Driven by a strange impulse, Bai Shuo clarified, “I mean… great demon, have you ever been married?”
Seeing Fan Yue’s stunned expression, Bai Shuo suddenly realized what she had asked. She could have smacked herself—was she out of her mind? She had intended to ask why the great demon, as a divine wood spirit, had taken to cultivating demon power, or what the consequences of not collecting all eight pieces of the Bodhi tree would be. And she ended up asking this idiotic question?
“I…” Bai Shuo wished she could find a hole to crawl into. She was about to make an excuse when a pair of hands grasped her chin. She looked up, meeting a pair of curious, slightly amused eyes.
“What difference does it make to you whether I’ve been married or not?”
“I…”
The Hao Yue Hall Master’s lips curled slightly as he leaned in closer.
“Bai Shuo, why do you want to know?”
The moonlight fell between them, their breaths just inches apart, rendering the usually silver-tongued Bai Half-Immortal speechless.
“I-I…”
Fan Yue’s face moved even closer, until Bai Shuo suddenly clutched her shoulder, her brow furrowing.
“What’s wrong?” Fan Yue paused, surprised.
“Cold… it hurts.”
Bai Shuo looked up at him pitifully. Fan Yue’s gaze dropped to her right shoulder, his eyes darkening.
A year ago, Bai Shuo had suffered a severe injury on Phoenix Island, and her right shoulder had never fully healed since, despite her being a semi-immortal. But after all, she cultivated demonic power, not divine.
“Ah!”
With a surprised yelp, Bai Shuo found herself gently pulled into a slightly cool embrace.
“G-g-great demon…” Bai Shuo stammered, her lips barely forming the words.
“Be quiet.”
Fan Yue’s cold voice snapped at her lightly as he laid her onto a soft divan. Leaning down, he reached toward her, and Bai Shuo instinctively covered her eyes.
Moments of silence passed, but a warm sensation spread across her right shoulder. Opening her eyes, she froze, seeing Fan Yue seated at the edge of the divan, his hand resting on her shoulder as divine power steadily flowed into her spiritual veins.
Oh, no… This much divine energy—if the great demon found out she’d been faking… Bai Shuo’s conscience kicked in, and she was just about to confess when Fan Yue brought his other hand up, covering her eyes.
“Sleep.”
Fan Yue’s voice was low and hoarse, and a wave of drowsiness washed over Bai Shuo, causing her to close her eyes.
The hall doors opened as Fan Yue stepped outside. Snow and wind fell in the courtyard but didn’t touch the hall interior.
Long Yi, who had kept watch outside the hall all night, yawned tiredly as Fan Yue paused before him.
“Is there something you need?”
“Accompany me to the South Sea.”
Long Yi blinked. “Huh? In the middle of the night? You’re going on a midnight stroll?” The pig suddenly realized something, his expression turning serious. “You’re going for the Bi Ling Grass?”
The Bi Ling Grass grew on Dragon Island in the South Sea and was a sacred plant to the dragon clan. Any immortal, when injured, could be healed by consuming it. Bai Shuo, being an immortal, couldn’t have her lingering injuries fully healed by Fan Yue’s demonic power alone, as the forces of demon and immortal power were incompatible.
“You’re insane! Even if the dragon clan has declined, the Bi Ling Grass is protected by the barrier set by Twilight in ancient times. You’re only a semi-divine being now, ahhh—”
Before Long Yi could finish his rant, Fan Yue swept him up into his sleeve. A flash of light swept across the night as the figure of a man and a pig disappeared from the hall.
Meanwhile, a thousand miles away at Cold Spring Palace, Chong Zhao strode briskly out of the main hall, clad in black. Fu Ling, who had been waiting outside, quickly approached him.
“A-Zhao!”
Chong Zhao stopped. “What is it?”
The strong scent of blood clung to Chong Zhao, indicating that he’d recently wiped out yet another small clan of the demon realm. Fu Ling, holding back her initial concerns, asked instead, “Did the Palace Master send you to kill someone again?”
“No, the Palace Master sent me to retrieve something.”
Fu Ling’s expression grew doubtful. “Is it really that simple?”
“Not quite,” Chong Zhao turned his head, his voice cold and devoid of emotion. “The Palace Master has commanded that anyone who dares to seize it… shall be eliminated.”
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