Chapter 50

"What did you do?"

Liu Qingge would never forget the scene that had just unfolded. After his sword, Chengluan, had shattered the entrance, the chamber lay empty—save for two figures entwined upon the raised dais behind its curtains.

He’d known Luo Binghe would be inside. He just hadn’t expected him to have company.

Luo Binghe raised a brow, drawing the limp form in his left arm closer. "What do you think I did?"

Shen Qingqiu felt like kneeling right there.

Two people—or rather, one living and one dead—tumbled half-dressed from a bed-like platform, locked in an embrace… It didn’t look good. At all.

Without a word, Liu Qingge thrust Chengluan forward. Xin Mo hadn’t fully left its sheath, yet its scabbard alone met Chengluan’s edge. A surge of sword energy crackled through the air. Luo Binghe shifted, shielding the body behind him with his own, his expression darkening.

Liu Qingge realized his mistake immediately. In such a confined space, Chengluan’s fierce energy could easily damage the corpse. He recalled his sword and met Luo Binghe with raw spiritual power instead.

As they grappled, the corpse’s robes slipped completely to its waist. Luo Binghe’s palm pressed flush against pale, lifeless skin.

"You beast," Liu Qingge snarled, eyes bloodshot. "He was your master!"

Luo Binghe’s reply was chillingly calm. "If it were anyone else, do you think I would bother?"

The encircling disciples of Huan Hua Palace stood frozen, utterly bewildered. Luo Binghe paid them no mind, his focus entirely on Liu Qingge. Spiritual power boiled around the two men like seething water, their auras clashing with terrifying intensity. No one dared step into the pavilion now, fearing to be caught in the crossfire.

Shen Qingqiu wasn’t afraid of the crossfire. He just couldn’t bear to look.

This was too much. Way too much!

Even the cratered landscape of his imagination had never conjured a day where he’d become a lead actor in such a… macabre performance.

The one in Luo Binghe’s arms… was definitely dead, right?

Absolutely! Shen Qingqiu had blown himself up, for heaven’s sake! That was his own corpse!

This went beyond creepy. It was downright unacceptable, no deep thought required.

Yet even as he averted his eyes, he remembered why he’d returned: to help Liu Qingge.

Helping Liu Qingge meant helping himself. Or rather, his own body.

He flashed behind Liu Qingge. The other man tensed, expecting an ambush. A cold smirk touched his lips as he gathered energy to repel the attack—but then a hand pressed against his back. A steady, powerful stream of spiritual power flowed into his meridians.

The sensation felt oddly familiar.

With this reinforcement, Liu Qingge gained the upper hand, forcing Luo Binghe back a step. Not daring to drop his guard, Liu Qingge glanced over his shoulder. The figure behind him was a blur, face obscured. "Who are you?" he demanded lowly.

Shen Qingqiu didn’t answer, only poured more power into the stream. Their combined spiritual force became a torrent. Luo Binghe held his ground, but the aggressive energy would travel through him—and into the corpse he held. He could withstand it; a dead body could not. If he didn’t let go, the remains would likely be shredded by the force.

Unwilling to damage the body, Luo Binghe released his hold. The corpse was instantly flung back by the boiling spiritual field, hurled through the air.

Even as his hands emptied, Luo Binghe’s gaze remained locked on the body, his face a mask of bitter frustration. Seeing that look, Shen Qingqiu felt a pang of… something. Forcing his hand like this felt almost like bullying.

A few disciples, misreading the situation, moved to intercept the flying body. "Don’t touch it!" Luo Binghe roared, sweeping his sleeve. A wave of force sent them sprawling with cries of pain.

Shen Qingqiu withdrew his power from Liu Qingge’s back. With a light step, he leapt forward and caught the body in his own arms.

Holding his own corpse… was an indescribably strange feeling.

A quick glance showed his former body was remarkably preserved—complexion rosy, limbs supple as if merely sleeping, though the eyes remained shut.

A cultivator who died by self-detonation scattered all their spiritual power. No residual cultivation should remain to prevent decay. And it had been over five years. Simple ice preservation couldn’t achieve this. No scent of herbs clung to the skin, ruling out chemical treatment. Just what method had Luo Binghe used to keep it so perfect?

A blast of energy capable of splitting mountains shot toward him. Shen Qingqiu dodged and looked up. Luo Binghe was glaring at him, features twisted with fury. Only then did Shen Qingqiu notice the corpse’s upper robes had slipped away entirely in his arms. He was holding it naked against his chest, looking it over… The picture they presented was profoundly unhealthy.

Hastily, he tugged the robes up and shoved the body toward Liu Qingge. "Catch!"

Luo Binghe moved to intercept, but Shen Qingqiu entangled him. He’d feared Luo Binghe might activate the Heavenly Demon Blood Parasite, but whether from rage or distraction, his former disciple seemed to have forgotten that trump card.

Liu Qingge caught the body with one hand and effortlessly repelled the advancing Huan Hua disciples with the other. Tossed about, the corpse’s robes finally gave way, splitting completely. As his palm met cool, smooth skin, a faint, electric tingle shot up Liu Qingge’s arm. He stiffened, suddenly unsure where to hold the thing without it being inappropriate, nearly pushing it away again. With effort, he mastered the impulse. Shrugging off his outer robe, he let the white fabric unfold like wings, wrapped it securely around the body, and drew Chengluan fully.

Luo Binghe’s pupils flooded crimson. The spiritual power radiating from him swelled violently.

The entire Huan Hua Pavilion was like a sealed box. And inside that box, a bomb detonated.

The walls exploded outward in a storm of shattered stone and dust. Amid the debris, two objects clattered to the ground with a metallic ring.

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes widened. Two swords.

Zhengyang and Xiuya.

These blades, which should have been shattered to pieces, had been repaired by some unknown method. Bound together, they had been placed within the pavilion, only seeing daylight again as the structure collapsed.

Seeing them now stirred a complex whirl of emotions in Shen Qingqiu’s chest. He looked at Luo Binghe.

Already disheveled, the blast had torn his robes further, baring his collarbones and chest. Near his heart, a vicious, jagged scar crawled across his skin.

Luo Binghe’s regenerative abilities were monstrous. Severed limbs could be reattached seamlessly or regrown entirely. No wound should remain unless he consciously chose not to heal it.

The violent surge of Luo Binghe’s power now felt like it was rearranging Shen Qingqiu’s organs. "Go!" he shouted at Liu Qingge.

He was always the one covering the retreat lately! He was almost moved by his own self-sacrifice! Liu Qingge shot him a glance, then, true to form, wasted no time. Clutching the bundled body, he mounted his sword and shot away like a bolt of lightning.

Luo Binghe watched, blank-faced, as Liu Qingge vanished into the distance with Shen Qingqiu’s remains.

He stood rooted, forgetting even to retaliate, like a child who’d just had his whole world—his most treasured possession—snatched away. He looked utterly devastated.

That pang of pity Shen Qingqiu had felt earlier returned, stronger now.

But pity changed nothing. Letting Luo Binghe keep clutching a corpse… who knew what terrifying developments that could lead to?!

He prepared to slip away in the chaos, but Luo Binghe wasn’t about to give him the chance. All his fury now focused on this intruder. Xin Mo slid halfway from its sheath, its intent clear: death by a thousand cuts.

But before it could strike, a shadow darted from the ranks of the Huan Hua disciples. Unbelievably fast, it seized Shen Qingqiu and vanished.

Luo Binghe, who prided himself on his perception, hadn’t even seen how they escaped. He stood amid the ruins, a storm gathering in his eyes and chest.

The Huan Hua disciples, who had been powerless to intervene, knew a tempest was coming. They dropped to their knees en masse.

Sha Hualing arrived late and in a rush, only to be blasted back by Luo Binghe’s aura the moment she approached. Well-acquainted with his mercurial temper, she had no idea what had sparked his rage this time. "My Lord, please calm your anger!" she pleaded, terrified.

"The person you brought back," Luo Binghe said, his voice deceptively soft. "Is truly… impressive."

That word, "impressive," was more frightening than an order for immediate suicide. Sha Hualing’s soul nearly fled her body. "This subordinate has a report! I detected the intruder the moment he entered and engaged him! There was more than just Liu Qingge! The Peak Lord of Bai Zhan has scouted the palace at night before but could never breach the illusion array. This time, someone broke the array first. That’s how Liu Qingge succeeded."

Luo Binghe stared in the direction Liu Qingge had disappeared, slowly clenching his fist. The sound of cracking knuckles was sharp in the dusty air.

Sha Hualing realized Luo Binghe likely didn’t care about the other intruder. His focus was solely on the stolen corpse. She quickly changed tack. "Liu Qingge alone, carrying that… carrying… he won’t get far! This subordinate will immediately lead a pursuit!"

"No need," Luo Binghe said.

Sha Hualing shuddered, a cold dread washing over her, followed by a deep sense of foreboding.

“I’ll go myself,” Luo Binghe’s voice cut through the air, cold as winter steel. “Summon Mo Bei.”

For the first time, Shen Qingqiu understood just how gentle Luo Binghe had been all those times he’d manipulated the blood parasites within him.

If Luo Binghe truly wanted someone to die by the Heavenly Demon’s Blood, it wouldn’t be anything as mild as menstrual cramps. He could make you wish for death, pain so intense your legs gave out and your words died in your throat, leaving you to writhe on the ground. Even after you collapsed like a corpse, the agony wouldn’t relent for a second, offering no respite, no chance to grow accustomed.

In the chaotic aftermath of his rage, Luo Binghe had finally remembered he still possessed that particular tool.

The shadowy figure who’d dragged him out of the fray during the commotion had likely reached a safe distance, slowing to a walk while supporting him. Shen Qingqiu wanted to sit, not walk, but he lacked the strength to speak. Half-dead, he was hauled along until his companion finally noticed something was wrong.

He set Shen Qingqiu down on the ground. His voice was gentle and clear, his speech slightly measured, suggesting a young man. “Are you alright?” he asked with concern. “Were you injured just now?”

Shen Qingqiu’s lips moved, but not a sound emerged. Right now, billions of parasitic worms were celebrating a festival in his veins, tearing, swelling, writhing, and contorting—a sensation both revolting and excruciating.

Luo Binghe genuinely wanted him dead this time.

A sudden thought struck Shen Qingqiu: what would happen if Luo Binghe knew who he really was? When it came down to it, he was unlucky, but Luo Binghe seemed pretty damned unfortunate too. It was hard to say who had it worse.

He replayed the events of these past years at lightning speed in his mind, finding the whole thing utterly absurd. Downright farcical. He managed a weak, humorless chuckle before another wave of agony hit, sending him rolling twice on the ground as if movement could somehow dull the edge.

He hadn’t rolled far before the man stopped him, pressing a hand to his forehead and then his cheek. The sparse remnants of his beard were damp with cold sweat. The hand traveled lower, resting over Shen Qingqiu’s heart and then his abdomen.

Strangely, wherever he touched, the pain eased slightly. Gasping for breath, Shen Qingqiu finally found his voice. “Brother… where exactly are you touching?”

In the past, he wouldn’t have cared where someone touched him. Have at it. Help yourself. But ever since Luo Binghe had recently flung open a whole series of new doors to previously unimagined worlds, Shen Qingqiu’s worldview—solidly formed over twenty-odd years—had suffered a catastrophic impact. From now on, he would have to view every issue in this world through an entirely new lens.

Starting with the question of same-sex… friendships!

“Ah!” the man exclaimed, quickly withdrawing his hand. “My apologies. I… didn’t mean to.”

“No, no, no!” Shen Qingqiu protested. “Touch away! Please, continue! Thank you!”

It wasn’t his imagination. The moment the man let go, the pain came surging back. He seemed… he could actually soothe the Heavenly Demon’s Blood!

Shen Qingqiu turned his head. In the moonlight, he couldn’t make out the other’s features clearly, but the outline was bright and handsome, with eyes of exceptional clarity. They reflected Shen Qingqiu’s own shadow and the cool glow of the moon like overlapping dewdrops.

Staring into those eyes, Shen Qingqiu felt something in his mind about to shatter. His body went numb with pain. He let out a mournful sigh, curling in on himself slightly, forming a fist with one hand and driving it hard into the ground.

This is it. Damn it, what a fucking miserable way to die!

Suddenly, the collar of his robe was yanked, pulling him up. A sharp pain at his jaw forced his mouth open, and a stream of liquid was poured down his throat.

His tongue was numb, his stomach churned, and he couldn’t taste the liquid, but it certainly wasn’t anything pleasant. He choked, about to vomit, when the man clamped a hand over his mouth. The action was forceful, but his tone remained soft, coaxing. “Swallow it.”

Shen Qingqiu’s Adam’s apple bobbed violently. In his frantic state, he managed to gulp the liquid down. A few stray drops leaked from the corner of his mouth. He bent over, coughing violently, while the man patted his back to help him catch his breath.

Astonishingly, once the liquid entered his stomach, the torment of blood-worms gnawing at him from within rapidly receded.

He had never heard of any antidote existing for the Heavenly Demon’s Blood!

His body found relief, but Shen Qingqiu’s heart shot into his throat. He grabbed a fistful of the man’s robe at the chest. “What did you just make me drink?”

The man gently pried Shen Qingqiu’s fingers open one by one, removing the hand from his chest. He smiled. “Does it still hurt?”

It didn’t. It truly didn’t.

And that was precisely why it was terrifying.

As the sensation slowly returned to his tongue, Shen Qingqiu became acutely aware of the thick, metallic taste of blood flooding his mouth. It was so strong it nearly made him retch.

The original work had stated it clearly: no medication had any effect on the Heavenly Demon’s Blood.

Only the Heavenly Demon’s Blood could counterbalance another strain of the Heavenly Demon’s Blood.

Fuck.

Not only had he drunk it twice, but he’d now consumed the blood of two different original hosts.

Shen Qingqiu felt he truly, thoroughly deserved the epithet: unprecedented in the past, and never to be seen again.