Chapter 28

Rong Shang had always despised six-eyed, red-backed spiders. Their bulbous bodies were filled with venom and foul blood, bursting open like overripe cherries with the slightest touch.

If their numbers were few, he wouldn’t have minded. But this time, the demonic cultivators had clearly gone to great lengths, unleashing thousands upon thousands of these dark creatures.

Each spider had six hollow eye sockets that emitted venomous threads and green, viscous liquid, as revolting as snot.

Though Rong Shang was immune, his distaste for filth was unmatched. If even a drop of that foul mixture splattered on him, not a single demonic cultivator in Sand Valley would leave alive.

As the swarm surged toward him, Rong Shang lifted his hand. Two three-foot-long ice spikes formed in his palms.

With a flick of his wrist, he gripped the frosty weapons and leaned forward, bracing himself. The glinting spikes radiated a menacing chill, their sharp edges gleaming with lethal intent.

Moving at a speed too fast to track, Rong Shang sliced through the spiders. Before they could approach, the icy blades cleaved their bodies apart, scattering venom and entrails.

The golden sands beneath his feet turned a sickly green, mixed with the spiders’ blood and toxins. Yet, his immediate surroundings remained pristine, his white robes untouched by a single stain.

Despite the endless onslaught, Rong Shang’s movements were fluid and effortless. He wielded the ice spikes with the same ease as a chef chopping vegetables.

Just as he was getting into a rhythm, the spiders abruptly halted their charge.

A sudden gale swept through Sand Valley, sending spiders and sand swirling into the air.

Rong Shang plucked a red-backed six-eyed spider off his robe. Spotting a few spiderwebs clinging to his white garment, his brows furrowed slightly, a shadow of displeasure flickering in his gaze.

The wind howled on. A silken white sash danced in the gusts, casting a long shadow on the sands below.

A gentle laugh echoed, and a figure appeared. “Old friend, it’s been a while.”

“Indeed, a long time,” Rong Shang replied nonchalantly, his long eyes narrowing slightly, his lips curving into a lazy smile. “Hengwu Immortal Lord.”

The man addressed as Hengwu Immortal Lord smiled warmly. “Ghost King, please don’t jest. I am no longer an Immortal Lord.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Hengwu Immortal Lord, once the second son of the Heavenly Emperor, had been a paragon of glory in the Celestial Realm. Renowned as a brave and invincible guardian deity, he was worshiped by the mortal world with abundant offerings and countless temples. Statues of his divine likeness were erected everywhere, his reputation exalted to unimaginable heights.

But such grandeur didn’t last. When the ruler of the Demon Realm fell gravely ill, the demons stormed heaven to claim Hengwu. Only then did the immortals learn the shocking truth: Hengwu wasn’t the Heavenly Emperor’s biological son. He was the result of the Demon Lord forcing himself upon the Nine Heavens Celestial Maiden.

To save face, the Heavenly Emperor secretly executed the Celestial Maiden and ordered Hengwu’s tendons severed, his body subjected to the punishments of the Eighteen Layers of Hell before banishment to the cycle of reincarnation as a beast.

In the mortal realm, his divine statues were toppled, and his temples burned to the ground.

Overnight, Hengwu Immortal Lord fell from grace, reduced to a despised outcast hunted by all.

Later, despite the torture and his severed tendons, Hengwu escaped the inferno of hell. He descended into the demonic path, becoming the new leader of the demons—the Demon Sovereign.

For all his gentle appearance, Hengwu was even more ruthless and sadistic than Rong Shang when it came to battle.

If falling into Rong Shang’s hands meant a quick death, then in Hengwu’s grasp, one would suffer torment beyond imagining, wishing for death in vain.

Rong Shang observed the red-robed man before him. Hengwu wore a striking crimson robe, his long black hair neatly bound in a jade crown. Over his eyes was the signature white sash, and on his back, he carried a staff-like sword wrapped meticulously in cloth.

Hengwu spoke softly, his tone warm: “I’ve come today to claim your primordial spirit.”

For both immortals and demons, the primordial spirit was their essence. Without it, one would soon crumble to dust.

Hengwu’s tone was so gentle, it sounded as though he were discussing a trivial matter.

Rong Shang’s smile deepened, undeterred by the provocation. He replied leisurely, “How are your eyes?”

Hengwu’s tendons had been severed by the Heavenly Emperor, but his blindness was Rong Shang’s doing.

Back then, Hengwu, desperate to heal his legs, had foolishly attempted to take Rong Shang’s primordial spirit. Rong Shang had taught him a lesson—taking his sight as a warning.

Hengwu, though reminded of his disgrace, maintained his composed smile. “Much better, thank you.”

He wasn’t in a rush to take Rong Shang’s spirit, instead continuing their conversation amiably: “After all these years, you’re still unmarried, Ghost King. It seems no woman has managed to meet your standards.”

Rong Shang snorted lightly. “Women are mere trifles. Years apart, and you’ve become this shallow, Hengwu Immortal Lord.”

Hengwu was about to respond when a piercing scream interrupted them.

Both men looked up simultaneously to see a white-robed woman plummeting from the sky in a strange and chaotic manner, her long hair streaming behind her.

Rong Shang squinted and noticed a patch of bald scalp amidst her black hair.

His smile froze. Instinctively, he stepped slightly toward her falling trajectory. The ice shard he’d been holding slipped to the sand below as his arm tensed and, in an instant, caught something warm and soft against his chest.

The woman had yet to register her safe landing. Her arms clung tightly around his neck, her hands clasped together as though in prayer. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she sobbed out a faint, trembling “Mother…”

Feeling warm moisture on his neck, Rong Shang hesitated for a moment before realizing what had just happened.

Hengwu chuckled faintly, his tone dripping with insinuation. “A mere trifle, indeed.”

Though Rong Shang had spared Hengwu’s eyes, the latter could only see faintly through the special white sash. Even so, the scene before him was clear enough.

Rong Shang ignored Hengwu’s taunt, casting a cold glance at the trembling woman in his arms. “Let go.”

Although her body was now secure, her soul seemed to lag behind. She continued clinging to him, trembling and unresponsive to his words.

Rong Shang wanted nothing more than to toss her away.

But the ground below was teeming with red-backed six-eyed spiders. If he threw her, she’d become their feast.

His mood soured—deeply so.

He couldn’t understand why he had caught her, let alone why he hadn’t thrown her away.

Shifting his gaze, he focused on Hengwu and the demons behind him. There were only a few thousand—not nearly enough to vent his mounting frustration.

His eyes narrowed on Hengwu. “If you want my primordial spirit, come and take it.”

Among all present, only Hengwu was capable of exchanging blows with him.

Hengwu unwrapped the staff-sword from his back.

Though his severed tendons had been treated, the results were marginal at best. He could walk with difficulty but still relied on the staff-sword for support.

The staff-sword, deceptively plain, concealed a deadly blade within its scabbard. As a staff, it aided his movement; as a weapon, it was a lethal instrument of death.

Rong Shang shifted the woman in his arms, one hand gripping her waist while the other conjured another shard of ice. “Let’s begin.”

Hengwu calmly removed the cloth from his sword, his expression placid. “No rush. Let’s wait for your companions to join us.”

Rong Shang turned his head slightly and saw that the group, who had initially fled on their swords, were now forced back by the demons.

Only Ziyu and Ziqian managed to escape on their own swords. The rest, burdened by companions they had to carry, couldn’t outpace the demons familiar with the terrain.

Among them was Yu Jiangjiang, who had the chance to escape alone. Yet, distracted by thoughts of Xiao Yuqing and feeling guilty after pushing Yu Zhengzheng off her sword, she let her guard down and was quickly entangled by the demons.

Though this place was fraught with danger, her mood was surprisingly light. After all, she had eliminated a great thorn in her side. From now on, no one could compete with her for the man she desired.

The moment she landed, her eyes reddened as she rushed toward Xiao Yuqing, her expression filled with panic and distress. “Young Master Xiao, my sister fell… she fell off her sword…”

Yu Jiangjiang feigned grief, her voice trembling as tears slid down her cheeks. “What should I do? It’s all my fault for not holding onto her properly. What am I supposed to do now?”

Xiao Yuqing gently set An Ning down, his eyes lifting just in time to see the Ghost King and, unexpectedly, the very sister Yu Jiangjiang claimed had fallen—Yu Zhengzheng—clinging to the Ghost King like an octopus.

Yu Jiangjiang froze, following his gaze. There she was, her sister, tightly latched onto the Ghost King.

Yu Jiangjiang: “…”

Meanwhile, the demon cultivators were closing in, their movements deliberate, as if herding prey into a trap.

The Ghost King cast a cold glance at Xiang Feng, his thin lips curling in disdain as he uttered a single word: “Useless.”

Xiang Feng dared not retort, nor did he offer any excuses.

The sun was now high, diminishing his senses to their lowest point. His sharpness had dulled to the level of a mere Foundation Establishment cultivator.

Shanshui held an umbrella over him, and Xiang Feng juggled holding her while keeping an eye on Xiao Yuqing and An Ning to ensure they weren’t caught by the demon cultivators.

It was inevitable—divided focus left him vulnerable.

Hengwu Immortal Lord smiled faintly at Xiang Feng. “It’s been a while, and yet Protector Xiang remains as…” He paused, choosing his words carefully, “…inept as ever.”

The comment was laced with mockery, but Xiang Feng ignored it.

However, Shanshui, hearing someone insult her master, shot back instinctively, “You’re the inept one!”

Hengwu Immortal Lord turned his blindfolded eyes slightly in her direction, a faint smile on his lips. “Ah, over a thousand years have passed, and the little girl has grown so much.”

As he spoke, he raised his hand enthusiastically, measuring the height of a child.

Shanshui, as a coffin spirit that had fused her soul into a physical body, had first taken the form of a seven- or eight-year-old child.

When the Ghost King took Hengwu Immortal Lord’s eyes, the aftermath had fallen to Xiang Feng to manage. Back then, Shanshui had just taken human form, a tiny figure trailing behind Xiang Feng like a radish sprout.

She had been an adorable child with rosy cheeks, two little pigtails, and a chubby frame—like the auspicious children in traditional New Year paintings.

Though he had only met her once, Hengwu Immortal Lord had never forgotten her.

“Time flies,” he mused. “The little girl is of marrying age now.”

Hearing this, Xiang Feng bristled uncomfortably.

Marrying age? Shanshui’s mind was still that of an innocent child.

Without thinking, he pulled her closer, shielding her in his arms. Lifting an arm to block Hengwu Immortal Lord’s gaze, he growled, “That’s none of your concern, Immortal Lord.”

The title “Immortal Lord” was soaked in sarcasm.

The Ghost King had no interest in their reunion. Irritation seeped into his voice as he said, “Are you done talking?”

He then glanced down at Yu Zhengzheng and asked coldly, “Are you going to climb down now?”

Yu Zhengzheng awkwardly twitched her lips.

She had regained her senses earlier when Xiao Yuqing spoke.

But the ground was littered with crimson-backed six-eyed spiders. Too terrified to descend, she feigned dazed confusion, continuing to cling to him.

Compared to the Ghost King, whose temperament was erratic, the sight of countless spiders swarming the sand-filled valley was infinitely more horrifying.

Timidly, she ventured, “Can I… sit here just a little longer?”

The Ghost King’s face darkened. Did she think he was some beast of burden?

Without hesitation, he released her, setting her firmly on the ground. “No.”

Yu Zhengzheng screamed as she spotted a massive spider near her feet. Her shrill cries echoed through the valley as she broke into an impromptu dance of panic.

The crimson-backed six-eyed spiders were grotesque—six tiny, beady eyes embedded in their bodies like chickenpox scars. Their hairy legs only added to their nightmarish appearance. If one of those things crawled onto her, she’d probably kick her own leg off in fright.

Feeling the stares of those around her, the Ghost King exhaled sharply, suppressing his annoyance. He grabbed her by the back of her collar and unceremoniously moved her to a spider-free zone behind him.

“No spiders here,” he said, narrowing his eyes with a chilling glare. “If you scream again, I’ll cut out your tongue.”

Hengwu Immortal Lord tilted his head, his blindfolded eyes seemingly gazing up at the blazing sun.

“It’s time,” he murmured.

At his words, he raised his hand lazily and snapped his fingers with a crisp click.

The demon cultivators immediately retreated from the sand-filled valley, their movements swift and coordinated.

Even the crimson-backed six-eyed spiders scuttled away, following their masters.

The Ghost King frowned, his gaze darkening. “You want to duel me one-on-one?”

If so, it was laughably overconfident.

Thousands of years ago, he had taken Hengwu Immortal Lord’s eyes. Today, he could take his life.

Hengwu Immortal Lord leaned on his staff, stepping back a few paces with a faint smile. “The Ghost King must have forgotten—I was once the undefeated guardian god of the Celestial Realm.”

He had never lost a battle, not because he excelled at killing, but because of his mastery over formations.

The last time, he had faced the Ghost King head-on and naturally lost.

But this time, he had prepared in advance, planting the foundation for the Nine Palaces Eight Trigrams Array. No one had ever escaped it alive, and the Ghost King would be no exception.

As his words ended, the Ghost King instantly grasped his intentions.

But it was too late. A white chess piece slipped from Hengwu Immortal Lord’s fingers, rolling into the shifting sands.

Suddenly, countless beams of golden light burst from the sand, forming sturdy, impenetrable walls.

Hengwu Immortal Lord had triggered the core of the formation, activating the Nine Palaces Eight Trigrams Array.

Once the array was activated, no one inside could escape.

Just before the golden walls fully encased them, the Ghost King raised his hand. With an icy glint, he stabbed Hengwu Immortal Lord in the calf with a shard of frost, dragging him into the formation’s confines.

Hengwu Immortal Lord: “…”

He pulled out the ice shard, and blood gushed from the wound, but he seemed utterly indifferent to the mangled flesh on his leg. His only concern was to escape before the formation fully activated.

Rong Shang grabbed the corner of his robe and yanked him back. “You think you can leave?”

In that fleeting moment, the golden light completely merged. The blinding brilliance forced their eyes shut, and the next instant, darkness silently descended. The view of the Sha Yu Valley began to morph.

A heavy mist hung in the air, and a dizzying sensation spread from their temples. The world seemed to spin. Everyone lost consciousness simultaneously.