Chapter 173: Demon Emperor Citadel

Beneath the shroud of an unyielding winter, Hailong City lay engulfed in a vast expanse of white. The frigid air had stilled all movement, and the moisture drifting from the south had long settled, crystallizing into a thin frost upon the hardened earth.

Three women of ethereal grace stepped forward, their robes trailing softly as they approached the roaring brazier. Along the journey, Jiang Yan had remarked that when seeking a Dao companion, physical appearance was indeed of some importance—for without attraction, even the art of dual cultivation would be but a dull affair. Yet Yan Qiu Bai and Jiang Yue Rou both knew that allure was not solely born of beauty, but of strength and the boundless vigor of one’s Qi.

Yet at this moment, Ji You lay pale and unconscious, sprawled upon a wooden board torn from a carriage. His breath was weak, his body stilled—an unseeming state for a man who had once wielded the mighty Forty-Nine Folded Peaks and sent sword energy soaring into the heavens.

The barbarian race was born with monstrous strength, and the might of a War King Realm warrior’s fist was a force to be reckoned with. Though the strike had not landed upon the envoy’s carriage, it had been cleaved apart mid-air by the Forty-Nine Folded Peaks. Yet force is always met with force—such is the unyielding law of battle. One’s offensive might dictates whether the enemy perishes, while one’s physical resilience determines whether one may yet survive.

Jiang Chen Feng was not wrong when he said that strength alone does not make a true cultivator. No matter how refined one’s physical body, no matter how many swords one wields, against the disparity of true power, such displays are but hollow tricks. That was why, though the barbarian warlord had been forced back, Ji You had suffered grievously, his very being struck through by the enemy’s Qi, leaving him barely clinging to life.

The three women gazed upon his motionless form, their lips pressed into thin lines. The scene bore an uncanny resemblance to those old traveling tales—of a poor scholar journeying to the capital for the imperial examination, only to be caught in a relentless storm, stricken by fever, and left to languish in some forsaken temple, trembling and muttering weakly, “Water… water…” There was no trace now of the celestial bearing that had once lifted Forty-Nine Folded Peaks to the sky.

“Is Young Master Ji all right?” one of them asked.

“His spiritual energy has been nearly drained, and the enemy’s fist force has invaded his meridians. He was already slipping into unconsciousness when we entered the city. I gave him some medicinal pills, but now, we can only wait to see if he awakens…” Gong Shu Chou sat beside the fire, sword in hand, his voice devoid of emotion.

Jiang Yan furrowed her brows. “The Pill Sect has an Emerald Spirit Pill, known to heal grave wounds with incredible speed. However, such a thing is worth a fortune and is rarely seen.”

Jiang Yue Rou nodded. “There is also the Celestial Harmony Pill, a miraculous medicine that can mend injuries rapidly. But it is equally rare and highly sought after. Even minor aristocratic families would guard such treasures within their vaults.”

Since the establishment of trade between the human clans and the demon race, the demon clans had shown great interest in human alchemy. It was said that even the Son of the Demon Emperor had once sought out the Pill Sect to request medicine. Though he had returned empty-handed, the demon race had since gathered vast quantities of spiritual pills through dealings with noble houses and the Great Xia Dynasty, secretly ferrying them to the Snowy Wastes. If they could reach the Demon Emperor Citadel, perhaps they could acquire the medicine they needed.

Gong Shu Chou regarded them briefly before reaching into a small wooden box and retrieving two bottles of pills. “Are these what you seek?”

Jiang Yan and Jiang Yue Rou took the bottles, their expressions shifting into stunned disbelief. “They are indeed Emerald Spirit Pills and Celestial Harmony Pills, but… they seem larger than normal?”

“These pills were specifically adjusted for Ji You’s body,” Gong Shu Chou said flatly. “His storage gourd is filled with such pills—every single one of them modified to increase potency.”

“…?”

Both Jiang Yan and Jiang Yue Rou were momentarily at a loss. Pills of such caliber, crafted solely for a single individual, were unheard of. The Pill Sect had refined its dosages meticulously for a thousand years—never had there been a reason to alter them, for they were perfectly attuned to the human physique. Yet Ji You’s body was so uniquely formidable that ordinary doses were insufficient. Each pill in his collection had been tailored for him alone.

Among them were medicines that could restore spiritual consciousness in an instant, pills that could forcefully protect Ling Yuan, others that could elevate battle prowess to its peak, and even rare concoctions that could render one’s Dao Heart utterly clear for two full hours. Even Jiang Yan and Jiang Yue Rou—prodigies of the Immortal Sects—had never seen such wonders before. And at the very bottom of the medicine box, there lay an array of deadly poisons—formless as water, colorless, tasteless, capable of felling even a Boundless Martial Stage cultivator with but a single drop. The mere sight of them sent shivers through the onlooking elders.

Yet the most unsettling fact was this—the Pill Sect did not sell poisons.

For generations, its alchemists had lacked martial strength, and thus, to avoid needless enmity, they refrained from crafting venoms. The only poisons they devised were for self-preservation, secrets never to be shared with outsiders. And yet, here they lay—within Ji You’s medicine box, their quality so pristine that they might well have been personally refined by the Pill Sect’s Revered Master himself.

Ji You was not without protectors.

Yet those who safeguarded him were not lofty clans nor noble bloodlines.

Gong Shu Chou turned his gaze to the wreckage of their carriage, his fingers tightening upon his sword. With a single stroke, he severed the shaft of the broken wheel and cast it into the flames. The lacquered wood curled and crackled, its charred embers rising toward the vast, white sky—vanishing into the void.

Beside the fire, Yan Chuan, his hair streaked with silver, gazed solemnly upon the unconscious Ji You, his expression weighed with unspoken burdens. The Mirror Master had given him a simple task before their departure—protect Ji You. Do not let him be harmed. Do not let him die. And do not allow others to uncover his secrets.

To Elder Yan, such a duty had seemed effortless. After all, he was a Boundless Martial Stage cultivator. Guarding a mere Mystic Enlightenment Stage disciple should have been no challenge at all.

And yet, here they were. Despite his every effort to shield him, he had never imagined that Ji You would willingly cast himself into the abyss of death.

Throughout his life, he had seen countless souls who longed for death—ordinary folk driven to madness by crushing taxes, unable to sustain themselves or their families, seeking only a swift end to their suffering. But Ji You was different. He had clawed his way into the Inner Court with sheer determination, even if the Heavenly Script Academy’s Immortal Hall had yet to accept him. In Feng Prefecture, he had already established a noble clan of his own. Even the Mirror Master showed him exceptional favor. His future was bright, his path unobstructed.

And yet, he would abandon all of this without hesitation?

You may not desire such a fate, but this old man certainly does…

After a long rest, the party finally set off, carrying Ji You upon a carriage. This was merely the borderland between the Barbarian Clans and the Demon Race. While no pursuit had come from the barbarians due to their delicate relations with the demons, that did not mean this place was safe. Thus, haste was of the essence.

During the journey, Ji You briefly opened his eyes.

He gazed at the shattered sword within the carriage, his expression unreadable. Then, without a word, he drifted back into slumber.

As they traveled northward from Hailong City, the air grew colder. Before long, a towering snow-capped mountain loomed before them. However, rather than braving the treacherous ascent, they chose to take the western route. The mountain was barren, its trails indistinct, whereas to the west, demon cities dotted the landscape, offering temporary refuge along the way.

Meanwhile, a message rode on swift hooves from Cold Iron Pass, reaching the capital of Shengjing.

A small victory had been won in the eastern war zone—thousands of enemies slain.

In the rear garden of Prince Chong’s estate, beneath the Eavesdropping Fragrant Pavilion, yellow leaves fell as a young servant read the war report aloud. Prince Chong and Wei Li listened in silence, eyes narrowed.

At any other time, a victory beyond Cold Iron Pass would be a cause for celebration. But now, it only raised concerns.

According to the report, thirteen War Kings and countless General Realm warriors of the Barbarian Clans had abruptly abandoned the battlefield, vanishing northward at great speed. Their absence had allowed the human forces to claim a small triumph, but the true question remained—where had these formidable warriors gone?

The answer was obvious.

That very night, Cao Jin Song’s left eye twitched ceaselessly, keeping him awake until dawn. The moment he opened his eyes, he left his chambers.

By the Azure Lake, he encountered Wen Zheng Xin and Ban Yang Shu, neither of whom had slept soundly either.

“The battle outside Cold Iron Pass is at its most perilous stage. Those Barbarian generals wouldn’t leave without cause. The only explanation is that they’ve caught the scent of the diplomatic envoy and are in pursuit.”

Wen Zheng Xin clenched his fists. “What realm is a War King?”

Ban Yang Shu turned to him. “I inquired at the Immortal Overseer Office. They say their strength lies between Heaven Resonance and the Boundless Martial Stage.”

Cao Jin Song’s expression darkened. “Then they must have already caught up with them. My eye twitching is never without reason…”

“You trust it that much?”

“Every time Ji You’s Dao Heart suddenly clears and he gets the urge to return to his proper path, my eye twitches wildly, urging me to flee. Do you think it’s accurate or not?”

After a long silence, Wen Zheng Xin finally spoke. “Our junior brother has a keen mind and a resolute heart. Even in danger, he should find a way to turn misfortune into fortune.”

Cao Jin Song shook his head. “You don’t understand. If he’s truly cornered, he always chooses the most perilous path—just as he did in Yuyang County, where in a single night… he ascended two realms.”

“?!?”

Both Wen Zheng Xin and Ban Yang Shu turned to stare at him in utter shock.

Everyone in the academy knew how Ji You had been admitted—said to be a stroke of immense fortune, achieving Dao completion at a critical moment and earning entry into the Heavenly Script Academy. Yet, none had known that, on the eve of that night, he had been only in the mid-stage of the Essence Refinement Realm—not even close to the next stage.

Cao Jin Song had never spoken of it before because the truth was simply too staggering.

For a rogue cultivator from the wilds to enter an immortal sect was already an extraordinary feat. Keeping a low profile seemed the wiser course. Yet, after spending so much time with Wen Zheng Xin and Ban Yang Shu, and considering that Ji You had already entered the Inner Court and founded a noble clan, secrecy no longer seemed necessary.

“Our junior brother advanced two entire realms in a single night?”

“If not, how else would I have dared to wager a hundred spirit stones against Instructor Ma and Instructor Ding?”

A deep unease settled in Cao Jin Song’s heart. He feared that Ji You would once again throw himself into mortal peril without hesitation.

To bear a righteous heart and dedicate oneself to the people was an admirable thing. But was it truly necessary to place oneself upon the blade’s edge to do so?

Meanwhile, ten miles west of Feng Prefecture, at the ruins of the former Sunset Manor, now Ji Stronghold—

A young girl sat cross-legged upon a bamboo cushion, clothed in a cotton robe. Gentle currents of spiritual energy converged around her.

Yet, before they could seep into her skin, she suddenly opened her eyes. Seeing no one around, she tiptoed out the door.

The stronghold was vast—so much so that she had yet to memorize its layout. But the kitchen’s location? That she knew better than anyone.

Before she could reach it, however, Pei Ru Yi’s hand reached out and seized her by the collar, effortlessly lifting her off the ground and dragging her back to her quarters. The girl was so startled that tears streamed down her face.

“Master…”

“Train properly. Feng Prefecture is vast—Ji You cannot defend it alone.”

Placing Qiu Ru upon the bed, Pei Ru Yi left the stronghold and strode toward the city outskirts, vanishing into the distance.

Deep autumn had already descended upon the land, and the breath of winter loomed ever closer. In the Prefecture of Feng, the officials overseeing the farmlands had been toiling alongside Qiu Zhong these past few days, marking out the lands to be cultivated in the coming year. Their figures often vanished into the vast fields, only to reappear with the sun, their gazes sharp as blades surveying the soil’s potential.

Among them, many common folk had also gathered, no longer shackled by the dread of winter’s hunger. With the specter of starvation banished, they now took an active hand in planning the fields, their voices full of hope rather than desperation.

A little further off, a group of women were huddled together, carefully inspecting the grains left from this year’s harvest. In the past, once the imperial tax had been paid, whatever meager grains remained were scarcely enough to keep a household fed—who then had the luxury of pondering which seed yielded the heartiest stalks? Whatever they could plant, they planted. And if there were not enough seeds, they would be forced to borrow at a rate of tenfold repayment, their hands bound by the iron grip of the grain storehouses.

But now, surplus abounded, and with it came curiosity. Which family’s crops had flourished best? Which yielded the most grain? The people of Feng no longer counted their lives by years endured but by years to come.

And all of this had begun when Ji You established his noble household here, reclaiming the taxation rights that had long been lost.

Yet, unbeknownst to these relieved commoners, a far greater storm brewed not far away in the Northern Border—one that waited like a lurking beast, poised to strike.

In the boundless, snow-clad frontier, where frost ruled the heavens and earth, a lone carriage thundered through the frozen wasteland. For three days, it had raced against the relentless blizzards, and now, at long last, it ground to a halt.

Shi Jun Hao leapt from the carriage, his face pale from blood loss. His shoulder bore a deep, ragged wound, hastily bound with strips of cloth, yet each movement sent fresh crimson seeping through the bandages. He was not the only one—every member of the envoy bore their own share of wounds, their forms weary, their breaths misting in the frigid air.

The Snowy Expanse was vast and merciless. Beyond the domain of the Demon Clan, the world was nothing but endless frost—a perfect stage for hidden blades and silent deaths. The barbarians had been unwilling to strike within the Demon Citadel itself, but here, where no demon eyes watched, they had laid their traps.

When the envoy attempted to traverse the mountain passes, they had been ambushed—savage beasts lunged from the white abyss, their roars threatening to shatter the ice beneath their feet. The battle had been brutal, and the peril of an avalanche loomed over every clash. Just as they emerged from that peril, the barbarians struck again, their warriors materializing from the snow-laden peaks with killing intent glistening like drawn steel.

For a time, their journey had teetered on the edge of a blade. But fortune had smiled upon them—the battle had not been as dire as it could have been. After all, this land still belonged to the Demon Clan. The barbarians, for all their cunning, dared not act too brazenly within these borders. And so, when their ambush failed, they retreated like wolves denied a feast, unwilling to gamble further.

Now, as the howling wind scoured their numbed flesh, the group cast their gazes ahead.

Two towering, snow-clad peaks rose from the frozen earth like twin blades piercing the heavens. Between them, nestled within the embrace of the mountains, lay a grand and unfathomable city—Demon Emperor Citadel.

“We have arrived at last…”

The warriors, weary yet unbowed, beheld the citadel with awe. Unlike the fragmented human provinces, where power was scattered across the Nine Provinces, this citadel stood as the beating heart of the Demon Clan’s dominion.

Even from leagues away, they could feel it—the potent, overwhelming auras seeping from within the city’s walls. These were not mere warriors. They were beings whose strength had endured since the age of the ancients. And now, after countless centuries, this envoy was the first of humanity to set foot in this land.

Peng Dong Yang’s voice was low, yet each word carried the weight of warning. “Demon Emperor Citadel may stand before us, but do not let your guard wane. The Demon Clan’s stance toward humanity is fractured—some wish for peace and trade, while others see our existence as a wound yet to be avenged. Do not forget, for generations, we have claimed the fertile lands of the Nine Provinces while they have remained exiled in ice and stone.”

His gaze darkened. “Some within these walls may already conspire with the barbarians. We must tread carefully.”

The warning rang true. The Demon Clan had long been divided—some sought prosperity through commerce, while others believed that war alone would reclaim their lost honor. There was no certainty who among them had already forged clandestine pacts with the barbarian hordes.

Yet, in one aspect, fortune favored the envoy. Unlike the fractured leadership of humanity, the Demon Clan had but one ruler. If they could sway the Demon Emperor, then perhaps war could yet be averted.

Jiang Chen Feng, his breath shallow from the cold, finally spoke. “How strong is this Demon Emperor?”

An elder from the Dao Seeking Sect stroked his long beard, his expression unreadable. “None have seen him fight. None know the true depths of his power.”

“Could he be at the peak of the Upper Five Realms?”

A master from the Mountain and Sea Pavilion narrowed his eyes against the snow. “In sheer combat prowess? Perhaps beyond even that.”

His voice turned solemn. “Do not mistake them for the barbarians, whose strength was tempered through hunger and strife. The Demon Clan has vied with humanity since the dawn of the ancient age. Once, their emperor came close to ruling all under the heavens.”

Silence fell among the envoys.

Unlike humanity, the Demon Clan had no Daoist Lineage, no path to immortality through cultivation. Their strength did not stem from enlightenment but from their very bloodline itself—like the barbarians, they honed their bodies and spirits as weapons. And yet, despite their might, they had been denied the ascension to true immortality. For countless years, they had been bound to this frozen realm, unable to rise beyond their station.

Peng Dong Yang, seeing the growing tension among the group, gave a final warning. “We are but guests here. The Demon Clan watches our every move. Do not provoke them—whatever grievances may exist, we must not give them cause for bloodshed.”

Jiang Chen Feng gave him a sidelong glance, his voice steady. “You need not worry, Lord Peng. We know what is at stake.”

“Good.” Peng Dong Yang exhaled, his breath vanishing into the icy air. “Then let us proceed.”

“Yet should the Demon Clan strike first, then that is an entirely different matter.”

Upon hearing these words, Peng Dong Yang clenched his fists, the force trembling in his fingers. Yet, after a brief hesitation, he swallowed his words back down, unable to suppress a sigh. [Some wield their swords to cleave through the Barbarian King’s defenses, while others merely boast with empty words.]

The caravan continued forward, following the wide road that led straight to the Demon Emperor Citadel. Braving the biting winds and drifting snow, they soon arrived before the grand city gates.

Atop the towering walls of the outer citadel, figures already stood in silent vigilance, their slitted pupils casting sidelong glances at the approaching procession. Just as when the Human Clan had first set eyes upon the Demon Clan upon the bustling streets of Shengjing, so too did these demons now gaze upon the humans for the first time.

“They look frail, as if a single hand could snap them in two,” muttered one, his voice laced with curiosity. “And yet… their auras are formidable.”

“That is the grace of the Heavenly Dao—what the humans call the Immortal Path,” another responded.

“I much prefer the Barbarian Clan to the humans,” a third remarked coldly.

On the battlements, a hulking Black-Eyed Demon General scoffed, his large ears twitching as plumes of white breath escaped his nostrils, billowing in the frosty air. Murmurs filled the air, echoing sentiments both hostile and indifferent, yet none moved to block the envoy’s passage.

The Demon Emperor Citadel was divided into an inner and an outer city. The outer city sprawled vast and boundless, its towering, spire-tipped buildings designed to withstand the eternal snows. Every structure bore chimneys stretching toward the sky, thick smoke curling from their tops, merging with the white expanse of the land. Evergreen pines thrived defiantly amidst the icy domain, their emerald needles defying the bitter cold.

From the depths of the inner city, figures now emerged to meet the envoy. Their azure pupils gleamed like glacial fire, yet their countenances bore amicable smiles.

At the vanguard of this welcoming party stood three figures. The central one was a Demon Prince, his features refined, a noble elegance in his bearing. To his left, a woman clad in flowing celestial robes walked gracefully, exuding an air of authority. Both bore distinct demonic lineage—horned brows and faint, delicate scales at their throats, marking their distinguished bloodline.

Long ago, when the Demon Clan first appeared in the Nine Provinces, a man had once proclaimed himself the Demon Emperor’s Son. And now, before them stood that very figure—Han Ye.

By his side, his sister—the Demon Princess, Feng Yang.

“You have traveled far,” Han Ye greeted, his voice carrying warmth despite the cold surroundings. “Your efforts are commendable.”

Peng Dong Yang bowed deeply. “May the Human Clan and the Demon Clan forge a peace that endures through the ages.”

Han Ye reached out, lifting him gently from his bow. “Though our clans have been estranged for centuries, we are kindred in our essence.”

“You honor us with your wisdom, Your Highness.”

At that moment, Han Ye’s gaze shifted toward two middle-aged demons standing behind him. “Allow me to introduce two esteemed elders of my father’s court. This is Mo Rong, Chieftain of the Claw Clan, and Huang Long, Chieftain of the Fur Clan.”

Peng Dong Yang remained in deep bow, while the Elders of the Immortal Sects and the young Heaven’s Chosen of humanity offered measured cupped-fist salutes.

Their gazes then turned toward another figure standing by Han Ye’s side—a white-robed elder, his years advanced yet his presence unwavering. His hands remained hidden within his sleeves, his aura subdued yet profound. His slit-pupils reflected unfathomable depths.

Han Ye curved his lips into a knowing smile. “This is the Sage Healer within a Hundred Li, summoned personally by my royal father. He is here to tend to Young Master Ji’s affliction.”

“…?”

The human delegation exchanged glances, momentarily caught off guard.

Indeed, their journey through the Barbarian Wildlands had not gone unnoticed by the Demon Clan. Even the fierce battle outside Hailong City had been observed from the shadows.

That night, when the Barbarian King had faced the might of the Forty-Nine Folded Peaks, the demons, too, had borne witness.

“I can already smell the stench of blood,” murmured the Sage Healer, stepping forward without waiting for permission.

Without hesitation, Han Ye followed in stride, while Feng Yang, intrigued, also approached.

Seeing this, Gong Shu Chou instinctively reached for his sword, but Yan Chuan raised a hand, stopping him. “If the Demon Clan intended harm, they would not resort to such theatrics. Let them see for themselves.”

“Then… fine.”

Jiang Chen Feng furrowed his brows. “How do the Demon Clan know the name of one who has barely stepped into the Mystic Enlightenment Stage?”

Gong Shu Chou shot him a look. “The first time the Demon Clan sent envoys to Shengjing, the personal guard of the Demon Prince suffered a grievous wound. That sword strike? It came from Ji You.”

A hush fell over the human envoys, realization dawning upon them.

Before they could react further, the Sage Healer suddenly emerged from the carriage with startling swiftness, his speed enough to leave all in stunned silence.

Gong Shu Chou narrowed his eyes. “That fast?”

The healer’s voice was indifferent, his judgment absolute. “He cannot be saved.”

“What?!”

Elder Yan Chuan’s expression darkened, his eyes flashing with fury. “How dare you spew such nonsense, charlatan! How could he not be saved?!”

The Sage Healer glanced at him, unmoved. “His internal wounds are trivial. It is his spirit that is beyond repair. In simple terms, he has lost the will to live.”

Gong Shu Chou’s mouth twisted in displeasure. “Lost the will to live? Do you even understand the weight of your words?”

Both Han Ye and Feng Yang exchanged puzzled glances. Ji You, the very man who had once dared to strike down the Barbarian King, now accused of lacking resolve?

Something was amiss.

(This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation)

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