the ancient world, bleeding for such a long period of time would leave them completely dry. And yet, Long Yin’s expression never once changed, even having the mind to carefully watch Feng Qingyun’s reaction.
When the old blood deed was finally swallowed by the new one, the complete imprint triggered a kind of intimacy, almost subservience, that left the already disoriented spiritual plant utterly lost to reason. In that muddy state, Feng Qingyun could only lean against Long Yin’s shoulder, acting like a spoiled kitten.
Let alone Mu Hanyang, even the Long Yin of their past lives had never seen him like that.
A dark and indescribable satisfaction surged within the Demon Lord. Having spilled his blood and exerted his own strength, Long Yin accepted the reward that was offered without hesitation. He pinched the chin of the man in his arms and kissed him, not caring if it counted as taking advantage.
And the moment the blood deed was fully overwritten, the backlash struck its original owner, Mu Hanyang, like an avalanche… sparring no one and offering no mercy.
The pain crushed every bone in his body, shredding his spirit. It was as if all the agony Feng Qingyun had once endured, every shattered branch, every torn vine, and every forcibly plucked bud were returned a hundredfold, pouring back on him in one merciless sweep.
And in that moment, no amount of strength was enough to survive it, and no amount of determination could hold back the wrath of heaven. Feng Qingyun had borne that same type of pain for hundreds, even thousands of times, and never once had he faltered…
But Mu Hanyang, the originator of it all, quickly crumbled. His sword slipped from his fingers, his lips unable to even form a cry.
And even if he could have screamed in agony, he couldn’t…
That… It was the greatest disgrace he had ever known.
And a man like Mu Hanyang, who held reputation above all else, would never allow anyone to witness it.
But even as he writhed in pain, Mu Hanyang didn’t know that compared to this… What was coming would be true hell.
Above the mortal realm, clouds churned suddenly without warning, and thunder rumbled as cultivators across the realm looked up in shock, witnessing the omen of a great power falling.
And then, without so much as a breath, of the nine known Golden Core cultivators in the whole world, the aura of one…
Simply vanished.
Those who could perceive such things woke from their meditations in horror, staring toward the skies, unsure what had just passed.
But within the Xiān Gōng Sect, the signs were clear.
Disciples froze in stunned disbelief as the truth hit them, their faces going deathly pale. And for those closest to Mu Hanyang, it was a shock that struck straight to their soul.
Hua Ying, trembling, grasped Bai Ruolin’s arm while asking: “Master… Master, he…?!”
Her fingers were cold as ice. Bai Ruolin, completely unaffected, flicked a glance toward the Main Hall, swept her sword to break the girl’s grip on her arm, and walked away with a single sneer.
……………………..
In Xiaoyao Valley, a woman in green robes suddenly opened her eyes, her usually calm expression now holding a flicker of disbelief.
“Master…?”, her disciple called nervously. “What is it?”
Mu Tingwan didn’t answer.
Instead, she raised a hand and summoned a set of silver needles, precisely nine of them. Mu Tingwan selected one and flicked it lightly through the air. Under her disciples’ bewildered gaze, the pristine silver gradually blackened, before snapping in two with a sharp, brittle crack.
Mu Tingwan murmured quietly, almost to herself: “It seems the cultivation world… Is about to change.”
………………………….
In the Demon World, at the foot of the Qingqiu Mountain…
Qing Luo was frowning at a letter, still lost in thought, when his hands suddenly froze. The fox ears atop his head twitched lightly, and he raised his gaze to look outside.
An eight-tailed fox girl, cradling a jade slip, had just entered. Startled by his expression, she paused and called hesitantly: “…Patriarch?”
Qing Luo blinked back to himself and offered her a faint smile before saying, “Looks like we’d best start preparing gifts.”
The eight-tailed fox was visibly confused. “Is some elder celebrating a joyous occasion?” she asked. “What kind of gift should we prepare?”
Qing Luo only chuckled, answering mysteriously: “Naturally, a wedding gift.”
“…Should we prepare something in advance for the cub?” his subordinate asked, with a trace of hesitation in her voice.
“From what I know of them, it probably won’t be necessary. But then again…” Qing Luo couldn’t help but laugh.
“If that one’s especially gifted… Might as well prepare, just in case.”
………………………
Within half a day, the news that the nine Golden Core cultivators had gone down to eight spread like wildfire across the cultivation world.
But for most common practitioners, the real mystery remained:
Which one had fallen?!
People loved spectacles, but when it came to Golden Core cultivators, the stakes were different. After all, their presence upheld the balance between the Righteous Path and the Demon World, and they even allocated resources and guaranteed peace. Therefore, no one dared take the matter lightly.
Still, there were no walls in the world that could fully block the wind. Before long, simultaneous rumors began to surface from both the Demon Palace and the territories ruled by the ancestral demon clans, and conveniently, they all pointed toward the same person…
Mu Hanyang, the Sect Leader of the Xiān Gōng Sect.
The moment that name dropped, it was like a lightning bolt cleaving through the sky. In an instant, outrage erupted, especially among the Righteous Path. Their first response was disbelief, followed swiftly by fury, as they denounced the news as slander, a lie crafted by demons!
And on the surface, there were plenty of reasons for that.
After all, both Su Yunzhou and Mi Zhiyun had not been seen for a thousand years, so who could say it wasn’t one of them who had perished? Perhaps the ancestral demon clans, fearing unrest and left with no competent rulers, had simply scapegoated Mu Hanyang to confuse the world!
As for the Demon Palace? Those bastards were even more treacherous, possessing only one Golden Core cultivator but still having the guts to parade him like he was the absolute overlord! But if anything were to happen to Long Yin, the demons would become lambs for slaughter, so… Spreading lies in alliance with other pieces of trash wasn’t beyond them!
Those excuses sounded reasonable, that is, until someone pointed out the most chilling detail of all.
The Xiān Gōng Sect had yet to say a single word.
Not one of denial, nor one of explanation. So that eerie silence slowly twisted doubt into certainty.
In the end, the final nail in the coffin was hit. Third Palace Master Bai Ruolin stepped forward and made a statement, brief, vague, and utterly noncommittal. She only declared that all three Palace Masters of the Xiān Gōng Sect were alive and well.
But… Which three?!
Mu Hanyang and herself?!
Feng Qingyun and herself?!
Feng Qingyun and Mu Hanyang?!
The ambiguity in her words said everything since, more obviously than anything, she never once mentioned the state of Mu Hanyang’s current cultivation.
So her statement didn’t clarify a single thing, instead adding more fuel to the fire.
Soon enough, people started whispering. Was Bai Ruolin being clever, or had she truly lost the will to protect her Sect Leader and older brother? And yet, her usual blunt nature made the question harder to answer, and no one dared to challenge her directly.
But with the Xiān Gōng Sect’s Heavenly Gate Ceremony on the horizon, the truth wouldn’t stay hidden for long… And whether Mu Hanyang had fallen or not, it would be obvious to all that day.
So, while waves surged beneath the surface, what the world saw was just a strange, heavy stillness. Everyone’s eyes turned toward the upcoming ceremony, thinking that if things stayed as they were, the Righteous Path would need to reshuffle its lines.
………………………..
Yet no matter how much chaos his simple “blooming” had stirred across the realm, and no matter how much backlash Mu Hanyang was currently suffering, Feng Qingyun remained blissfully unaware.
To him, it felt as though he had just awakened from a long, fevered dream.
That fresh, scorching blood that washed away the old contract was now flowing through every crook in his body like fire, leaving behind the sense of a new beginning…
…And an unshakable, bone-deep tenderness blooming in his chest toward the source of that blood.
But that… That was to be expected when a blood deed took full effect. By the time he finally clawed his way out of the hazy warmth in his head, Feng Qingyun realized that he was still licking Long Yin’s wrist.
Like a kitten.
As for Long Yin, the man was casually playing with his hair, using his free hand.
“!?”
Feng Qingyun froze as his ears flushed crimson. Pulling back at once, he could only blink up at the man before him with dazed, wet eyes. But what gleamed behind those eyes wasn’t infatuation or longing, but clear, unmistakable wariness.
Because the same Demon Lord who had so righteously claimed he wouldn’t take advantage of him…
Was now grinning like the devil himself.
Feng Qingyun’s scalp prickled while his instincts screamed danger.
And sure enough, the next words out of Long Yin’s mouth were a low, teasing murmur: “Why so far away, Little Palace Master? Don’t tell me, after using this Lord again, you’re really planning to toss me aside?”
Of course, Feng Qingyun might have been disoriented, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew very well that part of him leaned toward Long Yin on instinct, but the rest still fought to hold steady. Through clenched teeth, he growled: “There’s still the backlash phase. Don’t push your luck…”
However, Long Yin chuckled, clearly unbothered. “Is that so?” he asked. “Well then, this Lord humbly awaits your wrath. But before that…”
He crooked a finger, continuing: “Let me get a good look at this freshly-bloomed little rose of mine. Come here.”
“?!”
Just after throwing out a fierce warning, Feng Qingyun’s body betrayed him completely. He leaned forward as if magnetized, and by the time he found himself half-reclining in Long Yin’s arms, he’d already squeezed his eyes shut, the shame and fury on his face so palpable it looked like he might genuinely self-combust from sheer embarrassment.
“…You should always leave a man a way out,” Feng Qingyun ground out through gritted teeth, ears burning red. “I advise you to think twice before you act!”
“Why does that sound so familiar?” Long Yin chuckled, running his fingers through Feng Qingyun’s sweat-damp hair. “Didn’t this Lord say something similar in someone’s dream not long ago?”
“And yet, this Lord can’t seem to recall exactly how the dreamer treated me back then,” he added, feigning deep thought.
Feng Qingyun’s scalp tingled. His gaze flicked to the side instinctively, only to be caught by the chin and forced back, made to meet Long Yin’s eyes as the man leaned in and asked again: “Remind me, what exactly did the Little Palace Master swear so confidently at the time?”
Sensing mortal danger, Feng Qingyun’s eyes darted nervously as he finally muttered: “That was dream talk… Doesn’t count…”
“Oh?” Long Yin raised a brow. “So, you mean… We’re just letting that slide?”
Feng Qingyun choked, then finally relented with a low, reluctant: “…I’m sorry.”
Hearing his bashful tone, Long Yin’s smile deepened. “Not every apology counts, right?” he continued. “Or is the Little Rose misremembering his own words?”
Feng Qingyun bristled, glaring at him. “What the hell do you want then?!”
Instead of answering, Long Yin simply smiled, that same infuriating, slow smile that made Feng Qingyun’s stomach drop. And sure enough, a second later came the soft, lingering demand: “An apology without sincerity means nothing. So then, let’s hear it. How about you ask your husband to forgive you?”
“?!”
Feng Qingyun’s eyes widened, completely stunned. He stared at Long Yin as he’d just grown horns, as he’d never realized, until that very moment, just how shameless his man could be.
In the end, his face went bright red as he forced out between clenched teeth: “…You’re pushing your luck!”
“That’s pushing it?” Long Yin leaned down to kiss the corner of his lips, voice lowering. “It gets worse from here, Little Rose.”
Feng Qingyun gritted his teeth, refusing to give in. But then Long Yin switched tactics, voice gentle as he started coaxing him: “You’ve drunk so much of this Lord’s blood… And you still won’t give me one little ‘husband’?”
It was deceitful and clearly tugging on the guilt Feng Qingyun felt over that very thing.
But it worked.
The memory of that wrist, still weeping blood, burned into Feng Qingyun’s mind. Squeezing his eyes shut as his long lashes were trembling, he whispered with a bright-red face:
“…Forgive me, husband.”
“Good boy,” Long Yin murmured, lips curving.
But of course, he didn’t stop there.
“Now, a thank-you’s nice and all… But after giving you so much blood, shouldn’t this Lord collect a bit of interest?”
He didn’t even have to finish the thought as Feng Qingyun’s instincts went haywire at once. His face darkened as he glared, red-eyed, and hissed: “Long Yin!”
Long Yin answered with maddening nonchalance: “Mm. This Lord is listening.”
There wasn’t a trace of shame in his tone, and Feng Qingyun nearly choked on his own fury.
“And if I recall…” Long Yin drawled. “Didn’t the Little Palace Master also say something else in that dream? Can’t remember the exact words…” Reaching this point, his voice dipped again, low and teasing as he continued: “But I am curious… After being soaked in my blood, would those vines of yours still dare to disobey this Lord?”
Feng Qingyun froze.
Then, slowly, he flushed a vivid red.
“Shameless! Nonsense! My primordial body would never listen to your… Filthy desires!”
Every word he’d once said echoed back now, sharper than ever as each one of them landed square across his own face, just like a slap.
Feng Qingyun’s cheeks burned, but he didn’t know if it was from heat or humiliation. As for Long Yin, he leaned in and whispered something in his ear.
Feng Qingyun’s eyes flew open, pupils shrinking, and he spat through clenched teeth: “You bastard!”
“Mm. This Lord is here,” Long Yin replied, still composed. He then looked at Feng Qingyun with a slow smile, eyes deep as night. “Now, be a dear, won’t you?”
And with that, Feng Qingyun’s main vine betrayed him. Without hesitation, it lifted the largest, most vivid rose, the very one that had been freshly soaked in blood, and presented it to Long Yin like an offering.
Their breathing synced in uneven rhythm as the flower quivered in the air between them. Feng Qingyun tried to force it back, but his command held no sway anymore. His gaze locked on Long Yin’s face with something like a death wish, as if hoping for a last scrap of mercy.
But the Demon Lord… Clearly possessed no such thing.
How could that happen?! How could anyone be that shameless?!
The poor Little Palace Master, raised so properly within the Righteous Path, could live another thousand years and still not be prepared for that kind of depravity.
“All right, all right,” Long Yin said with mock patience. “This Lord doesn’t want to hurt you. I’m not asking you to pluck its petals or crush its core, so there’s no need to look at me like I’m your mortal enemy.” He then nudged Feng Qingyun’s nose affectionately and added with a whisper: “Didn’t this Lord already say it was sweet? What’s there to be afraid of?”
Feng Qingyun’s lips trembled and, with his eyes clenched shut, he bowed his head and brushed past the petals. His tongue met the core of the flower, curled around the syrupy nectar, and in that instant, his mind went fully blank.
Clinging to Long Yin’s shoulders for balance, he leaned in and, like a sacrifice, offered up that mouthful of blood-soaked nectar to the other’s lips.
Long Yin accepted the offering without hesitation, his tongue curling to trap Feng Qingyun’s, and the sticky sweetness spread between them like fire.
Feng Qingyun’s mind reeled, but he still didn’t dare think about what he’d just done. His earlier guilt over all that blood Long Yin had shed for him evaporated in an instant, and all that was left was shame, fury, and an unbearable, unimaginable ache.
When the kiss finally ended, his phoenix eyes were gleaming with unshed tears and righteous rage. But even while glaring, his expression was still so captivating that Long Yin couldn’t help pressing a kiss to his trembling eyelids.
“Thank you for the wine, Little Palace Master,” he said with a smile. “Truly, a man of your words. But…”
Feng Qingyun’s eyes widened as Long Yin added, voice low and dark: “Your dragon God has never claimed to be a gentleman. This Lord is the type to repay every grudge. So, considering this is your main vine…”
He then leaned in and whispered:
“Take off your clothes and pick your favorite way to be tied up.”
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