Chapter 183
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Chapter 183: Adding Insult to Injury
“Ming He, you’ve gone too far!”
Mu Xuan Ye’s voice, icy and menacing, seemed to brush against Ming He’s ear. A powerful gust of wind, capable of splitting mountains and shattering moonlight, surged forth as Mu Xuan Ye aimed a ruthless palm strike directly at Ming He’s chest, leaving no room for mercy.
Outside the hall, the shadows of the trees swayed under the cold moonlight. Mo Xiao had already retreated to the hall door the moment Mu Xuan Ye emerged from the water. She leaned casually against the door, her gaze playful and full of amusement, clearly enjoying the spectacle.
Ming He merely curled her lip and let out a light “oh,” effortlessly sidestepping Mu Xuan Ye’s relentless palm strikes. After evading a few attacks, her expression grew slightly serious. She focused her energy, and a sharp sword energy erupted from her fingertips, slicing through the air to meet the overwhelming force of Mu Xuan Ye’s palm winds.
It was a clash of titans, each vying for dominance.
As the Left Envoy of the demon race, Mu Xuan Ye had once stood at the peak of the Earth Emperor Realm, towering over the Tianwu Continent like a colossus. She was no weakling.
But that was in the past.
Her former glory was now a distant memory. As Mo Xiao had pointed out, after suffering Ming He’s devastating strike—a blow that resonated with the celestial laws—Mu Xuan Ye’s cultivation had plummeted, becoming unstable to the point where she relied on herbal baths to heal her wounds.
Even now, though she barely clung to the Earth Emperor Realm while Ming He remained at the peak of the Human King stage, Mu Xuan Ye was confident she could defeat her.
Crossing realms in battle and rising above the clouds was a privilege reserved for the human race’s prodigies.
And Ming He was no ordinary prodigy. Having grasped the pinnacle of Swordsmanship, she was a genius tempered by trials, her talent unmatched.
Sword energy clashed with palm winds.
The air in the hall was instantly cleaved in two. The space around them trembled violently, creating turbulent currents that tore through the moonlight and gentle breeze. The hall’s furnishings were reduced to dust in an instant, swept up in the chaos and shrouding the entire room in a haze.
Mu Xuan Ye staggered back several steps, her expression shifting between disbelief and reluctant admiration as she gazed at Ming He.
Ming He, on the other hand, stood tall and composed, her calm demeanor a stark contrast to Mu Xuan Ye’s disheveled state.
Mu Xuan Ye, draped in dark red attire, looked almost spectral under the pale moonlight. She had burst forth from the water after overhearing Mo Xiao and Ming He’s conversation, and steam still rose from her body, mingling with the cool air.
Droplets of water gathered into tiny streams, trailing down her exposed skin and pooling on the smooth floor of the hall, leaving a trail of moisture in their wake.
Her appearance was disheveled, a picture of desperation.
Yet, despite her predicament, Mu Xuan Ye held her head high, her eyes blazing with defiance as she glared at Ming He. Her hands, clenched into fists behind her back, bore the marks of her struggle, blood welling from the deep cuts.
During their encounter in the ancient cave dwelling, Mu Xuan Ye had sensed Ming He’s extraordinary nature. The young sword cultivator, surrounded by a celestial aura, had once left her in awe.
But back then, Mu Xuan Ye had never imagined that the woman in blue clothes would one day reduce her to such a pitiful state, cornering her with no way out.
Without the Restriction power of the ancient cave dwelling or the support of the celestial laws, in her own domain as the Left Envoy of the demon race, a single burst of sword energy from Ming He had forced her to retreat.
Ming He hadn’t even drawn her sword.
As Mu Xuan Ye stared at Ming He’s calm, unreadable face, a bitter truth settled in her heart: she was no match for her.
Yet, even in the face of defeat, she refused to yield.
“Sister Ming Zhu,” she murmured softly, a low laugh escaping her lips.
“A half-demon body, born into humility, but I refuse to live as a lowly ant.”
“I will climb to the highest peak and seize the power of the heavens.”
The words, filled with ambition and determination, echoed in Mu Xuan Ye’s mind. It was the first time she had felt such a desperate longing for something greater.
That thing is called power.
Before she even understood what it meant to be a half-demon in this world, she had already engraved the concepts of power and status in her heart.
Born humble, yet both she and Xin Ming Zhu lived for power and would die for nothing less.
A faint smile played on Mu Xuan Ye’s stunningly beautiful face as she faced the dim moonlight outside the window. She cast a contemptuous sidelong glance at Mo Xiao and looked at Ming He, enunciating each word clearly, “Defeat me, and my life is yours.”
She meant that her life would be ended by Ming He, not surrendered in loyalty or pride.
Ming He remained silent, meeting Mu Xuan Ye’s cold, piercing gaze. In a fleeting moment of distraction, she recalled the scene from years ago when they first met in the cave.
Only a few years had passed, yet it felt like lifetimes.
Back then, she had raised her head but could not fathom the depth of the person above the clouds, an unfathomable presence. And now, could this very person truly hold her life in their hands?
“I do not want your life.”
Ming He spoke in a low voice, her right hand gripping the hilt of the Jing Ying Sword, drawing it from its sheath inch by inch, an instinct etched into her bones. Her wrist twisted into the Unsheathing Style, and the sword’s brilliance erupted, instantly illuminating the entire palace.
“Very good.” Mu Xuan Ye’s lips curved into a satisfied smile as her aura condensed into a single point, and dark magical mist began to rise, intertwining with the heat and haze from the medicinal pool, engulfing the halls.
Her dark red figure darted through Ming He’s blind spot, the air swirling ceaselessly, and moments later, it culminated in Mu Xuan Ye’s full-powered palm strike.
It was a strike capable of shattering heaven and earth.
Descending from above Ming He, it seemed to fall from the very pinnacle of the sky. The icy palm wind enveloped the surrounding space, an overwhelming force gathering storms from all directions.
Her pale hand, stern expression, indifferent murderous intent, and surging emotions coalesced into this deadly strike, hidden within a calm ocean, now breaking forth.
The air cracked under the force of her strike, and the oppressive aura of the woman stealthily invaded the small space, evoking memories of that life-and-death moment on the black altar of the ancient cave dwelling.
Yet Ming He stood motionless, her straight body resembling a towering mountain amid the tempest.
With bright, blazing eyes, she stepped forward, effortlessly piercing through the illusions Mu Xuan Ye had woven within the layers of palm shadows.
“Clang!”
The sound of the sword resonated across every corner of the world, gentle white light permeating through, leaving no shadow untouched.
That light was neither scorching nor fierce; it was like the soothing spring breeze that revives all things, slipping through the crevices of mountains and stones, slowly yet firmly dispelling all illusions.
Ming He stood at the heart of the rising spring breeze, raising the Jing Ying Sword in her hand. She thrust it forward, seemingly plain yet imbued with an unyielding simplicity, unleashing an unstoppable force that met Mu Xuan Ye’s nearly all-out palm.
This sword was called Flickering Light.
Born from the Big Dipper Seven Star Sword Array gifted by Nineteen, it was closely tied to the first style, Yang Light, yet always distinct.
This was the swordsmanship of the Liu Yun Sect, the swordsmanship of a true disciple of the Liu Yun Sect.
It belonged to Ming He, who had never before glimpsed the vastness and splendor of the world.
Flickering Light, for Ming He, held unparalleled significance.
On the black altar of the Zichan Cave, the moment Mu Xuan Ye’s high-level oppression enveloped her, and she, like an ant, was humiliated for wielding a white long sword identical to her Jing Ying Sword, it was then that she relied on the Unsheathing Style to break through Mu Xuan Ye’s defenses with Flickering Light.
That sword was a desperate gamble, a counterattack and stubborn rebellion against the restraints in endless darkness, shattering the chains that bound her.
Back then, she had been like a trapped beast, searching for daylight in the dark cage.
The Flickering Light Sword, at that time, was her first strike that split heaven and earth.
Yet today’s Flickering Light Sword was entirely different, almost its polar opposite.
The former is to break free from darkness, while the latter is to annihilate it.
Ming He’s lips curved slightly, standing at the same height as Mu Xuan Ye, yet exuding an air of superiority and disdain.
The white light surged with her movements, engulfing the woman in dark red robes like a tidal wave. The Jing Ying Sword effortlessly pierced through the palm wind with thunderous force, grazing past Mu Xuan Ye’s chest and leaving behind a trail of dazzling crimson blossoms.
Her casual demeanor resembled a monarch surveying her domain, indifferent and unbothered.
“Meow!”
A sudden, sharp cry broke the silence as the black fog around Mu Xuan Ye thickened once more. A sleek black cat leaped from behind her shoulder, darting through the air like a swift gust of wind, its sharp claws glinting as it lunged toward Ming He.
The same old trick?
But Ming He was no longer the small cultivator who once stood helpless, watching her hard-won victory slip away under the weight of overwhelming power.
For a moment, her soul seemed to freeze.
Then, the Sea of Souls surged with a torrent of soul power. Almost instinctively, the Ghostly Sword shot out, piercing the black cat’s skull as if it were solid.
“Chase the Wind!”
Mu Xuan Ye whispered, her body trembling as emotions spilled over. For the first time, her gaze toward Ming He was filled with desperate pleading and a glimmer of tears.
That black cat?
Ming He’s focus wavered for a moment at the intensity of Mu Xuan Ye’s expression. As the Ghostly Sword embedded itself, she gestured, and the sword returned to her palm in a graceful arc. After a gentle touch, it soared back into her Sea of Souls, radiating joy.
The black cat let out a feeble meow, dragging itself back to Mu Xuan Ye’s feet, where it slumped down, defeated.
A soul beast born of Mu Xuan Ye’s soul mastery power, the cat was no match for the Ghostly Sword, a natural nemesis. Even without fully penetrating the cat’s Sea of Souls, the sword had wounded its spirit.
Ming He shifted her gaze from the black cat, her expression calm as she regarded Mu Xuan Ye. The Jing Ying Sword now rested against Mu Xuan Ye’s pale neck, pinning her against a pillar in the corner of the hall. Silent and defeated, Mu Xuan Ye lowered her eyes, utterly at Ming He’s mercy.
With blood-red eyes and snow-white hair, Mu Xuan Ye’s gaze was a whirlwind of emotions, finally settling into a faint smile at the corner of her lips. “I’ve lost.”
She had lost to Ming He, and with it, the power and status she had coveted all her life.
As for her life, she cared little for it now.
“Kill me,” Mu Xuan Ye murmured, her gaze softening as she looked down at the black cat curled at her feet.
If she died, the soul beast she had created would perish with her.
At least she wouldn’t face death alone.
Mu Xuan Ye had always feared solitude.
Ming He shook her head. “I don’t want your life.”
Meeting Mu Xuan Ye’s startled gaze, she smiled, a flicker of mischief and malice in her eyes—perhaps a long-awaited act of revenge. “I’m merely doing the Demon Lord a small favor, bringing you to your knees.”
“As for what she plans to do with you—”
Ming He’s expression turned cold. “That’s none of my concern.”
She tilted her head, casting a glance toward Mo Xiao, who stepped into the hall with a languid grace. Mo Xiao’s smile was even more audacious than Ming He’s, her tone dripping with mockery. “Hold her steady. I’m about to begin.”
Ming He: “…She’s not going anywhere.”
Mu Xuan Ye: “…”
She watched as Ming He sheathed the Jing Ying Sword, her hands firmly gripping Mu Xuan Ye’s shoulders to keep her in place. From her vantage point, Mu Xuan Ye could only see the sword cultivator’s raised brows and the faint amusement playing on her profile as she observed the scene unfold.
Mo Xiao glanced at her with her hands clasped behind her back, clicking her tongue as she walked past the black pillar and circled behind her.
Mu Xuan Ye couldn’t see Mo Xiao’s expression or movements, only feeling a wave of confusion as her brows furrowed. Suddenly, her body stiffened, as if something had pierced her skin, seeping into her meridians and spreading to her very soul, enveloping her entirely.
What was this—
Mu Xuan Ye’s pupils contracted, and in the next moment, her body went limp, collapsing softly into Ming He’s arms as the latter shook her head in concern.
But Mu Xuan Ye felt like a fish out of water, her eyes hollow and lifeless, as if all hope had been extinguished. She lay limp in Ming He’s embrace, utterly motionless.
“Enough, let her go,” Mo Xiao straightened and spoke in a low voice.
Ming He, relieved, carefully propped Mu Xuan Ye against the black pillar. Noticing the woman’s vacant gaze as she leaned lazily against the pillar and the black cat, Ming He couldn’t help but whisper curiously, “What did you do to her?”
Mo Xiao opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Mu Xuan Ye cut in.
The woman glared at Mo Xiao with venom, her voice dripping with icy disdain: “The esteemed Demon Lord of the demon race stooping to learn the Slave Marking Technique!”
The Slave Marking Technique.
Ming He blinked, recognizing it as a forbidden art of the Tianwu Continent. High-level cultivators could use it to enslave those of lower cultivation, forcing them into servitude—a method both cruel and vile.
Yet, this technique violated the principles of cultivation and the laws of heaven, branded as heretical by all races. Over time, it had faded into obscurity due to the specific conditions required to perform it.
To see it here was unexpected.
Ming He cast a discreet glance at Mo Xiao, her curiosity piqued.
Mo Xiao’s expression remained unreadable as she stepped in front of Mu Xuan Ye, looking down at her with a disdainful smirk: “A mere Slave Marking Technique is beneath my cultivation, don’t you think?”
She stood with her hands behind her back, exuding an air of arrogance: “This is the Asura Blood Mark.”
“You should know its purpose well.”
Unlike the Slave Marking Technique, which bends the will and reduces conscious cultivators to mindless puppets, the Asura Blood Mark served a singular purpose: to control life and death.
Asura Blood Mark.
Mu Xuan Ye’s face paled instantly; her lips trembled in shock, and she barely registered Mo Xiao’s intentions: “But… how could you…”
“How could I use the Asura Blood Mark, you mean?”
Mo Xiao’s smile remained as she leaned closer, her presence commanding and proud, tinged with youthful arrogance: “Did you think only Xin Ming Zhu was worthy of the Asura inheritance?”
She tilted her head, her gaze haughty: “Implanting the Asura Blood Mark in you isn’t about control—it’s about ensuring certainty.”
“I’m giving you a choice: die, or go to the battlefield of the heavens and fight the alien races.”
“Mu Xuan Ye, think carefully.”
Mo Xiao paused, her eyes softening as they fell on the small Four-direction Compass at her waist: “The demon race’s constitution is unique, and few reach the Earth Emperor Realm.
Since you’ve attained that level, dying would be a waste. Better to go to the battlefield of the heavens, where you can still serve a purpose.”
“So, the Asura Blood Mark is to stop me from betraying you on the battlefield and harming Li Fusheng?” Mu Xuan Ye suddenly lifted her head, her gaze sharp as it locked onto Mo Xiao.
Mo Xiao neither confirmed nor denied: “You’ve consorted with the alien races before. In this matter, I must also provide the human race with assurance.”
The Asura Blood Mark was solely tied to life and death.
Ming He could easily kill Mu Xuan Ye now, but given time, her wounds would heal. By then, even if a human cultivator could defeat her, it would come at a cost.
The battlefield of the heavens was unpredictable. Mo Xiao’s alliance with the human race was to protect one person, not to burden them. Certainty was essential.
Mu Xuan Ye smiled faintly, her gaze lowering with an inscrutable expression: “How can the Demon Lord be so certain that, between death and life, I would choose the latter?”
Her question was indeed foolish.
In such a choice, anyone with a sound mind would opt for life.
Yet, in an instant, Ming He understood—compared to losing power and status, Mu Xuan Ye would rather embrace death than live a life of mere survival.
Those who live for power fear death only when they possess it.
Mo Xiao’s smile faded as she spoke leisurely: “Because the power and status you crave, the glory and splendor that tower over the masses, can only be yours if you remain alive.”
“I never said I would strip you of your position as the Left Envoy.”
Mo Xiao’s lips curled into a smile once more: “The authority you once wielded can be divided into many parts.”
“From the moment you step onto the battlefield of the heavens, for every alien you slay, I will grant you a portion.”
“Exchanging merit for power—isn’t that fair and just?”
“Since you are aware of Nineteen’s existence, you should understand that I will never have an heir in this lifetime.”
“When the war ends, if—”
Her voice faltered briefly, tinged with obscurity: “If we both survive, I will relinquish the title of Demon Lord, and you will remain the Left Envoy, standing above the masses.”
“If, by then, you still wish to stand at the pinnacle of the Tianwu Continent, that will be your battle to fight against the human race and the demon race. I will not interfere.”
“So, do you still desire death?”
Mo Xiao’s clear, resonant voice struck Mu Xuan Ye’s heart like a tolling bell. She stood there, momentarily stunned, not out of indecision but from sheer astonishment at Mo Xiao’s words.
The demon race, the Demon Lord.
She inwardly scoffed at herself, realizing that this was the true essence of a Demon Lord—someone destined to tower over all.
What was she, in comparison?
Noticing Mu Xuan Ye’s silence, Mo Xiao frowned, a flicker of irritation rising within her: “Do you have any other concerns?”
She tapped the ground lightly with her foot. “If it’s about your half-demon body, you need not worry. As my personally appointed Left Envoy, no one dares to question it.”
Mu Xuan Ye felt as though struck by lightning, rendered speechless: “You know?”
She knows about her half-demon identity, the secret she had guarded so fiercely!
Mo Xiao nodded impatiently, her thoughts already drifting toward Nineteen.
“Since you know, why not use that—” Mu Xuan Ye struggled to continue, though the unspoken implication was clear.
If Mo Xiao knew she was a half-demon, she must also know that Xin Ming Zhu was one.
Having now truly witnessed the methods and temperament of this Demon Lord, Mu Xuan Ye could well imagine the years of patience and concealment she had endured.
A half-demon body.
The demon race revered strength, but half-demons were an exception.
They despised half-demons to their core. Had they known Xin Ming Zhu and Mu Xuan Ye were half-demons, they would have spared no effort to kill them, let alone submit in fear.
If that were the case, why had Mo Xiao, as the young leader of the demon race, endured for so many years, silent even when hunted to the brink by Xin Ming Zhu and her?
Mu Xuan Ye found it utterly incomprehensible.
Mo Xiao’s lips curved into a faint smile, though this time it lacked amusement. She gazed at Mu Xuan Ye, a rare seriousness flickering in her eyes. Her disdain for Mu Xuan Ye had never stemmed from her half-demon identity.
“Because I have never believed that identity or bloodline should constrain one’s capabilities.”
Though she privately thought that, given Xin Ming Zhu’s madness and ruthlessness, if her identity were exposed, she would not hesitate to slaughter an entire demon race.
At Xin Ming Zhu’s level, identity and bloodline were irrelevant.
What did it matter if the demon race despised and hated her? The more lives she took, the more blood she spilled, and they would learn to hold their tongues.
Compared to Xin Ming Zhu, Mu Xuan Ye lacked the same degree of ruthlessness but made up for it with purity of intent.
Mo Xiao turned her gaze back to Ming He, her lips curling into a smile that could almost be described as tender: “Young Leader Ming, let’s go. They must be growing impatient.”
Aria Red
Im confused. Is Mo Xiao same as Ji Wu Xu?