Snow fell once again on Mount Qingcang, instantly blanketing the summit in white.

Chang Huan grabbed a cloak and hurried over with small steps, draping the garment over Liu Shuang’s shoulders while reproaching her: “My Lady, why are you waiting for the Demon Lord again? Your constitution is weak. The Demon Lord said you needn’t always wait for him here.”

Snowflakes covered Liu Shuang’s hair. She stretched out her hand, watching the snow melt in her palm, and couldn’t help but smile, happily telling Chang Huan: “Did you know? In the mortal realm, the twelfth month is also the coldest season.”

Chang Huan smiled and shook her head. As a ghost cultivator, she had naturally never been to the mortal realm, but in her Lady’s accounts, the mortal realm was a beautiful place that made her yearn to see it.

Liu Shuang’s small face, set against the bitter cold weather, appeared as if carved from ice and snow. Even her once rosy lips had turned somewhat pale. Yet her eyes shone brightly, for this month, her husband Yan Chaosheng, who had been waging war against the Immortal Clan in distant lands, would return.

She tugged at Chang Huan’s sleeve and asked: “Do my clothes look presentable? And my hair, is it neat?”

Chang Huan replied: “My Lady possesses divine beauty; everything is perfect. When the Demon Lord sees you, he surely won’t want to leave again.”

Liu Shuang smiled, her large eyes curving like crescent moons.

Chang Huan felt happy for her. In Chang Huan’s view, the Demon Lord was fierce and warlike. Even after his grand wedding with her Lady, they were rarely together, as he was constantly occupied. Sometimes several years would pass before he returned to Mount Qingcang to accompany her Lady, and after staying for just a few days, he would leave again.

Now the Eight Wildernesses gradually stabilized, with various parties establishing peace treaties. The Demon Lord no longer needed to constantly travel about, and the mixed warfare between Immortals, Demons, Ghosts, and Fiends had ended. Heaven and Earth were bright, and the four seas were peaceful.

Without those urgent matters, the Demon Lord could accompany her Lady and wholeheartedly produce a little heir.

Seeing Liu Shuang rubbing her hands from the cold, Chang Huan couldn’t help but advise: “My Lady, let’s return to the palace to wait.”

Liu Shuang smiled and shook her head. Her cultivation level wasn’t high, nor was her birth distinguished, so there was very little she could do for Yan Chaosheng. Among these few things she could do, she devoted herself wholeheartedly to each one.

A hundred years ago, she remembered standing on Mount Qingcang waiting for him. At that time, he returned riding his Chi Yuan. When he saw her waving and waiting on Mount Qingcang, his eyes carried a smile, and for the first time, his lips curved slightly.

Liu Shuang blinked, overjoyed. Although they were Dao companions, she rarely saw him smile.

He was the Demon Lord and also the Ghost Lord. As the supreme ruler of two realms, he rarely smiled throughout the year, which made her timid. That time when she felt his happiness, she always waited at the entrance of the Ghost Realm on Mount Qingcang whenever he returned from battle, so that home would be the first place he saw her.

The years of waiting were lengthy. Occasionally, he would send word on the first day of the month, saying he would return, but when battles were intense, it might be the fifteenth before she could see his figure, returning covered in the scent of blood.

Thus, Liu Shuang especially cherished their brief moments together.

She didn’t feel that waiting in the severe cold of Mount Qingcang was torturous. The Ghost Realm behind her was what made her more uncomfortable. Her true form was a small blue celestial grass from the mortal realm’s Azure Lake. Though her spiritual power was faint, she still had an immortal body. Living as an immortal in the oppressive Ghost Realm, if not for Yan Chaosheng’s unfathomably deep cultivation and occasional dual cultivation with her, where the spiritual energy that leaked from his fingertips was enough for her clumsy advancement, she could not have endured.

Though the Ghost Realm wasn’t as cold as its entrance at Mount Qingcang, the subtle chill of ghost energy made her entire body uncomfortable, unwilling to step out of the palace.

Yan Chaosheng had suggested she return to live in the warmer Demon Realm, but she refused.

He was fighting for the turbulent Ghost Realm, and if she returned to the Demon Realm, Liu Shuang would not see him. For her, nothing made her happier than seeing him and nestling in his arms.

Chang Huan accompanied her until the hour of Hai, and seeing that night had fallen on Mount Qingcang, immediately said: “My Lady, let’s return first. The Demon Lord might not return until tomorrow. Seeing you like this would pain his heart.”

Liu Shuang nodded, deciding to come again tomorrow. In any case, he would return in the next few days.

Liu Shuang formed a seal, and a giant blue bird flew over from the horizon.

The giant bird had beautiful feathers that shimmered with flowing light, and it landed docilely before Liu Shuang.

She stroked its neck: “Let’s go home, Qing Luan.”

Qing Luan carried her securely, flapped its wings, and soared into the air, leaving a trail of flowing light across the dark, blood-red sky of the Ghost Realm.

Liu Shuang’s Qing Luan and Yan Chaosheng’s Chi Yuan were originally an ancient pair of demon birds. He had acquired them by chance in his youth, and they had followed him for over seven hundred years, the two demon birds exceptionally devoted to each other.

After marrying him, she had wheedled him for one, pestering Yan Chaosheng for a full half year before he finally gave her Qing Luan as her mount.

To tame this demon bird, Liu Shuang spent several decades, stumbling about as she learned to groom its feathers and came up with ideas to please Qing Luan. Only then did it willingly protect her and allow her to command it.

Qing Luan could travel tens of thousands of miles in a day, so it didn’t take long to reach the mere Mount Qingcang.

The Ghost Gate Palace stood solemn and eerie, with dozens of deathly pale ghost cultivator generals guarding the palace doors.

Liu Shuang glanced at the blood-red air above and took a small breath. Her hand gripping Qing Luan’s feathers tightened imperceptibly, unwilling to reveal her natural fear of this place.

Her husband was the only demon-ghost in the Eight Wildernesses, cultivating the ghost path with a demon body. Staying in the Ghost Realm was most comfortable for him.

Even if she disliked this place, she was unwilling to diminish his cultivation for her trivial preferences.

“My Lady, be careful.” Chang Huan extended her hand, supporting Liu Shuang as she leapt from the bird’s back.

Qing Luan sensed something and gave a light cry toward the palace, showing unusual agitation. Soon, a clear bird cry echoed from the palace, and a bright red kite bird flew out from the Ghost Realm, entwining necks with Qing Luan, mutually grooming each other’s feathers.

Chang Huan exclaimed with delight: “My Lady, the Demon Lord has returned!”

With Chi Yuan here, it proved Yan Chaosheng was already in the Ghost Realm palace. Liu Shuang’s cheeks bloomed with joy as she picked up her skirts and ran toward the palace.

Chang Huan chased after her: “My Lady, slow down.”

Liu Shuang wore a crimson gauze dress embroidered with large blooming crabapple blossoms. As she ran through the palace courtyard, the blossoms on her dress shimmered with flowing light, blooming layer upon layer.

Even the gloomy ghost cultivators couldn’t help but turn to look at her, bowing: “My Lady.”

She pushed open the door to her palace but didn’t see Yan Chaosheng inside.

Liu Shuang tilted her head and asked a small ghost attendant: “Where is His Majesty the Demon Lord?”

The ghost attendant said, “The Demon Lord returned injured and is now in the Wuqing Palace.”

“He’s injured! Is it serious?”

“This servant doesn’t know.”

Liu Shuang entered her bedchamber with great concern, deeply worried but not daring to set foot in the Wuqing Palace. Inside the Wuqing Palace was a cold pool, a place with chill severe enough to freeze her mortal body, but an excellent healing location for Yan Chaosheng.

He had issued a strict order forbidding her to step even half a pace into that area.

Liu Shuang sat absentmindedly on the swing in the courtyard. Several thousand ghost butterflies circled her. She waved them away: “Go play by yourselves. My husband has returned, and he’s injured. I’m very worried about him.”

Upon hearing that Yan Chaosheng had returned, the Gui Die immediately scattered in all directions. The courtyard was full of flowers, completely different from the gloomy Ghost Realm outside.

Originally the Ghost Realm was barren, without vitality, naturally unable to grow such vibrant things. After Liu Shuang moved in, her naturally gentle immortal aura, combined with boredom and loneliness, led her to ask Yan Chaosheng’s subordinates for grass seeds, which she nurtured with spiritual energy, trying to plant flowers and grass in the courtyard.

Unexpectedly, she succeeded. Gradually, in the entirely cold, dark, and oppressive Ghost Realm, only her and Yan Chaosheng’s bedchamber had a patch of flowers in full bloom and lush grass.

Even the butterflies, fond of bright colors, loved to fly here stealthily when Yan Chaosheng was absent.

But if he was present, his imposing aura was too strong, and these small creatures dared not come. He had once crushed a Gui Die that couldn’t fly away in time right before her eyes.

The wooden corridor curved and twisted, hung with crystal lanterns.

As the blood-red sky darkened, Yan Chaosheng still hadn’t returned. Chang Huan said, “The Demon Lord is healing his wounds. My Lady, please rest first.”

Liu Shuang nodded, having no choice but to enter her room.

Chang Huan loosened her hair, removed her makeup, and carefully applied fragrant cream. Liu Shuang nestled into the warm bedding, but her heart worried about Yan Chaosheng in the Wuqing Palace.

How was he? How serious were his injuries? Was he in pain?

Thinking until late in the night, she still tossed and turned, unable to sleep, eyes wide open. Until ghost crows flew by outside, their harsh cawing unpleasant to hear, she suddenly realized someone was standing by her bed.

He seemed unsurprised: “Still not asleep?”

His voice was cold, yet it made Liu Shuang’s eyes brighten. She crawled out from under the covers. Yan Chaosheng remained silent for a moment, then, with a movement of his finger, the gentle South Sea night pearls in the room lit up one by one.

Liu Shuang finally saw him.

Her husband, the lord of the Demon Realm and Ghost Realm, is Yan Chaosheng.

He wore a black robe with gold trim, extraordinarily handsome, with thin lips, long eyebrows, pitch-black eyes, looking down at her.

Liu Shuang reached out to him, and he glanced at her once before offering his hand.

This slender hand was icy like jade, just like his body temperature, cold enough to make one tremble. She shivered from the chill but placed his hand against her bosom to warm it, looking up at him with large eyes: “Husband, are your injuries serious?”

In the lamplight, her small face was flushed pink, her eyes watery pools, her lips turned a delicate red. She forgot that his body flowed with demon snake blood, making his temperature impossible to warm.

His expression remained unchanged, but his eyes softened imperceptibly as he said: “Nothing serious.”

Liu Shuang didn’t quibble with him about why he hadn’t passed through Mount Qingcang on his return, making her wait in vain, instead silently returning to the Wuqing Palace.

She worried about his injury and moved to undo his robe: “Let me see.”

Yan Chaosheng held her hand and said, “Don’t be naughty.”

When he forbade others from doing something, he often unconsciously released his aura. Liu Shuang’s true form feared him, and a sense of timidity rose from her heart, but her concern for him still prevailed.

She endured the feeling of her heart being squeezed and persisted: “Husband, let me see, or I won’t be at ease.”

Eventually, she managed to remove his robe.

Yan Chaosheng was a ghost cultivator, his skin paler than ordinary people’s, with a gloomy, deathly whiteness. However, his muscles were beautiful, his body slender, his physique as if exquisitely carved, too beautiful to describe.

She saw his shoulder, where black blood seeped from a wound deep enough to reveal bone. Liu Shuang felt heartbroken. Now that he had few enemies in the Eight Wildernesses, who could have wounded him so severely?

She raised her hand, covering the wound, trying to use her continuous spiritual energy to help him heal. He caught her hand and closed his robe: “Don’t you understand your limits? I don’t need your help to heal. Go to sleep.”

Her true form as a small celestial grass had healing as its best cultivated immortal art. Although she had lived in the Ghost Realm for many years, she never dared neglect her practice, fearing that one day Yan Chaosheng would return injured, and she would be unable to help him.

Now he pressed her wrist, needing little strength. With a gentle push, Liu Shuang sank into the cloud quilt, unable to move.

He leaned over her, his expression bland, looking down at her.

He was a lord who cultivated the ghost path. The expression most others saw from him often made them retreat three steps, their teeth chattering. But Liu Shuang, nestled in the cloud quilt, didn’t feel this way.

In Yan Chaosheng’s eyes, she saw her reflection.

Cloud-like hair and flower-like face, eyes like spring water.

The crystal lamps were bright and beautiful. In their light, she wore only a beautiful, light inner garment, her chest full, her waist slender.

Liu Shuang met his gaze, her cheeks unconsciously reddening: “Husband?”

Her toes curled nervously. Though the times they had made love weren’t many, each occasion made her terrified yet blushing and heart-pounding.

His ghost cultivator’s physique tended to be cold, and even though her true form was a naturally gentle celestial grass, she could barely endure it. But in Liu Shuang’s eyes, even if he was cold, he was perfect in every way, everything about him delighting her.

Seeing he didn’t object, she overcame her shyness, making space beside her and embracing his neck: “Husband, come rest.”

He was injured, so of course she didn’t intend to do anything with him, only wanting to nestle in his arms and softly exchange intimate words.

He stared at her flower-like, delicate face for a long moment. His eyes darkened slightly, and he expressionlessly removed her soft little hands from his body.

“No need. I won’t rest here tonight.”

Liu Shuang blinked in confusion. The ghost crow’s cry indicated it was already the third watch of the night. Since he had left the Wuqing Palace, he shouldn’t return there.

This late, if he wasn’t going to sleep with her, why had he come back, and where was he going?

“Is the Ming Xi Pearl still here? I need to borrow it.”

Hearing him say this, she immediately got out of bed and picked up a small jade horse used for storage nearby. The small horse was something Yan Chaosheng had made with his power for her birthday two years ago, and she loved it dearly.

Seeing her joy, Yan Chaosheng had put in more effort, turning it into a spiritual tool for storage.

“Everything is here, husband.” Her slender, fair fingers lightly tapped, and inside the jade horse were all the things he had given her over the years.

Densely packed, a dazzling array that bewildered the eye.

She sat cross-legged, obediently taking out the Ming Xi Pearl for him. Most items in the jade horse were gifts from Yan Chaosheng, but this Ming Xi Pearl was different, a gift from an old friend that could ward off tribulation lightning and pacify the seven souls.

She looked at him curiously: “Husband, is someone going through tribulation?”

Yan Chaosheng took the pearl, which still carried her unique warm temperature, comfortably nestled against his palm. He lowered his gaze, inadvertently seeing her innocent and affectionate look, and said lightly: “No. Stay here and don’t wander. I’ll come to accompany you when I have time.”

Liu Shuang nodded.

He paused: “The Ming Xi Pearl… I’ll return it to you when I’m done.”

Liu Shuang said: “It’s fine. My tribulation is still some time away, and without the Ming Xi Pearl, I have my husband. You promised to accompany me during my tribulation. With you there, heavenly lightning won’t harm me.” Her small tribulation would be a catastrophe for her, but for Yan Chaosheng, he could dispel it with a wave of his hand.

Yan Chaosheng did not comment.

“Be good. I’m leaving.”

Although he knew these words were superfluous for her, she was always good. When he was present, she was obedient and clingy, saying shameless things without hesitation. When he was absent, she was still good. When he wasn’t in the Ghost Realm, she rarely went out, often tending to her flowers and plants in the courtyard, venturing out.

Liu Shuang saw he was about to step out the door, the hem of his robe embroidered with golden taotie patterns billowing in the wind, and a sense of reluctance surged in her heart. She hadn’t seen him for two months.

Barefoot, she ran after him and embraced his waist.

Yan Chaosheng didn’t look back: “What is it?”

She stood on tiptoe and kissed his icy cheek, saying softly: “Husband, I just wanted to tell you I missed you very much.”

His black eyelashes cast shadows on his face. From beginning to end, his waist never bent as he said lightly: “Mm, go back.”

Yan Chaosheng walked out of the exquisitely decorated corridor, with crystal lanterns swaying gently along it.

These strange things were all collected from across the Eight Wildernesses at her wheedling. Yan Chaosheng pulled out the Ming Xi Pearl from his bosom and frowned, not even knowing himself when he had given her so many things.

He touched his cheek where she had lightly kissed him, the place seeming to still retain a temperature different from his icy skin.

Yan Chaosheng’s eyes remained calm and undisturbed as he walked out of the corridor. The lingering ghost crows dispersed, respectfully making way for their lord. He showed no attachment, not once looking back at her.