Demons are naturally demonic in nature. To possess human emotions, they must experience everything that humans experience, observe what humans observe, feel what humans feel, even suffer what humans suffer.

These elements are all indispensable.

For Fu Chaosheng, he had seen much of the mortal world and even the cultivation realm, but had never truly experienced any of it. Born from enlightenment itself, his consciousness contained no romantic feelings or desires whatsoever, like southerners not knowing of northern bitter oranges—even when seen, they cannot be recognized, much less understood.

But he was formed from the collective wish power of the Mayfly clan, born from the spiritual essence of heaven and earth. Being a demon, he possessed naturally transcendent talent for everything in this world.

Comprehension required only a catalyst.

And the half innocent heart he mistakenly swallowed that day was precisely this catalyst, capable of bringing out traces of mortal warmth within natural indifference.

However…

For a demon born without emotion or desire, this was not necessarily a good thing.

A night had passed.

According to yesterday’s notice to all ghost cultivators, early this morning the three ghost clan elders and Great Judge “Brother Lihan” had already gathered everyone in front of Gou Zhong Tower, preparing to depart for the Underworld.

Jian Chou stood calmly among them.

Loose black robes wrapped her gracefully proportioned figure, the curves of her waist appearing soft on the outside. With painted features and bright lip color, even just standing silently to one side, she resembled a still and alluring painting.

Among the recruited ghost cultivators, men outnumbered women by far.

So Jian Chou stood out conspicuously.

Fu Chaosheng, standing at a high position, spotted her immediately.

What happened in the council hall yesterday seemed to have no effect on her whatsoever, as if it had never occurred at all.

This made him even more bewildered.

He had thought it was because he ate Lord Wu Guan’s half heart and had eaten something bad.

But after hearing his words, Kun told him it wasn’t exactly eating something bad, but even if they wanted to dig it out now it was too late—better to let nature take its course.

Then he muttered something about “not understanding.”

Fu Chaosheng wondered whether Kun’s “not understanding” referred to not understanding the strange situation he now faced, or…

Not understanding his old friend?

But he didn’t pursue the question further, because some voice seemed to tell him: Don’t ask, don’t think—some things can simply not happen.

“Let’s depart.”

The three elders beside him had finished counting the people and confirming everyone’s identities, coming to report to him.

Only then did Fu Chaosheng return to his senses and nod.

Thus, the hundred-plus elite ghost cultivators before Gou Zhong Tower all composed themselves and followed the elders and “Brother Lihan” out of the city.

Fengdu City was a major city in the extreme realm.

Besides being deep within the extreme realm’s inner perimeter and adjacent to Eight Directions City, more importantly, it was built beside the Yellow Springs River—the largest city within the Yellow Springs basin.

The Yellow Springs was to the extreme realm what Nine Head River was to the Nineteen Continents.

It originated near Ghost Gate Pass, flowing from one side of the extreme realm to the other, cutting diagonally across the entire extreme realm.

The Yellow Springs water was turbid—even a feather would sink in it.

Only soul-ferrying boats made from large chunks of wind-swallowing stone could float on the water. Though the material had countless gaps, it could channel wind and water, borrowing their power to move forward.

When they reached the Yellow Springs riverside outside the city, a massive soul-ferrying boat had been waiting at the dock for some time.

Black hull floating on dark red water.

The broad white sail looked abrupt against the extreme realm’s gloomy sky.

Fu Chaosheng boarded first, followed by the three elders, then the one hundred and three recruited elite ghost cultivators.

People stood from bow to stern.

No one needed to steer the boat. A fishy wind blew across the river surface, the sail billowed, and the hull broke through the rippling water surface, heading downstream.

Both banks were mostly flat riverbanks.

Fengdu City’s towering shadow gradually receded behind them.

The boat was filled with oppressive silence.

Few people knew when this large boat would stop, or where it would stop. Would it be at the end of the Yellow Springs?

Standing aboard the moving vessel, watching the sinister or magnificent scenery of both banks pass by, Jian Chou’s gaze became somewhat more profound.

At a time when she clearly shouldn’t be distracted, she found herself remembering many things.

She remembered the isolated island in the human realm, and the ordinary moments when she and Xie Buchen dwelt by rivers and streams;

She remembered the vast Western Sea, the breadth and magnificence seen on the thirteen islands of the immortal path;

She remembered towering Yashan, the rushing waters of Nine Head River flowing through the silent Thousand Cultivator Tombs…

Time flows like water, never ceasing day or night!

The past will always pass, time never looks back.

But if old wounds cannot heal gradually with departing time, they will be permanently carved into one’s heart. With each passing moment, time becomes like a carving knife, etching these scars one degree deeper.

Over days and months, eventually reaching the bone.

The longer the boat traveled, the darker the sky became.

As if sailing into eternal night.

In the darkness, weak glimmers of light flickered, and the Yellow Springs water turned blood red. White bones began appearing sporadically on the flat riverbanks, then as the boat sailed deeper, more and more, more and more…

They seemed to have existed for a long time, washed by Yellow Springs water year after year, all accumulated on the downstream riverbanks.

Some were very distant, some buried in mud…

Desolate wilderness, muddy blood river, forest of white bones!

What overwhelming tragedy struck the face?

Ancient battlefield bones, unable to return home!

The fingers hanging at her sides clenched together the moment she saw those patches of white bones on the riverbank. Jian Chou’s lips trembled slightly, pressed tight. She wanted to close her eyes, to dispel the sudden surge of desolation and grief in her heart, but the scene before her was like sharp blades stabbing into her eyes!

How could she close them?

How could she turn a blind eye?

The heavy darkness, substantial as matter, enveloped everyone on the boat, including Jian Chou, hiding the sudden uncontainable tears in her eyes in places where light couldn’t reach.

No one saw except herself.

Including that darkness that suddenly reached the depths of her heart…

Mao City, the second defensive line of the extreme realm, had been more than half destroyed in recent days of warfare. Except for half a section of towering city wall, not a single intact brick or tile could be found.

Yellow clouds stretched for thousands of li, the sky overcast and gloomy.

The shadows of Nineteen Continents cultivators gathered together fell upon the ground—above and below, everything was chaotic and tragic!

They were about to win.

As long as they captured this important city gate before them, they could take Mao City, break through the extreme realm’s second defensive line, and advance further.

But Fang Xiaoxie finally couldn’t hold on anymore.

He wasn’t injured.

Young as he was, he already possessed Nascent Soul cultivation and inherited Yashan’s consistent tradition—drawing sword without regret, stubborn and combative.

Charging on this battlefield, he was like a blade.

Cunning yet powerful, alert yet brave, with a youth’s boiling blood in his chest. When fighting, he seemed to know neither what fatigue was nor what retreat meant…

However, at this moment, the instant he saw those figures appear once again on the city wall, Fang Xiaoxie finally stepped back.

Staggering…

He could bear it no longer. Holding his blood-stained sword, eyes reddening, he began to cry.

Beside him were other Yashan cultivators.

No one reproached this habitually combative youth for the weakness he showed at this moment, because they all felt that same pain, even more intensely!

In this world, what torment could compare to making them personally slay the souls of former fellow disciples?

Those figures standing on the city wall all carried intimate familiarity.

“They” looked truly no different from living people, no different from cultivators, even no different from the fellow disciples standing beside them!

They even wore faint smiles…

Many people’s eyes reddened as well, the swords in their hands becoming too heavy to lift.

Who could know their pain?

In these days of battle attacking Mao City, they had already faced similar situations multiple times!

Yashan matters, Yashan settles.

Yashan’s old souls should be slain by Yashan’s disciples.

Yet no matter how hard, how cold the iron-stone heart, after raising swords against each other time and again, how could they avoid being riddled with holes?

They had blood and flesh—they were merely mortals.

Even someone like Fang Xiaoxie, who entered the sect extremely late, collapsed when seeing these soul puppets on the city wall again. How much better could they be?

On the battlefield, scorching fierce winds blew.

Soul power scattered along with fresh blood.

In the cruel fighting, few had leisure to notice the pain and struggle before this city gate. Mighty spiritual power gathered above the city, about to launch the final assault…

Fang Xiaoxie didn’t want to cry.

He raised his sleeve, forcefully wiping the tears from his face, wanting to grip his sword tightly again and fight with sword as in days past.

But how could he hold back?

He was still just a child, after all.

Qu Zhengfeng stood behind watching and finally extended his hand. His palm, calloused from years of sword practice, gently rested on Fang Xiaoxie’s shoulder.

Then with slight force, he pulled the person back.

Fang Xiaoxie looked at him with red eyes.

But he didn’t look at Fang Xiaoxie even once, only gazing ahead, walking past him with a calm voice: “Like this, you can’t become Yashan’s eldest senior brother…”

His dark robes with gold threading were extremely heavy and oppressive.

Qu Zhengfeng stepped forward from the crowd, leaving only a steady back view, his broad shoulders still as reliable as in the past.

For those behind him…

Blocking wind, blocking rain, blocking all those pains that shouldn’t exist but appeared anyway.

In a trance, it seemed like the eldest senior brother of Yashan from days past…

But only Qu Zhengfeng himself knew—

He too was merely a coward.

Not choosing to infiltrate the extreme realm again with Jian Chou, but choosing to fight head-on with everyone else, was simply due to the two words “not daring.”

Here and now, he stood before Fang Xiaoxie, taking his place to face this.

But what did this little bit of pain amount to?

There and then, the one truly facing the bloodiest, most cruel reality was not him…

That “little junior sister” he had once been quite dissatisfied with had finally shouldered responsibilities that shouldn’t belong to her, standing before all of Yashan like a true “eldest senior sister,” shielding them from wind and rain…

Kill.

One word.

Fight.

One word.

But whether “kill” or “fight,” though they sounded brief, they seemed endless, even dyeing the sky dark red.

The Yellow Springs water, like Nine Head River water, flowed ceaselessly across the extreme realm’s wasteland, flowing toward dark depths.

The boat finally stopped.

All the ghost cultivators disembarked, standing on the shoreside pier. Only Jian Chou still stood at the stern.

Fu Chaosheng walked toward her, intending to remind her it was time to disembark, but gazing at her expression at this moment, he didn’t know how to speak.

But Jian Chou sensed it.

She slowly withdrew her gaze from that heavy darkness, looked at him, and said: “I know.”

Then she walked down from the boat.

Fu Chaosheng thus remembered Kun’s words “don’t understand” again. He followed behind her, walking at her side. Though he knew it was inappropriate, he still asked.

“Is it that eating that heart gives birth to emotion?”

“…”

Jian Chou’s steps stopped. She slowly turned her eyes to look at him.

Perhaps what she had seen on this boat journey added several degrees of oppressive weight between her brows, plus a trace of absent-minded bewilderment, so even her voice was somewhat ethereal.

But her answer was negative.

“Not emotion.”

Fu Chaosheng looked at her.

But she had already lowered her eyes indifferently, stepping forward again: “It’s desire.”

Not emotion, but desire.

It’s just that sometimes, these two are often difficult to distinguish.

No one knew what would be born after having “desire.”

Wind carrying the scent of blood blew past Fu Chaosheng’s dark blue robes.

In the river bend, not half a bone remained.

But on the riverbank stood a mortuary built from white bones, shrouded in terrifying black miasma that also concealed the countless dark red blood coffins within—sinister, evil, cold, and innumerable!