Chapter 32 (Part 1)

The Chixiao Sword continued hovering mid-air.

Shanshui had never been prone to overthinking. But since she had grown close to Yu Zhengzheng, she had become more suspicious.

Even if today’s events were as Shanshui claimed, Yu Zhengzheng had often spoken ill of An Ning in front of her. If not, Shanshui wouldn’t have been so hostile toward An Ning.

Yu Zhengzheng’s presence was toxic. It was better to take this chance to eliminate her and prevent her from leading Shanshui astray again.

With this thought, Xiang Feng reactivated the Chixiao Sword. The blade nimbly bypassed Shanshui, splitting into multiple sharp edges that rushed toward Yu Zhengzheng.

This time, his intent to kill was clear. The blade, glowing with murderous energy, aimed straight for her vital points.

Everyone thought the matter had been resolved. No one expected Xiang Feng to suddenly attack. The move was so abrupt that even Rong Shang hesitated for a moment.

As the sword neared her, Yu Zhengzheng instinctively raised her hand in defense. A faint green glow emerged from her palm.

Outside, the bamboo forest emitted twisted, screeching sounds. The verdant trees swayed violently, their thick trunks elongating in eerie silence. Roots erupted from the soil, rapidly extending toward the bamboo house.

In an instant, a piercing cold burst forth from beneath the ground. A translucent, icy-blue glacier erupted, its surface covered in a thin layer of frost. The Chixiao Sword froze mid-flight, its fiery red glow extinguished.

No one noticed that entangled within the glacier was a gnarled brown root that had wrapped tightly around the sword’s blade, both now frozen solid.

Xiang Feng stared blankly at the glacier, his body stiff. “Your Majesty…”

Rong Shang crushed the frost between his fingers, his long eyes narrowing as he spoke deliberately: “Handle your private matters yourself. If you cannot, I don’t mind taking care of them for you.”

Xiang Feng tried to protest, “But she—”

Rong Shang cut him off, “You are not to harm her.”

His voice sounded calm and composed, but only he knew that, at the moment Xiang Feng’s sword had almost pierced Yu Zhengzheng’s heart, his own heartbeat had momentarily stopped.

He prided himself on being cold and unfeeling, devoid of unnecessary emotions. Even on the stormy night when he slaughtered the Eastern Emperor Dragon Clan, his heart remained as placid as ever. There was neither the joy of revenge nor the confusion of loss, as if no one and nothing could stir his emotions.

But just now, his heart, which was as still as a dead lake, rippled slightly, as though a pebble had been tossed into its depths.

He couldn’t figure out why. Was it because, if she died, no one in the illusion would be left to apply medicine to him? Or was it because he had used a rare Chongming bird egg to detoxify her and wasted his own blood on her spiritual herb? If she died like this, would he feel unwilling?

Rong Shang couldn’t untangle the thought and found himself growing irritated.

The more he looked at Xiang Feng’s Chixiao Sword, the more it vexed him. His distinct fingers clenched slightly, and in an instant, the frost-bound Chixiao Sword shattered into fine powder, leaving behind only its bare hilt.

Rong Shang’s narrowed eyes gleamed as he spoke coldly, “Remember this: everything I have bestowed upon you, I can take back at any time.”

Whether it was the Chixiao Sword or Shanshui herself.

Though his words carried a double meaning, Xiang Feng misunderstood, believing Rong Shang was referring to his life.

Both the Chixiao Sword and Xiang Feng’s life were gifts from Rong Shang. When Xiang Feng was being hunted by all the major sects of the cultivation world, it was Rong Shang who saved him.

To Xiang Feng, the Chixiao Sword was more important than his own life. Despite being apprenticed to a prestigious healer sect, he had no real interest in medicine; his true passion was swordsmanship, and he had once dreamed of becoming the greatest sword cultivator in the Six Realms.

Rong Shang had saved him and, upon noticing him practicing swordsmanship with a tree branch, casually granted him the ancient divine weapon, the Chixiao Sword.

To a sword cultivator, the Chixiao Sword was a dream come true. Xiang Feng cherished it as a priceless treasure and had achieved a state of oneness with the sword. It was like his family—his wife, his child. And now, it had been effortlessly reduced to dust by Rong Shang.

Xiang Feng’s arm, hanging at his side, tightened into a fist. His eyes flashed with a hint of restraint, but he said nothing in rebuttal.

Rong Shang cast a cold glance at Yu Zhengzheng, his tone sharp. “Still standing there? Get moving.”

Yu Zhengzheng stared blankly at the frost scattered across the ground before raising her reddened eyes. They shimmered faintly with unshed tears.

Did the Ghost King save her again?

In everyone’s eyes, the Ghost King was a bloodthirsty and cruel figure who treated human lives as trivial as grass, killing with the flick of a finger. His acts of salvation, however, were exceedingly rare.

Though she had spent some time with him, he was always cold and aloof. With his unremarkable features and unpredictable moods, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of detachment and fear. He felt like a scythe-wielding grim reaper standing by her side, ready to take her life at any moment.

Yet, at this moment, an inexplicable thought arose within her: perhaps he wasn’t as terrifying as she had imagined?

Rong Shang saw her tear-filled eyes and felt his breath hitch slightly, as if his chest had tightened.

When she didn’t move, he exhaled slowly. “Are your legs numb?”

Yu Zhengzheng froze, confusion flickering across her face.

He, with restrained patience, repeated himself. “Are. Your. Legs. Numb?”

Still dazed, Yu Zhengzheng whispered hesitantly, “Mama?”

Rong Shang: “…”

Seeing her failure to comprehend, he grabbed the back of her collar and unceremoniously carried her out of the bamboo house.

Immortal Lord Hengwu chuckled softly. “Who would have thought the Ghost King has a soft spot for damsels in distress?”

Rong Shang cast him a sidelong glance. “Not only do I have a soft spot for women, but I also entertain men. Care to test it yourself, Immortal Lord?”

Hengwu’s smile froze. “No need for that. I’m not inclined toward such preferences…”

Before he could finish, a loud grumble echoed from his stomach, as if in protest.

Rong Shang raised an eyebrow. “For someone who has lived for tens of thousands of years, Immortal Lord, you fare worse than a Golden Core cultivator.”

At least Golden Core cultivators no longer needed food, yet Hengwu’s hunger had betrayed him—a disgrace to both the Celestial and Demon Realms.

As Rong Shang’s words fell, another gurgling noise resonated, but this time it didn’t come from Hengwu. It emanated from Rong Shang himself.

His expression stiffened, and his eyes darkened ominously.

Ever since he had reached adulthood, he hadn’t eaten a single meal. He had long forgotten the sensation of hunger, let alone experienced such an embarrassing sound.

He discreetly gathered his energy to suppress the noise, but no matter how much he tried, the sounds continued unabated.

Rong Shang turned his head slightly, his sharp gaze locking onto Yu Zhengzheng.

Had this woman heard it?

Yu Zhengzheng felt awkward under his scrutiny. The Ghost King’s expression was dark, and his eyes carried a faint, dangerous glint.

Hurriedly, she stammered, “The wind was too loud earlier. I didn’t hear anything.”

Her attempt at dismissal only worsened Rong Shang’s mood.

Hengwu’s smile returned as he remarked, “This is the brilliance of the Nine Palaces Eight Trigrams Formation. No matter who enters, they gradually regress to a mortal state.”

This “gradual” regression applied to the nine illusionary layers. Each layer brought them closer to becoming defenseless mortals.

This explained why so many who entered the formation never emerged alive.

For someone like Rong Shang, whose power was unparalleled, the more profound his abilities, the harder it was to accept such a drastic decline.

Instead, it was people like Yu Zhengzheng—ordinary and seemingly useless—who were more likely to navigate the Nine Palaces Eight Trigrams Formation successfully.

Hengwu Immortal Sovereign noticed Rong Shang’s impassive gaze and smiled. “Do you feel particularly pleased with yourself?”

The question, spoken in a low, steady tone, was punctuated by occasional grumbles from Rong Shang’s stomach, undermining the gravity of his words and making them sound unintentionally comedic.

Though Hengwu Immortal Sovereign was indeed proud—this formation was his masterpiece—he refrained from boasting further. After all, he had already been skewered in the leg by the Ghost King yesterday and had no desire to repeat the experience today.

Outside the fence, a villager with a basket called out, “Are you all passing travelers staying the night here? Today is the Peach Blossom Village’s Hundred-Family Banquet. Would you like to join us?”

Yu Zhengzheng paused, surprised. Was this formation so advanced that it even included NPC guides for newcomers?

Unsure whether to accept the invitation, she looked to Hengwu Immortal Sovereign for guidance. He, after all, had created the formation and should know how to break it.

Rong Shang seemed to share her thoughts, as both turned their gazes to Hengwu Immortal Sovereign. Yet, the moment their eyes met, they quickly looked away again.

Yu Zhengzheng was the first to avert her gaze. Though she no longer feared him as intensely as before, she still dared not meet his eyes.

Rong Shang’s eyes were deep and dark, like cold stars in a winter sky, or a bottomless abyss, starkly contrasting his otherwise plain features.

Her thoughts wandered. He wasn’t particularly good-looking but was in the prime of his life. Shouldn’t a man his age, at his peak, have women around him? Could it be… that he was physically incapable?

Noticing her turning away, Rong Shang raised an eyebrow in slight confusion. Was her face… red?

Why would her face flush?

Was it because he caught her sneaking glances at him, leaving her embarrassed?

He chuckled softly and slowly curved his lips into a faint smile.

Ah, young women—they embarrass so easily.

Hengwu Immortal Sovereign, unable to bear the silent exchange of glances between the two, hobbled over and pushed open the wooden gate. He accepted the villager’s invitation, saying, “Now? Then we’ll trouble you for the hospitality.”

The group, who had been inside the bamboo house, followed him outside one by one.