And yet, after Feng Qingyun pressed his hand against the mirror, the surface remained smooth and pristine, completely unchanged. He froze for a moment before remembering that Long Yin had seemed to infuse a trace of demonic Qi into it earlier. Imitating that, he carefully channeled a wisp of spiritual energy inside.
But still, nothing happened.
Feng Qingyun frowned slightly, then, as if unconvinced, sent in another thread of Qi. However, the surface of the mirror remained unperturbed, so quiet as if everything that had happened earlier had been nothing more than a performance staged by the Demon Lord.
Long Yin paused briefly at the sight. As if suddenly understanding something, a flicker of realization crossed his face.
Feng Qingyun couldn’t help but glance at him in suspicion. Though he said nothing, the look in his eyes was all too clear, silently asking: “Was that heart demon of yours earlier something you conjured up yourself with demonic Qi? Is this mirror just an ordinary one after all?”
But that thought only lasted a moment before Feng Qingyun dismissed it. After all, the aura of that heart demon earlier had subtly overlapped with the one he’d sensed on the city Lord they had recently encountered. So, it probably wasn’t something Long Yin had fabricated to trick him…
Thinking like that, Feng Qingyun frowned again. So then… Why wasn’t the mirror reacting now?! Could it be an artifact of the demon realm, one that only responded to pure demonic Qi and was picky about its users?
He ran through every possibility, even began to question whether he’d followed the correct procedure, but never once did he consider the possibility that he might truly not have a heart demon at all.
He hadn’t realized just how strong his state of mind truly was.
Long Yin let out a soft chuckle. Seeing Feng Qingyun’s troubled and serious expression, he couldn’t help but be quietly amused. His Little Palace Master was so pure, so spotless inside, he was practically a reflection of the very mirror before him.
Love, hatred, delusions, none of that had managed to leave the slightest mark on his heart.
Just like that stone sword from before, no matter how much care and expectation young Feng Qingyun had poured into it, how long he’d waited and nourished it, it still hadn’t bloomed. Yet he had never felt much grief or resentment about it.
Even when severed branches and crushed buds had left him with overwhelming hatred for Mu Hanyang, that hatred had never clouded his judgment or hindered his cultivation.
And even with the debt of salvation, the intimacy of husband and wife, his profound, soul-deep love for the man before him still wasn’t enough to become an obstacle on his path to the Heavenly Dao.
It was a purity bordering on cruelty. Even Feng Qingyun himself hadn’t realized how close that purity came to the so-called “crystal-clear heart” described in the legends of antiquity.
Long Yin lowered his head and kissed his lips, murmuring softly, as if in quiet relief: “You don’t need a heart demon. That’s just right.”
May your path be smooth, your journey without sorrow.
Feng Qingyun paused, then finally understood what he meant. So it turned out, he truly hadn’t harbored any obsessive thoughts strong enough to manifest a heart demon. For him, not even a reflection appeared.
Looking back, there had always been signs.
Earlier, when Feng Qingyun experienced the dream technique of the fox clan, if Long Yin hadn’t entered his dream, there likely wouldn’t have been any subsequent bridal night. Had he finished killing Mu Hanyang in the Main Hall of the Xiān Gōng Sect and seen an illusion of his dragon God once more from the bridal sedan, his lingering obsession would’ve vanished like smoke, and he would have awakened from the dream right then and there.
Once he realized that it was simply the pain that had made him afraid to bloom, everything became easier to understand. After all, he clearly never needed someone else to pollinate him in order to bloom, and that indulgence within the dream had merely been a rare moment of willful abandon.
And now, at last, everything was clear.
Even after discovering the truth of the Ruthless Path, even after learning that Long Yin had been willing to give up ascension, give up the hope of surviving, just to gamble everything for him, for the chance at a truth so moving it could shake heaven and earth… Even so, when he stood before that mirror now, it still showed nothing.
Feng Qingyun froze on the spot.
He couldn’t believe it.
Was he truly such a heartless person?!
And underneath all that self-doubt, a voice echoed in his mind: There’s no equality between you and Long Yin… The feelings you’ve given him, and the ones he’s given you…they aren’t equal at all!
Feng Qingyun lowered his gaze and looked away, as though a thousand needles had suddenly pierced his chest, each pricking a sharp sting. Without saying a word, he clenched his fists, his fingertips nearly digging into his palms.
But even though he said nothing, just quietly fuming at himself, Long Yin saw through his thoughts in an instant. He laughed softly and leaned in, planting a kiss on the lips that were pressed into a tight line. Gently, he tried to comfort him: “You think having a heart demon is something to be proud of? I’ve only seen people rack their brains trying to get rid of theirs, and never has this Lord met someone upset about not having one. So many people come to this mirror, and the moment they see it reflect nothing, they’re overjoyed. After all, having no heart demon is a sign the Heavenly Dao lies open before them.”
As he spoke, Long Yin took Feng Qingyun’s hand and coaxed him patiently: “Besides, most people are just unlucky, running into mirrors that don’t even work. But our Little Palace Master here truly has a flawless state of mind. Shouldn’t that make you happy?”
His words were full of reason, but Feng Qingyun simply couldn’t take them in. He remained stony-faced, frowning with a clear air of displeasure. Truth be told, he rarely wore his emotions so openly… But in that moment, it was as though a swirl of mortal dust had painted his expression with vivid life, looking stunning beyond belief.
Long Yin’s heart itched at the sight. He couldn’t help but lean in for another kiss, only to be dodged when Feng Qingyun turned his head away with a frown.
Long Yin chuckled helplessly. “You’re even blaming this Lord now?” he asked. “I’m really innocent in this, you know.”
Well, that worked.
His words hit right on the sore spot Feng Qingyun had been stewing over. In an instant, he flushed with both shame and anger, and, without a word, he turned, grabbed Long Yin’s collar, and kissed him fiercely.
So unexpectedly thrown into his arms, Long Yin was more than delighted. A smile curved his lips as he raised his hand, all too familiar with the path his palm now traced, right to the curve of his lover’s waist. But Long Yin’s wandering hand was slapped away in a flare of anger, and he was shoved down onto the bed by his collar.
Feng Qingyun flipped on top of him, straddling his hips, lips pressed into a line as he looked down at him from above with a cold and resolute gaze.
“What are you doing?” Long Yin raised an eyebrow on purpose, feigning surprise. “Is the Second Palace Master trying to force himself on an innocent man? I already have a wife…”
“Shut up!” Feng Qingyun’s face was stony as he raised a hand. A flash of light passed through his fingers as his sword emerged, and Long Yin’s luxurious gilded belt met an instant demise.
The Demon Lord had just opened his mouth to retort when his breath suddenly caught.
Feng Qingyun’s expression was cold. With one hand lowering his sword beside Long Yin, he reached up with the other to remove the hairpin from his head. In an instant, his black hair cascaded down like a waterfall, brushing over Long Yin’s neck.
Without a word, he leaned forward and parted Long Yin’s robes to press against the bare muscles of his abdomen. His eyes were lowered, not like a seductive spirit luring away souls, but more like a benevolent creature from a folktale repaying a debt of kindness.
In that moment, silence filled the room as no one dared to make a sound. Only after some time passed did the soft rustle of movement and mingled breaths grow heavier.
It must be said that the green-blue hue of his robes really did suit him. When the fabric slipped from his shoulder and draped from the bend of his arm, it made the pale, rounded curve of Feng Qingyun’s shoulder look just like white jade.
The contrast between the neatly arranged outer robe and the sweat-beaded skin beneath was so stark that even the most restrained of saints would fall from grace.
Long Yin clenched his jaw, veins bulging slightly from the effort of restraint, but his mouth, of course, didn’t stop teasing. “So my Little Rose is experiencing a guilt-driven urge to compensate… but burning with anger, he’s choosing to take it out on this Lord instead, ah~.”
“Shut up!”
Feng Qingyun flushed red with shame and fury. He reached up and clamped a hand over Long Yin’s mouth, panting as he leaned his forehead against Long Yin’s shoulder, his waist completely obscured beneath folds of teal cloth.
Long Yin stared at him for three seconds, then suddenly darted out his tongue to lick his palm.
Feng Qingyun shuddered from head to toe, but stubbornly endured the sensation, pressing down harder to keep that wicked mouth shut. But he forgot one little detail… The blood deed wasn’t a verbal spell, and its activation had nothing to do with whether the mouth could move or not.
For example, at that very moment, though Long Yin’s mouth was covered, his voice still rang out directly in Feng Qingyun’s mind: “Don’t be so angry, Little Palace Master. Be good. Let the flowers bloom so this Lord can kiss them.”
Feng Qingyun trembled at the sound, gasping through his teeth without replying. Seeing his refusal to cooperate, Long Yin raised an eyebrow and suddenly lifted his hips.
Feng Qingyun let out a choked whimper as tears gathered once more in the corners of eyes that had only just stopped crying. Moments later, he finally couldn’t hold out anymore. A slight sob escaped his mouth, and the vines wrapped in countless roses unfurled at last.
And the moment those vines appeared, all of Feng Qingyun’s previous resistance crumbled to dust.
The vines, utterly disregarding their master’s dignity, immediately moved toward the man in front of them, pressing close to his face, affectionate to the point of absurdity, and so eager to feed him the nectar from their core, exposing Feng Qingyun’s heart completely.
Faced with the look of shame and fury on Feng Qingyun’s face, Long Yin couldn’t help but burst into laughter.
But laughing out loud while lying in bed like that was certainly a mood-killer.
Feng Qingyun could endure no longer. In a fit of mortified rage, he summoned several blossoms to cover Long Yin’s face, as if he might smother him to silence. But unfortunately for him, the method he used to gag Long Yin had changed from his hand to his flowers… And with such seductive punishment, the prey shut up instantly, busy with the flowers in front of him.
The aggressor also fell strangely silent at that moment as Feng Qingyun simply sat there, breathing heavily, tears still clinging to his lashes. He pressed a hand against the abdominal muscles beneath him, as if struggling to endure something within.
Once that silenced mouth had licked every last drop of nectar from the flower’s stamen, Feng Qingyun’s main vine finally couldn’t take it anymore. It shivered twice, trembling weakly as if it were the one drained dry by its prey, wilting pitifully as it withdrew, visibly drooping.
Long Yin couldn’t help but kiss the poor, miserable roses on it, then leaned up to place a gentle kiss at the corner of those tear-stained eyes, coaxing softly: “Alright, stop sulking. There’s nothing you need to feel guilty about. You don’t have to blame yourself.”
“You’re still so young. Since ancient times, the word ‘love’ has never been something you can weigh on a scale. It was never meant to be perfectly equal.”
“One side will always love more,” Long Yin murmured, holding that slender waist close, his voice low and soothing. “Why force balance, when love isn’t built for symmetry?”
Feng Qingyun narrowed his teary eyes at him. “How come you sound so experienced?” he asked.
Caught completely off guard by that sharp angle of questioning and realizing he’d just hit himself in the foot while trying to comfort him, Long Yin was momentarily speechless.
“If you’re not, then stop pretending to be a love sage…” Feng Qingyun bit his lower lip, as if suppressing something, then stubbornly muttered through the watery sound of his voice: “But I will force it!”
He had always been like that. If he loved, it was with his entire heart and soul, never afraid of his own destruction should the other fail to catch him. But if he realized the other cared more, he’d get flustered and angry over the sheer unfairness of it.
No one could remain unmoved under such earnest and consuming love, not even the Demon Emperor, so Long Yin could take no more. He reached behind Feng Qingyun’s back and kissed his collarbone, trailing down in a feverish path. In his other hand, he gripped the same vine he had just kissed into exhaustion, using its flowers to slowly caress every inch of Feng Qingyun’s trembling skin.
Feng Qingyun shuddered uncontrollably under the teasing, tears hanging from his lashes as his hips trembled midair, too shy to fully sit down.
“All that thunder, and not a single drop of rain,” Long Yin mocked, stroking his petals with a smirk. “After all this fuss, you still won’t ride this Lord properly. Is this the determination you were talking about, Little Palace Master?”
Feng Qingyun bit his lip in silence.
Long Yin released his waist and slowly moved downward, pressing a hand to his thigh through the fabric. “Then let me show you what it really means to force it”, he said. With that, he gripped Feng Qingyun’s leg and flipped them over.
Feng Qingyun let out a soft whimper, turning his face instinctively to bite into the pillow, but Long Yin seized his chin and forced it back around, leaving his mouth slightly parted, tongue unable to retreat.
And then, the man leaned in and kissed him deeply, sweeping him once again into an overwhelming tide.
………………….
The next morning, the entire little demonic realm remained utterly still.
Feng Qingyun casually tied up his hair, then picked up the Linshuang Sword and sat at the edge of the bed, eyes lowered as he studied the blade.
But no matter how carefully he polished it this time, the Linshuang Sword no longer made a sound.
Frowning, Feng Qingyun turned it over and inspected it again and again, and a few loose strands of his newly tied hair slipped down under the breeze stirred by the sword.
Those wayward strands, paired with the neat clothes he now wore, created an indescribable charm. It was as if no matter how high the walls or how dense the hedges, the spring bloom nourished by morning dew would always find a way to spill outward.
And of course, Long Yin saw it and could not resist his roguish impulses.
He walked over, took the Linshuang Sword from Feng Qingyun’s hands, and used its hilt to tilt up that delicate chin before planting a kiss on his lips. Then he smiled, saying, “He should awaken today. The answer you’ve been looking for… might finally be within reach.”
As he spoke, he lightly flicked the blade. His movements were so natural, hardly looking like someone who hadn’t held a sword in years. As for Feng Qingyun, he said nothing. But at that moment, a sudden thought struck him:
That day, in front of the Heavenly Gate, wasn’t it Long Yin who used not only his sect’s sword techniques, but also his own sword to defeat him?!
Though he had no right to complain… His skills fell short after all, and he also misunderstood Long Yin and attacked first…
There were countless reasons, countless explanations, but stripping away everything and looking only at the result… That infuriating man had knocked him flat in front of everyone and won, using his sect’s sword techniques and wielding his own Linshuang Sword! No matter how he looked at it, it was infuriating!
Of course, Feng Qingyun would never admit that his current grudge against Long Yin had less to do with the past and more to do with how the man had shamelessly pinned him down last night… And succeeded in drowning his flowers, with several dozen of them now wilted like overwatered blossoms! As for him… He only felt thoroughly wrung dry!
So on the surface, Feng Qingyun simply looked at Long Yin for three long seconds with a flat expression, so long that Long Yin started to feel a chill down his spine, thinking that maybe Feng Qingyun was about to “kill his wife to prove his Dao”, like that ruthless cultivator from legends.
But just then, Feng Qingyun suddenly spoke, asking: “When did you learn to use a sword?”
Relieved that it wasn’t a declaration of war, Long Yin secretly exhaled, then said with a smile: “Didn’t I say it before? Your dragon God is omnipotent. Is it so strange that this Lord knows swordsmanship?”
Feng Qingyun didn’t respond. He only re-tied his hair, then reached out and snatched back the Linshuang Sword from Long Yin’s hands. With a flick of his toe against Long Yin’s thigh that was almost pressing on him, he said calmly: “Get up. Let’s spar.”
Long Yin paused. Then, smiling once again, he reached out and grabbed Feng Qingyun’s bare ankle, yanking him forward. But Feng Qingyun had been expecting it, so he instantly kicked the man’s hand away and retaliated with a slash.
Long Yin casually summoned a sword formed from demonic Qi and blocked the strike with a clang of colliding metal.
In the blink of an eye, the two of them exchanged dozens of blows in the hall. Lightning-quick, deadly, and merciless, as neither held back.
But now, one lifetime over, in terms of swordsmanship alone, Feng Qingyun was no longer that fledgling cultivator who had just entered the Qi Cultivation stage, barely beginning to understand his sword.
Perhaps it was the lingering shame of being defeated in front of the Heavenly Gate in his past life, or maybe the humiliation of being made to cry last night while pressed so close, but… Whatever the reason, Feng Qingyun’s desire to redeem his disgrace surged to an almost irrational degree.
With both motivations fueling him, his sword energy grew sharper by the second as its edge bristled with power, and within just a few moves, Long Yin began to fall behind.
Between masters, victory or defeat could be decided in the blink of an eye.
In that instant of advantage, Feng Qingyun stepped down barefoot onto Long Yin’s wrist, severed the sword of condensed demonic Qi with one clean stroke, and lifted his chin proudly to declare:
“You lost.”
Most sword cultivators looked the same, whether they held a sword or not, obsessed with swordsmanship, their entire being consumed by it, as if they longed to marry their blades and live out their days in a haze of swordplay.
But Feng Qingyun was a different story.
When he wasn’t holding a sword, he was like moonlight settling gently into one’s arms, his warm smile and soft gaze like a spring breeze. Yet once he raised his sleeve and drew his blade, he became something else entirely: brilliant, radiant, overflowing with dazzling vitality. Just one glance was enough to make anyone’s heart stir.
By all accounts, it should have been Feng Qingyun’s perfect moment of vindication. The disgrace of being defeated in both battle and bed was washed clean, and any lingering grudges should have been laid to rest, but…
…Unfortunately, the man currently pinned beneath his foot was anything but a proper gentleman who accepted defeat graciously.
Long Yin may not have been able to match Feng Qingyun in swordsmanship, but his ten thousand years of cultivation and shameless experience were no joke.
He smiled, and before Feng Qingyun could decipher the meaning behind it, he grabbed his ankle and, with a slight exertion of strength, sent demonic Qi crawling slowly up Feng Qingyun’s calf.
“?!”
He’d pulled that exact move once before, inside the healing springs of his Demon Palace, so it wasn’t anything new. But it worked just as well the second time. Predictably effective, Feng Qingyun was caught off guard again and dragged down onto the bed, eyes wide with astonishment.
“Who lost now, hmm?” Long Yin slid a hand beneath his robes, taking advantage of the fact that Feng Qingyun wasn’t wearing any inner layers. Pinching the tender flesh of his thigh, he teased: “Looks to me like the one who lost is still the Second Palace Master.”
“…We were sparring!” Feng Qingyun finally came to his senses and cursed furiously. “You used demonic Qi! Shameless scoundrel… utterly dishonorable!”
“But this Lord never agreed to a pure sword duel,” Long Yin said while continuing to stroke upward. “I only said we’d have a match. As for being shameless… this Lord never claimed to be a righteous gentleman. What’s a little dishonor to me?”
He had just vowed he was a righteous gentleman, and now, with barely a blink, he shamelessly reversed course, spinning excuses without even trying to make them sound believable!
Feng Qingyun was so furious he nearly choked on his own breath. He was just about to curse again when, suddenly, both of them froze at the same time, turning to look towards the door.
A voice called out from beyond: “It’s Ming Jingtai. This humble one came to pay respects to the two exalted ones.”
Feng Qingyun immediately shoved his man off and scrambled to compose himself, swiftly casting a cleansing spell. Only after regaining some semblance of dignity did he shoot a glare at Long Yin, then turned his head and cleared his throat.
“Come in.”
The moment he spoke, Ming Jingtai… no, Ming Jingtai’s heart demon entered the room, carrying a person tightly wrapped in fox fur.
The figure in his arms seemed weightless, like a bundle of feathers or a handful of snow. What little of their face was visible above the fur was pale, so pale it seemed even whiter than the down lining the cloak.
The heart demon, now a city Lord in his own right, gently bowed while holding the figure. “Greetings, Your Majesty. Greetings, Your Highness.”
Long Yin gave a slight nod. Only then did the heart demon straighten and raise a hand. An armchair covered in tiger skin appeared beside him with a flick of his fingers as he carefully bent down, placing the pale figure onto the seat. He then pulled the fur cloak closer to the figure, tucking it neatly around them.
Only then did Feng Qingyun finally get a good look at that person’s face.
It was identical to the heart demon’s.
And yet, despite the mirrored appearance, the feeling they gave off was completely different. Still, that wasn’t the most important detail. The moment Feng Qingyun saw Ming Jingtai’s real body, he understood Long Yin’s meaning. That person, human or not, possessed no cultivation at all.
Not even the level of a little demon soldier!
No wonder Long Yin had so confidently declared that the only true ruler of the city was, and has always been, the heart demon.
But… if the heart demon was so powerful, strong enough to assume control, why didn’t he just imprison the true body? Why let him appear at all, and why treat him with such caution and delicacy?
Before Feng Qingyun could make sense of it, the pale-faced Ming Jingtai offered a weak, apologetic smile as he whispered: “You’ve both traveled far. Forgive me for not greeting you sooner.”
He coughed twice after speaking. However, Long Yin, entirely unmoved by such pleasantries or the man’s frailty, cut straight to the point: “He says you know something about the ruins here. Is that true?”
“With my current condition… I’m afraid I can’t offer much insight,” Ming Jingtai answered, his voice feeble. “But I did see something, an image of the city, a glimpse of what it might look like when the ruins fully appear.”
Each sentence seemed to cost him tremendous effort as he paused before continuing: “These ruins… I believe they’re the legendary Fifth Dimension, containing the remains left behind after the death of the Qilin1.”
Legend had it that the Qilin once governed the power of space, and for a cultivator to succeed in their so-called “ascension”, they had to tear through the void itself. Feng Qingyun’s heart skipped a beat. For some reason, Ming Jingtai’s words triggered another thought.
Right before his Master ripped the sky canopy and “ascended”, she passed the Linshuang Sword down to him.
Qilin… Linshuang…
Was there some unseen connection tying it all together?
“Qilin, huh…” Long Yin narrowed his eyes. “Anything else?”
“There is, but…” Ming Jingtai’s heart demon lifted a hand and tapped the tall mirror beside the bed. The glass shimmered, revealing a faint image, as he continued: “Best to let you see it yourselves.”
Within the mirror, the image of shattered ruins appeared. Amid the rubble, a sword stood planted firmly in the ground, and beside it, a man was gripping the hilt, as though trying to pull it free.
But that man wasn’t looking at the sword.
He was staring off into the distance, eyes locked on something with a look of both shock and yearning on his face.
The moment Feng Qingyun saw the sword, his pupils contracted sharply.
It was Zhong Yulan’s personal weapon, Wangyue.
And the one holding it…
Was Mu Hanyang.
If Mu Hanyang could truly pull out their Master’s life-bound sword, then perhaps he could achieve sudden comprehension and recover his cultivation. Reaching the Golden Core stage again wouldn’t be out of the question.
But his hand gripped the sword without moving. Instead, his wide, pale eyes remained fixed on the horizon. In his expression, disbelief and longing took turns, as if he had seen something, or someone, etched into his soul. He stared like that for a long time. Then, trembling, he finally parted his lips to speak. He hesitated, then whispered two syllables.
But the moment the words left his mouth, he paused, then corrected himself…
… Calling out a name.
And Feng Qingyun had clearly read the shape of his first words: “Miss Yu.”
But the second name…
Was unmistakably:
“Qingyun.”
- The qilin (English: /tʃiˈlɪn/ chee-LIN; Chinese: 麒麟) is a legendary hooved chimerical creature that appears in Chinese mythology, said to appear with the imminent arrival or death of a sage or illustrious ruler. ↩︎
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