Jiu Qing was a fox with a terrible reputation—constantly making enemies wherever he went. Jun Zhu knew this from the moment he arrived in this body, and he also knew that Jiu Qing’s enemies wouldn’t let him off so easily. However, he hadn’t expected them to come after him this quickly.

He had traveled thousands of miles from the demon-infested Hundred Demon Valley in the deep mountains of the Southern Region to the human cultivators’ territory, yet his pursuer had still managed to track him down. Jun Zhu immediately felt that this situation was going to be troublesome.

Without hesitation, he cast a spell to conceal the cave entrance behind him before leaping into the air, flying at full speed in the opposite direction of the approaching demonic energy. He had no interest in getting entangled with that person right now. Among the thirty-six stratagems, fleeing was the best option—if he could avoid a confrontation, even for a short while, he would.

Jun Zhu was currently in the Tuomi Mountains, located within the territory of the human-run Da Sheng Dynasty, roughly a hundred miles from its capital, Feiyan City. And that was exactly where he planned to go.

Feiyan City was densely populated with humans and, as the capital of the Da Sheng Dynasty, was home to countless powerful cultivators. If he could make it inside, no matter how strong Mo Yao was, he wouldn’t dare to act recklessly within the city. The human experts there wouldn’t allow it.

However, his pursuer wasn’t willing to let him go so easily. As if sensing Jun Zhu’s intentions, a powerful palm strike shot toward him from behind.

Feeling the impending danger, Jun Zhu twisted his body and narrowly avoided the attack. The force of the strike brushed past him and slammed into a distant mountain peak.

A thunderous explosion echoed across the sky. When Jun Zhu turned his head, he saw that a massive section of the mountain had collapsed, with boulders crashing down and dust filling the air.

His heart pounded. If that attack had landed on him, no matter how high his cultivation was, he wouldn’t have gotten away unscathed.

Not far from him, a man hovered in midair.

He was dressed in luxurious black robes embroidered with golden patterns. His long, jet-black hair was half tied, half loose, with a golden serpent-shaped hairpiece resting against his chest. His features were stunningly handsome but exuded an overwhelming, violent aura. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a narrow waist, and his presence alone was suffocating.

Most terrifying of all were his golden slit-pupiled eyes. When his gaze locked onto someone, it felt as if death itself had come for them.

“Did you really think you could escape?”

His cold voice rang out, each word striking like an explosion in Jun Zhu’s mind.

The moment he finished speaking, Mo Yao teleported right in front of him, launching a palm strike infused with immense demonic power straight at Jun Zhu’s chest.

There was no time to think—Jun Zhu raised his hands to counter the blow. White flames surged around his palms, clashing against the overwhelming force of Mo Yao’s attack. Though he managed to block it, the sheer power behind the strike sent him flying backward. His white flames flared, burning away the lingering demonic energy left in his hands.

After that exchange, Jun Zhu’s face had paled slightly, while Mo Yao remained utterly unfazed, his aura as domineering as ever.

He had grown even stronger.

What kind of monster was he?

Jun Zhu felt a chill in his heart. Escaping this time would be far from easy.

But he wouldn’t just sit back and accept his fate. He could never allow himself to fall into Mo Yao’s hands. Given Mo Yao’s hatred for Jiu Qing, capture would mean certain death—or worse, a fate beyond death.

Summoning his Lihuo Sword, Jun Zhu steeled himself for a desperate battle.

Seeing this, Mo Yao’s lips curled slightly—the first expression to grace his face. A black longsword materialized in his hand, and his aura became even more menacing.

“This time, we’ll settle things fairly.”

With that, he lunged at Jun Zhu.

Jun Zhu’s white flames surged around him as he raised Lihuo to meet the attack. Their battle instantly erupted into a storm of demonic power.

He fought with everything he had. The sky darkened, the land trembled. The battlefield beneath them was left in ruin—trees reduced to splinters, mountains left scarred and broken.

After dozens of exchanges, Jun Zhu’s hidden injuries flared up. His movements slowed, and defeat became inevitable.

“You can’t win against him,” a voice suddenly echoed in his mind—it was the system speaking to him.

Jun Zhu remained silent, raising his sword to block another one of Mo Yao’s strikes. But the impact sent him hurtling backward, straight toward a distant mountain.

A deafening crash filled the air as Jun Zhu collided with the mountainside, sending shattered rocks cascading down with him.

With his sword pressed against the ground, he barely managed to push himself upright. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, but his eyes remained sharp, unyielding.

He looked up at the dark silhouette approaching step by step, unwavering despite the odds stacked against him.