The Sect Leader's Seat (11)
When Lin Qianshuang returned to the banquet hall, Chen Shangqing and Xu Zheng had already retired to their couches in the courtyard, leaving behind only a transmission note.
She listened to its contents and tucked it away. Both men were tailing her nearby—if she encountered trouble, she could summon them for help.
The night sky hung ink-black, starless and moonless, pierced by a biting chill. From the waters of the Demonic Lake beneath the Nine Heavens, billowing miasma coiled into a luminous stream, swirling into the Demon Palace’s living waterways. It erupted in shifting hues of color as it surged onward.
Lin Qianshuang scanned her surroundings, then lowered her gaze from the void. Holding a flickering palace lantern, she stepped lightly along the silent path. Amid blood-red blooms and dense reeds, skeletal heads floated eerily, their phosphorus fires casting ghostly glows. Each footfall revealed carved stone pavers beneath rippling turquoise water, linking to form a bridge that stretched across the purple-misted bank.
At the far end lay a mansion shrouded in haze—the destination Han Shengyao had instructed her to reach.
Rustling whispers swirled around her.
Lin Qianshuang lowered her head as strange leaves with ochre-patterned veins drifted down to rest near her plain shoes, their surfaces glowing faintly with an eerie dark red light. She eyed the unnerving yet mesmerizing scene before her, wondering if her master was intentionally toying with her or putting her to the test. With countless locations in the Demon Realm, why choose this gloomy mansion tucked away in a remote corner of Jiuyang Peak?
Her footsteps traced the carved stone pavers. No sooner had she lifted a foot than a faint azure glow surged along her path, igniting the mansion’s lamps one by one.
Han Shengyao leaned against the doorway in a crimson gown, a bone flute resting against her lips—silent despite the illusion of play. Her makeup blazed vibrantly under the dim light, diaphanous fabric fluttering as she stood like a spectral beauty.
Lin Qianshuang’s gaze locked onto the flute. Calm on the surface, but a torrent of invisible demonic energy roared from its hollows, overwhelming even her demon infant-stage cultivation.
Han Shengyao rehung the bone flute at her hip. Lin Qianshuang visibly relaxed, her back drenched in sweat.
Han Shengyao’s purple eyes flicked to Lin’s disheveled state. “You’re now inside the demon cultivator’s relic mansion I just opened within the Tourmaline. Its shelves hold countless demonic cultivation classics—all inscribed in the divination language of the Stargazer.”
Lin’s gaze sharpened. No wonder the path had been so unnerving. This was the remnants of some ancient demon cultivator—and judging by the sacrificial skulls littering the place, this “master” had been a powerhouse.
She followed Han Shengyao into the chamber. Gray, cobwebbed shelves sagged under the weight of ancient tomes.
Han Shengyao settled onto a soft chair by the window, her phoenix eyes half-lidded lazily. “Begin.”
“Ah?”
Lin Qianshuang looked bewildered, her voice tentative as she replied, “Domain Lord, your meaning is unclear to me.”
Han Shengyao wiped the bone flute, poured a cup of tea, set it aside, then picked up the official documents. “I summoned you to transcribe every divination text on those shelves into demonic script,” she stated, resuming her scrutiny of the papers.
Lin’s mind raced. She knew nothing of divination! She’d hoped to slip in a warning about the Tianshu City Lord’s treachery—but now she was being tested on actual translation skills. Panic prickled her neck. Three envoys had come to the Demon Realm; if she angered Han Shengyao tonight, the woman’s temper might have her executed on the spot.
A sharp glance from Han Shengyao sent her scrambling. The Domain Lord’s gaze felt like a proctor’s glare during an exam. Flustered, Lin grabbed the nearest ancient tomes. At least she had her system—she could always consult it. But if even that failed… well, she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.
Lin Qianshuang sighed with relief as she flipped open the yellowed pages. The prominent Chinese characters reminded her—of course! The Demon Seal, also known as the Tourmaline, had once been intended for Liang Jingxuan, so naturally the classics in this setting were written in Chinese.
She spread the ancient tomes on the floor one by one, focusing intently as she transcribed each line into demonic script.
[Host, check the “Treasure Book of All Things” on your right. It should contain records of the Tianshu Mirror.]
Glancing sidelong at Han Shengyao, who was frowning over her memorials, Lin snatched the book from her right and laid it open.
The Tianshu Mirror is an ancient relic left by the gods. Once wielded by Bai Ze, the divine beast who knows all things, it can answer any question. Now it’s hidden in Tianshu City.
The mirror can fuse with its bearer, granting the Heavenly Eye to peer into the destiny threads of all existence.
To use this mirror to comprehend the essence of all things, one must slay its master and seize it. Should compassion forbid such violence, another path lies in moving their heart until tears fall, thereby shattering the Emotionless Path of the Heavenly Eye and claiming the mirror.
A smaller inscription followed:
The Tianshu Mirror was gifted by the Immortal Lord of Dongwang Mountain to the divine beast Bai Ze during the Dawn of Creation, symbolizing their bond. Its heart gleams with unclouded clarity, a testament to mutual trust.
Lin Qianshuang’s gaze lingered on the phrase “moving their heart until tears fall”. A chill crept over her. Could this mean acquiring the Tianshu Mirror—and learning how Xiao Lanle escaped her prison—requires the Tianshu City Lord to fall in love and bleed tears from her heart?
She opened the affinity interface. Beneath the sealed Beast Emperor’s portrait, Xuan Luowan’s crimson name blazed across the entire task bar.
Lin Qianshuang sorted through the details she knew, her chest tightening. It seemed Xuan Luowan had started the Beast Emperor’s mission, and retrieving the Tianshu Mirror needed to resurrect her required more than force—Mu Weiyin, the City Lord who believed everything could be bought and sold, had to genuinely learn how to love and weep heartfelt tears.
She’d never dare kill Mu Weiyin. Not only was there the cultivation gap to consider, but she also appeared on her affinity interface. Killing her would erase all her progress.
Staring at the pitifully low affinity score under Mu Weiyin’s profile, Lin Qianshuang groaned inwardly. Replacing one target had cost her a spot on the list, yet only boosted her affinity by 5%. She wondered if life itself was mocking her.
She shoved the ancient texts aside. Then, a spark of inspiration lit her face. Ah, right. Wasn’t Mu Weiyin smitten with Xiao Lanle, her junior sister? If she could make Xiao Lanle fall for the City Lord, their whirlwind romance would solve everything.
Just as she grabbed a new brush to draft her scheme, a hand clamped down on her pen.
Lin Qianshuang had just snapped back to reality when Han Shengyao’s face suddenly loomed inches from hers, making her jump to her feet in shock. Several brushes rolled beneath her shoes, and as she stumbled, her head crashed downward toward the ground.
Han Shengyao lunged forward, yanking the fabric at Lin Qianshuang’s chest to pull her back.
Han Shengyao’s purple eyes widened briefly. The woman in her arms radiated an intoxicating scent, especially the pale throat so close to her lips—the blood pulsing beneath that fair skin made her throat tighten with longing.
This mortal possessed a Cauldron Physique… not just any ordinary one, but a top-tier specimen.
Once freed from Han Shengyao’s grip, Lin Qianshuang sprang back like a spooked bird, putting as much distance between them as possible.
Han Shengyao knew full well how alluring her appearance could be, yet this woman hadn’t even spared her a second glance—instead recoiling with clear disdain.
Is she really that intimidating? Just a gentle embrace, and this woman’s face went deathly pale.
Han Shengyao’s purple eyes darkened as her gaze locked onto Lin Qianshuang’s frantic expression. “Ambassador,” she said coolly, “why the sudden panic? There’s only me and you here. No one can enter the Tourmaline—there’s no threat.”
Realizing her overreaction, Lin Qianshuang scrambled for an excuse, clutching the copied ancient text. “My knowledge of demonic script is limited. I can read this grimoire, but translating it into demon tongue is… difficult.”
Han Shengyao moved beside her, snatched the book from her hands, and knelt to spread it on the floor. “Continue writing. I’ll assist.”
Head bowed, Lin Qianshuang grabbed her brush and resumed scribbling.
From across the space, Han Shengyao reached out, her fingers closing around the pen. Her hand enveloped Lin’s, steadying the brush. “Link your divine consciousness to mine,” she instructed, her tone deceptively gentle.
Lin Qianshuang’s face tensed for a moment—probably because of their once-ambiguous history. Han Shengyao’s touch sent goosebumps rippling up her arms. She stammered, “Domain Lord, perhaps I should handle this myself.”
Several ancient texts from the bookshelf and floor levitated simultaneously, flipping pages as they hovered beside the two women.
A cascade of golden Chinese characters glowed before Lin Qianshuang. Startled, she heard Han Shengyao’s voice in her ear: “These are the ancient texts stored in your divine consciousness. I can access them. What I see will be translated into demon tongue. By merging our awareness, we’ll cross-check and fill gaps efficiently.”
Not a bad plan—quicker and less grueling than burning the midnight oil alone.
Following Han Shengyao’s instructions, Lin Qianshuang slipped into meditation. The books dissolved into a steady stream of golden light, pouring onto the white paper spread across the floor.
The cultivation techniques emerged from the ancient tomes, slowly reproducing themselves line by line onto the paper.
The flickering candlelight cast shadows over the masked woman’s fair, delicate chin.
Han Shengyao recalled their first meeting that day—the envoy had acted so skittish, as though she, the formidable Lord of the Demon Realm, were the one bullying them.
She’d glimpsed the envoy’s true face from a distance, yet despite her sharp memory for faces, a single glance left her blank.
Now, while the ancient texts materialized across the white page, Han Shengyao seized Lin Qianshuang’s pen-clutching hand and yanked off the mask.
Ink-black and sapphire eyes widened in shock, trembling with fear. The stranger’s trembling form looked pitiful—but though countless women she’d seen were prettier, those unfamiliar features left her momentarily breathless.
Han Shengyao felt a fragrant, sweet taste spread from her lips to the tip of her tongue—and finally understood why the little demon cultivator had stared at her with such fear.
In a moment, she pinned the little cultivator’s head down, her lips repeatedly devouring the soft, tender ones beneath in a forceful kiss.
What manner of Cauldron Physique is this? Why does it taste so exquisite?
Only when her lips tingled with satiation did Han Shengyao release Lin Qianshuang, trailing a finger absently over her own mouth in quiet reminiscence.
A flicker of impulse stirred her; her frosty purple gaze softened slightly as she murmured, “Little Demon Cultivator—if you can’t survive in Tianshu City, come find me.”
Leaning closer, Han Shengyao wiped the blood from Lin Qianshuang’s split lip with a fingertip. She studied the crimson smear, then drawled lazily, “Your blood is quite potent. We might barter with it.”
Lin Qianshuang was caught off guard by the kiss, her senses reeling as confusion clouded her mind. When Han Shengyao spoke those words, it felt like a lightning strike—her heart clenched painfully into a tight knot.
The mix of hurt, humiliation, and tangled emotions left her breathless.
She forced Han Shengyao to release her hand with a surge of demonic energy, ignoring whether the Lord of the Demon Realm might rage at her defiance, and fled the courtyard in a near frenzy.
Instinctively, she didn’t want to linger another moment in Han Shengyao’s presence—or endure that suffocating atmosphere even a second longer.
Blocked outside the Tourmaline barrier, Chen Shangqing saw her burst out and hurriedly stepped forward. His expression faltered when he caught sight of her face. “Senior Sister Lin,” he asked, “why are you crying?”
Lin Qianshuang froze, her fingers brushing her cheeks. To her shock, tears were already streaming down her face.