When Long Yin heard that voice, he suddenly laughed. But Feng Qingyun frowned, clearly displeased. He grabbed him by the neck and asked coldly, “What are you laughing at?”
“Of course, I’m laughing because our Little Rose is adorable. You were clearly thinking about devouring me, scales and all…” Long Yin leaned close to Feng Qingyun’s ear, his voice soft and exact as he repeated the words that had just crossed Feng Qingyun’s mind.
“…but you only dared to say it quietly in your heart.”
Feng Qingyun froze. After a long pause, his eyes narrowed dangerously, answering: “So you really can hear what I’m thinking.”
Long Yin raised a brow. “Naturally. I am the all-knowing dragon Go…”
Before he could finish, Feng Qingyun’s vines snapped tight. The thorned tendrils lashed around Long Yin’s throat, constricting in an instant.
The sharp barbs tightened against his skin like a serpent covered in thorns, looking as if they might pierce his neck at any second, as crimson petals brushed his body, blooming like drops of blood.
Beautiful, perilous, and ghostly.
As they rubbed together, a stray petal “accidentally” swept once more across the scale at Long Yin’s neck. Feng Qingyun thought he’d done it without being noticed, but Long Yin merely laughed, leaned in until their noses touched, and murmured, “Do you like it?”
He didn’t specify what he meant, but both of them knew.
As the potion’s effects deepened, Feng Qingyun’s mind became like a sheet of paper, half-written, half-erased. The things that had just happened were already beginning to blur and slip away.
So he said nothing. Instead, he looped his arms around Long Yin’s neck and gently stroked that one, unique scale.
The scent of roses filled the air, spilling softly against the dragon’s ear. The movement was tender, like a lover’s caress, but behind that tenderness was a predator’s obsession, laced with killing intent.
Feng Qingyun said nothing, but Long Yin could hear it clearly in his mind.
[I like it.]
[I want it.]
So Long Yin chuckled and pinched his cheek. “Then take it,” he said. “Why so dishonest, even when you’re drunk?”
Before Feng Qingyun could react, he raised his hand and pressed his fingers to the reverse scale on his own neck. Feng Qingyun’s heart lurched as he lifted his gaze, about to stop him, but it was too late.
Long Yin gave a sudden pull, and like tearing silk, he ripped the scale clean from his neck.
Blood sprayed instantly. Feng Qingyun froze in shock, his vines surging up of their own accord to coil around the wound in instinctive delight.
Even a serpent guarded its reverse scale like its life, how much more so a dragon!
But Long Yin acted as if he felt no pain at all. As though unaware of the blood flowing freely down his throat, he lifted the scale, as black as obsidian and tinged with golden specks of light, and placed it into Feng Qingyun’s trembling hands.
The touch was cold and smooth like jade.
While Feng Qingyun stood dazed, Long Yin bent down and brushed his lips against his. “Now,” he said softly, “I’m yours.”
I’m yours.
Feng Qingyun’s heart shuddered.
Suddenly, a fragment of memory from the illusion surfaced in his mind, the dragon God’s whispering:
Take my heart, and give it to the one you love.
In that moment, illusion and reality overlapped completely, and the chaos in his mind exploded into a storm. Feng Qingyun clutched the scale tightly, unable to speak. As for Long Yin, he lowered his head and gently pried open his fingers. A flicker of demonic Qi later, the black scale was strung into a pendant and fastened around Feng Qingyun’s neck.
Against pale skin, the dark dragon scale looked like the mark a sea dragon might leave on a beauty it claimed from beneath the ocean depths.
A mark of possession.
Anyone who saw him would know instantly: this beauty already belonged to someone. Yet the beauty himself only stared blankly down at the scale, as if unaware he’d just been branded. At that sight, all of Long Yin’s dark, twisted desires were finally and completely satisfied.
The thrill surged through him, drowning out everything, even the searing pain at his neck, even the blood that still dripped down his collarbone.
But while the pain meant nothing to Long Yin, to Feng Qingyun, it meant everything.
The scent of blood, so rich and familiar, hit him like a tide. Before he could even think, his vines moved on their own, wrapping around Long Yin’s wound and drinking greedily from it. The taste of blood jolted Feng Qingyun back to himself. He looked at Long Yin, at those dragon eyes burning just inches away, and whispered, “How did you know what I wanted?”
Even as he asked, he already half knew the answer. But the lingering haze of the Mengpo Soup muddled his mind, and he still couldn’t tell what was illusion and what was real.
After all, the dragon God of the illusion had also been able to hear his thoughts.
Long Yin didn’t answer. He simply pulled him close by the waist, holding him like he was made of frost: delicate, cold, and impossibly fragile. When he had indulged enough, he smiled faintly and asked in return, “What do you think?”
Feng Qingyun stared into his eyes. His mind felt swollen, on the verge of bursting. And then, out of nowhere, a thought rose, absurd yet utterly logical.
[The Heavenly Dao.]
That name, within their world… no one would have believed it possible. The lie that Zhong Yulan had told Mu Hanyang in jest… had turned out to be true.
But had the lie simply been told so many times that it gave birth to a god of deceit? Or had it always been the god himself weaving that lie, deceiving the entire heavens from the very start?
Long Yin laughed softly. Catching Feng Qingyun off guard, he seized his wrist and, with one smooth motion, reversed their positions, pressing him down onto the bed.
“!”
Feng Qingyun’s heart leapt. His vines reacted instinctively, one thorn piercing into Long Yin’s open wound.
“Congratulations,” Long Yin murmured, as if the pain didn’t exist. He bent down, kissed Feng Qingyun’s lips, and whispered, “My Little Rose is so clever.”
At that moment, Feng Qingyun’s pupils constricted.
He was… he was…
The instinctive reverence a cultivator had for the divine, the bone-deep fear of the heavens, all of it burst forth at once. The overwhelming tide of emotion collided with the already-chaotic potion in his veins, sending everything spinning.
He felt drunk and lost, grasping for a single thread of clarity.
Feng Qingyun’s fingers sought the cool dragon scale resting against his chest, but before he could touch it, his wrist was caught and pulled aside.
“!”
His hand brushed somewhere it shouldn’t, sending a shiver through him. Unable to withdraw it, he could only welcome the dragon’s lips as they pressed down again, silencing him. Realizing who he was, Feng Qingyun gave a soft, helpless sound and closed his eyes.
Long Yin was… The god who ruled the heavens, the one who governed all creation.
And just then, the potion reached its peak.
To forget it all meant not only the past, but everything that had happened since the potion had taken effect. So when Feng Qingyun opened his eyes again, he would remember nothing.
Not even that moment.
Just before his consciousness sank, his Master’s voice surfaced in his mind, whispering from long ago.
“Qinglong lies buried in the Eastern Wilds. Baihu sleeps in the Underworld…”
“When all Four Ancient Beasts perished…”
Everything the immortals had done… was, in truth, for one thing:
To dismember the Heavenly Dao.
That thought flashed across his mind like the last light before death. The instant it appeared, Feng Qingyun was seized by a pain so intense it felt boundless, so he let out a muffled cry and clutched at the man above him, desperate… desperate not to forget.
No… I can’t… I mustn’t forget…
The images from the illusion, the horrifying nails forged from human pillars, the blood seeping from dragon scales, all of it overlapped with the reality before him.
It felt as if his very heart was crying blood.
And then, beside his ear, a quiet voice said: “Forget it.”
Forget it all. All the heaviness, the terror of the past, and the abyss of the future. Let me bear it alone.
That voice seemed to carry magic. A faint wind brushed across his cheek, and in that dim, drowsy haze, Feng Qingyun felt himself sinking, like falling into mud. His consciousness ebbed, and after a long while, he knew nothing at all.
He’d fallen completely unconscious.
The moonlight poured through the window, casting silver light across the room as silence descended.
Long Yin held him close, staring unblinkingly at the scene before him.
To him, it was almost unbearably beautiful.
The blood roses still spread across the chamber, unable to withdraw their vines. The exquisite beauty they regarded as master lay naked among the blooms, defenseless and as quiet as a doll waiting to be embraced.
And the flower wine still burned faintly in Long Yin’s stomach.
He didn’t know whether it was his dragon instincts whispering to him, or the Heavenly Dao itself pushing him forward, but a voice kept rising in his mind, whispering:
When he wakes tomorrow, he won’t remember a thing. So you can do whatever you wish. After all, you are the undying Heavenly Dao.
In that realm, no god, ghost, or demon could defy him.
Every justification lay before him, yet Long Yin did nothing. He only sat there under the moonlight, watching the man in his arms for a long, long time before finally pulling him closer. That poor beauty, bullied the whole night through and unconscious now, still refused to loosen his grip on the dragon scale clutched in his hand.
Seeing that, Long Yin’s heart softened completely.
He leaned down to kiss the man’s lips, but before he could, a single tear slipped from the corner of Feng Qingyun’s eye.
Long Yin froze. Then he felt a devastating wave of aching tenderness surge up from within him.
Desire and pain tangled together, flooding his mind until he could barely breathe. At last, he brushed away the tear with his lips, gathered the man into his arms, and settled him amidst the endless bloom of roses.
………………….
In Fengdu, there was no day.
Only a night that never ended, so those who fell asleep here could never tell how much time had passed. Feng Qingyun slept as though bewitched, completely unaware of how long he’d been lost to dreams. When he finally woke, it was to the noise outside the window.
He had no idea what he’d been dreaming about, only that he hadn’t wanted to wake, his eyelids as heavy as lead. It took all his strength to lift them open.
But the first thing he saw was Long Yin’s wounded neck.
Then came the roses. Countless, languidly satisfied blossoms. He hadn’t yet withdrawn his vines. Dazed, he stared blankly at the scar.
…Why was his man’s neck injured?!
Feng Qingyun felt like someone waking from a hangover, his head foggy and thoughts scattered, but still, instinctively, he reached out to touch the wound.
“You’re awake?”
Long Yin’s voice made him realize he was still in the man’s arms. The dragon had been awake the whole time.
Startled, Feng Qingyun immediately tried to get up. Long Yin sat upright at once and helped him to his feet. Clad only in a thin inner robe, Feng Qingyun frowned and leaned against his chest, half-closing his eyes as if dizzy, saying nothing.
Long Yin, careful as though handling fragile glass, lifted his hand to rub Feng Qingyun’s temples. The room was terribly silent. And yet, with every breath, Feng Qingyun’s expression darkened as though something was beginning to surface.
And with it, Long Yin’s heart sank.
“You…” Feng Qingyun drew a deep breath and finally opened his mouth.
But his voice came out hoarse and broken, so he shut his mouth again.
Long Yin hurriedly poured him a cup of water and held it to his lips, all deference and care. As for Feng Qingyun, he brushed the hair from his face, leaned forward, and took a sip. The water was faintly sweet, so he froze, then looked up sharply.
“…What is this?”
Long Yin, testing the waters, said, “…Honey water.”
The moment the words left his mouth, the memory of past anger flared. Feng Qingyun’s face went red with fury as he snatched the cup and nearly hurled it at him. Seeing he was back to his usual self, Long Yin quickly raised his hands in surrender and answered with a smile: “Wrong, wrong! It’s Wogan Spring Water! For replenishing blood!”
Feng Qingyun shot him a withering glare, but in the end, still lifted the cup and drank in small, curt sips.
But the entire time, his eyes never left Long Yin.
Something felt missing. Something vital.
Something far more important than the humiliation of being teased by his man.
But his mind was like paper pasted over with glue, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t recall what it was. As he frowned in thought, his gaze drifted back to Long Yin’s neck. The moment he saw the wound again, his heart jolted, so he set down the cup and asked sharply, “What happened to your neck?!”
With Long Yin’s cultivation, at the level of a Golden Core dragon, no one in all of Fengdu could have left such a wound…
No one except Feng Qingyun himself.
Long Yin saw the worry in his eyes and deliberately didn’t answer. He even picked up Feng Qingyun’s cup and took a sip from it while Feng Qingyun, frantic, slapped him on the back.
“Well? What happened?!”
Usually, his temper amounted to little more than a kitten’s pawing, as he’d never truly struck him. But this time, too angry to care, he didn’t bother holding back. Long Yin choked on his drink, half-coughing, half-laughing, and half-almost spitting blood. Hastily, he raised his hands, answering: “All right, all right, have mercy, Sword Master!”
Then he tapped a finger against Feng Qingyun’s chest, right where the dragon scale hung.
Feng Qingyun froze and glanced down instinctively, as Long Yin took the chance to plead his case.
“How unjust! This Lord gave a heartfelt token of love, and all I get in return is a slap!”
After a night’s warmth, the dragon scale had long since taken on the heat of Feng Qingyun’s skin. That was why, upon waking, he hadn’t even noticed its weight against his chest.
Not until now.
Feng Qingyun pulled it out and stared.
Under the candlelight, the black-gold scale gleamed like it was made half from metal and half from jade, impossibly exquisite. But the moment Feng Qingyun saw it, his body went rigid. His pupils constricted as he recognized it instantly.
It was the reverse scale from Long Yin’s neck.
…What kind of dragon would tear out his reverse scale and make it into a trinket to give away?! What kind of feeling could drive a dragon to offer something like that willingly?!
An indescribable emotion surged up from deep within Feng Qingyun’s chest, making his skin prickle. Seeing his expression change, Long Yin instantly guessed what he was thinking and laughed.
“That’s the betrothal gift you cried and begged for last night. You said you wouldn’t stop until I gave it to you, or until you ate me alive.”
Feng Qingyun froze, then his face went crimson. “Don’t talk nonsense!”
But as soon as he said it, regret struck him.
If he hadn’t truly behaved like that last night, there was no way that dragon scale would be hanging around his neck now. At the thought, his expression darkened further. It was as though he was furious… at himself.
Long Yin leaned close, teasing gently. “What’s wrong now, my beloved ancestor?”
Through gritted teeth, Feng Qingyun spat, “I don’t have a grandson who gives away his reverse scale so casually!”
“How can it be casual?” Long Yin smiled, drawing him into his arms. “If it makes my bride happy, what’s one reverse scale? I’d give up my dragon heart if he asked…”
He didn’t finish.
Because at that moment, Feng Qingyun’s expression changed entirely as he slapped a hand over Long Yin’s mouth and glared.
“You still dare mention the illusion!?”
Through his hand, their eyes met. Long Yin noted that Feng Qingyun spoke of the illusion, but not of that. Which meant he truly didn’t remember much of what had happened under the influence of the Mengpo Soup.
Silently, Long Yin exhaled a breath of relief, but outwardly, he only laughed.
“All right, all right, my mistake. This Lord won’t mention it again.” He then sighed softly, gathered Feng Qingyun back into his arms, and murmured, “This reverse scale was given willingly. There’s nothing for you to feel guilty about.”
Feng Qingyun had indeed been wallowing in guilt, but something about that phrasing felt off.
He looked up sharply, fixing Long Yin with a narrow gaze.
“I was the one who got drunk on the Mengpo Soup,” he said. “So how did you end up the one tearing off your reverse scale?”
His voice dropped lower.
“And why didn’t either of the two bottles of Mengpo Soup work on you?”
Long Yin: “…”
Even a dragon as practiced in spinning lies as Long Yin began to sweat. He cleared his throat, forcing a serious face.
“Perhaps that old hag saw how generous I looked, assumed this Lord wasn’t the type to return and cause trouble, and decided to cheat me. Maybe only the last of those three bottles was real…” But even as he spoke, he knew the story didn’t sound believable. Feng Qingyun was no fool, so obviously, his face darkened instantly as he sat up from Long Yin’s arms in one sharp motion.
Long Yin leaned forward to coax him, but before he could get close, a bare foot pressed against his shoulder.
“Shut up!”
The pale arch of that right foot, the curve of a bare ankle, from Long Yin’s angle, his gaze trailed up the slender leg and almost caught a glimpse of something far more private. So he froze, obeying the command without another word. Only the slight movement of his throat betrayed him, Adam’s apple sliding as he swallowed.
But Feng Qingyun, unaware of any of that, thought the pose looked perfectly authoritative. Still unsatisfied, he pressed harder against Long Yin’s shoulder and scolded, “You lying bastard… You’ve never once said anything that made me happy!”
Of course, the more he scolded, the more the dragon wanted to be scolded.
But since a dignified Demon Lord couldn’t exactly admit to such a shameful kink, Long Yin put on a guilty look instead. He grasped the other’s ankle lightly and murmured, wounded, “…Not even once, in two lifetimes?”
Feng Qingyun tried to pull his foot away and failed, snapping, “No!”
But in his heart, he muttered:
[There was, but I’m not telling this bastard.]
Long Yin felt his heart melt entirely. He couldn’t help smiling, though his acting was impeccable as he lowered his gaze, letting it dim with sorrow, and said softly, “I truly don’t know how to speak sweetly. In the illusion, no one ever taught me. I offended you then, and now, in this life, I’ve earned your hatred once more.
“If the Little Palace Master truly despises me, then I can only beg for punishment. Please, cast a silence curse upon me.”
His mouth claimed he couldn’t speak well, but every word was carefully measured. Had it been the amnesiac Feng Qingyun from last night, he might’ve been fooled into softening… But the Feng Qingyun before him had learned better as he sneered, asking: “Is that so? You said it yourself.”
And before Long Yin could react, he really did raise his hand and cast a silence spell. Long Yin blinked, then found, to his horror, that when he opened his mouth again, no sound came out.
For once, his expression was one of genuine shock.
Feng Qingyun smirked, patted his cheek, and said, “You really are much more pleasant when you’re quiet.”
Long Yin: “…”
Once again, he’d managed to hoist a rock only to drop it on his own foot!
He said nothing for a long time. Then, unable to bear it any longer, he sent a sound transmission instead: “Dignified Palace Master, merciful as always, might I at least…”
Before he could finish, Feng Qingyun snorted.
“Try that again and I’ll add another half-day.”
Long Yin finally gave up, reduced to a tall, handsome mute.
Just then, noise erupted outside, and Feng Qingyun looked up sharply. He realized that the same noise was likely what had awakened him earlier, so he frowned, asking: “What’s going on out there?”
Turning to Long Yin, he was met only with a helpless shrug.
Feng Qingyun kicked him lightly. “What use are you?!”
Still, while his words were sharp, his hands were careful. Feng Qingyun tucked the dragon-scale pendant back inside his inner robe before rising, pulling on his clothes, and dragging Long Yin out with him.
Fengdu was always chaotic, but tonight, something was different, as the streets were in complete disorder.
Shouts and hurried footsteps filled the air. Under the heavy black sky, cultivators moved back and forth with anxious faces, like a procession of restless ghosts. Feng Qingyun adjusted his collar and reached out to stop a passing demonic cultivator, asking: “Excuse me, sir, what’s happened today? Why is everyone in such a rush?”
The demon turned. Seeing who had spoken, he looked momentarily delighted, until he noticed Long Yin standing behind, his eyes cold and watchful.
The demon froze mid-smile.
Long Yin’s mood was already foul, but silenced by a spell, he could only glare darkly.
As for Feng Qingyun, the only thing he saw was that the man was too frightened to answer. With a sigh, he pulled Long Yin behind him and said pleasantly, “My husband’s been poisoned mute. You needn’t be afraid.”
Long Yin: “…”
Poisoned mute?!
The demon’s eyes went wide as his mind spun in disbelief.
Poisoned?! What in the heavens were those two playing at?! Could it be that the little beauty cultivates the Ruthless Path and plans to kill his lover to ascend?!
Terrified, the demonic cultivator blurted out, “R–reporting to Senior, the Ghost Gate has opened early!”
Feng Qingyun froze. He looked toward the direction of the commotion, and indeed, it was where the Ghost Gate stood.
The Ghost Gate? Opened ahead of time?
Suspicion flickered in his eyes, though his smile remained calm.
“Thank you for telling me.”
His voice was gentle as spring wind, but the frightened demon shuddered all the same, bowing quickly and backing away.
Following his directions, Feng Qingyun led Long Yin toward the Ghost Gate.
When they arrived, the place was swarming with people. Under the night sky, the endless crowd looked like a sea of souls lining up for reincarnation, eerie and unsettling. Feng Qingyun’s brow twitched. He caught Long Yin’s arm just as the man was about to stride forward, saying: “Wait. Let’s see what’s going on first.”
The Ghost Gate never opened before the fifteenth, so whatever it was that happened, it could only be an ill omen.
Something was wrong.
Long Yin paused, then nodded, standing quietly behind him at the end of the line. But soon, the other cultivators began to notice them. A few sharp-eyed ones exchanged looks… A beautiful figure wearing a veil… accompanied by a mute man.
In the cultivation world, unless one practiced a vow of silence, such people were rare. Those who lost a sense and still managed to cultivate were usually either born of powerful clans or cursed by divine punishment.
But with the Heavenly Dao long dead, only the first type remained.
And so, the whispers began.
Many assumed they were some noble family’s young master and his mute servant, and in a place like Fengdu, such things often invited the wrong kind of attention. However, Feng Qingyun ignored the stares. When he noticed Long Yin’s eyes darkening, he gently tugged his arm and whispered, “Go see why the line isn’t moving.”
Long Yin arched a brow and pointed to his throat.
“Go as you are,” Feng Qingyun said coolly, giving him a push. “No bargaining.”
Long Yin chuckled soundlessly and actually obeyed.
Watching him leave, a nearby demonic cultivator with no small amount of power narrowed his eyes.
He wasn’t like the others, so he could tell at a glance that Long Yin was no ordinary mute. He sensed demonic Qi in him and realized the man had been silenced by a spell, probably cast by the spoiled beauty himself. Still, his imagination went elsewhere.
So that’s it. A pampered young lord and his bound demon slave.
He smirked. In the cultivation world, powerful families prized bloodlines and often kept demonic or beastly servants to… satisfy less proper tastes. But a silencing curse? Even he hadn’t seen that before.
Perhaps this young master has even stranger preferences…
The thought sent a thrill down his spine. And what if that silence spell were reversed? What if the master were the one left voiceless, helpless beneath someone else’s hands? The more he pictured it, the more excited he became. Such a beauty, clearly raised in luxury, had probably never suffered a thing in his life. The more sheltered the flower, the sweeter it was to bruise.
So he licked his lips and signaled his attendant. The subordinate understood at once and stepped forward.
Feng Qingyun was still lost in thought, wondering exactly what Long Yin was hiding from him about last night, when a shadow fell across his face.
He looked up.
A demon stood before him, bowing in mock courtesy. His tone, however, was arrogant, saying: “Young Master, my lord, the Great Wilderness Demon King, invites you to his chariot for a talk.”
The moment that name was spoken, murmurs swept the line as faces paled. A few even backed away, but Feng Qingyun only repeated lightly: “Great Wilderness Demon King? Never heard of him.”
The servant frowned. “My lord rules a city in the demon realm, with countless servants and concubines. Should you accompany him, you’ll be treated with every honor.”
Feng Qingyun smiled faintly. “I appreciate the offer,” he answered, “but such matters must be discussed with my husband when he returns.”
The servant scowled, but before he could reply, his master strode up, sneering.
“Your husband? You mean that mute?”
Feng Qingyun’s eyes cooled as he answered, “And what of it?”
“Nothing,” the demon drawled, reaching to lift his chin. “I merely came to tell you…” He didn’t finish, as Feng Qingyun turned his head, dodging the touch. The demon’s expression twisted with anger, and he snatched the chain at Feng Qingyun’s throat instead, yanking hard.
“That man’s not coming back! But if you come with me, perhaps…”
He broke off with a gasp. In his hand gleamed a single black-gold scale, and the instant he touched it, the power within flared, searing his palm and making his body tremble.
A single scale… with that much power?!
Humiliated and enraged, the demon masked his fear with mockery, sneering back: “So that mute of yours was a black serpent after all…”
The words were cut short by a sound like tearing cloth. Blood spattered across the cobblestones, and the crowd gasped.
Roses and thorns burst forth, impaling the demon straight through his Dantian.
The blooms gleamed crimson, glistening like freshly spilled blood. Feng Qingyun sat still, watching coldly as the man crumpled to his knees before him, his face twisted in pain and disbelief.
All around, people recoiled.
“It’s a Blood Rose…!” someone whispered, horrified.
A thousand years might pass without seeing such a monstrous plant take human form, so everyone backed away, leaving a wide circle around them.
The man’s attendant trembled where he stood, white as a sheet. But that useless so-called “demon king”, choking on blood, still managed to snarl, “To… to slay a demon in Fengdu… aren’t you afraid the Demon Emperor will punish you?!”
Feng Qingyun laughed softly.
“Are you suggesting my Demon Emperor would waste his time avenging you?”
At that moment, Long Yin returned, and those words were the first he heard. He looked up.
Feng Qingyun sat in the center of the chaos, gaze lowered in calm disdain, watching the dying demon kneel at his feet. The roses at his side pulsed with life, spitting out the blood they’d just drained as if displeased with the taste.
Long Yin’s lips curved faintly, but the smile didn’t last.
“You arrogant fool!” the demon wheezed. “I… I’ve served in the Demon Palace itself! I’m one of His Majesty’s own attendants!”
“Is that so?”
Feng Qingyun’s tone was almost playful. He shot Long Yin a sidelong glance, about to speak, but the dying man, perhaps delirious with pain, blurted out one more fatal sentence.
“If he knew how you treated me, the Demon Emperor himself would never spare you!”
Long Yin: “…”
Feng Qingyun, who had managed to maintain composure until now, finally burst out laughing. Especially after seeing the murderous look on Long Yin’s face, he couldn’t help it, and a soft pfft escaped his lips.
The demon thought he was being mocked and roared, “You dare laugh at…”
He never finished, as a shadow fell over him. He looked up and froze.
The mute “husband” was standing there, expressionless, a faint killing intent radiating off him. And beside him stood a servant dressed in the robes that belonged to the Underworld.
Before the demon could react, that servant stepped forward, bowed respectfully toward Feng Qingyun, and said, “Your Highness, honored guest from afar, my Mistress bids me to convey her apologies for failing to welcome you properly. The Ghost Gate was opened specially in your honor.”
At those words, the entire street fell silent.
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