Chapter 175: A Furrowed Brow
The Demon Clan, the Barbarian Clan, and the Human Clan now ruled separate lands, yet in ancient times, they had all once thrived together in the Nine Provinces. Though oppressed by the remnants of the Primordial Tribes, their cultures had intertwined, leaving lasting similarities in craftsmanship, architecture, and daily trade.
Yet, when it came to cuisine, the Demon Clan and the Human Clan held vastly different customs.
Ji You, seated in his wheelchair, was pushed along the bustling street by Gong Shu Chou. The steam from roadside braziers rose in thick clouds, curling into the cold sky. His gaze wandered over the various food stalls, noting the peculiar offerings unique to this land.
Here, the cold was unyielding. Only a few frost-resistant spirit crops managed to survive. But the region bordered the Winter Sea, and thus, seafood was abundant.
Ji You’s eyes fell upon an enormous frozen fish, standing upright like a silent sentinel—its size nearly rivaling that of a full-grown man.
“A specialty of the Demon Clan,” he murmured. “We should bring some back.”
As they continued along the black-walled, white-roofed buildings, a sudden clamor shattered the air. The crisp clang of metal, the crack of wood against stone—it was the sound of an altercation. The two turned their heads, drawn toward the commotion.
Up ahead, two demons—one with round, fur-covered ears, the other crowned with a single sharp horn—were locked in a furious struggle. What had begun as a verbal dispute over a market stall had quickly devolved into a primal contest of strength.
Without hesitation, the two combatants tore away from the street, dragging their fight toward a wide, circular arena embedded in the snow.
Ji You chuckled softly. “I had wondered if we’d encounter such a sight. Come, let’s follow.”
Gong Shu Chou hesitated, but seeing Ji You’s interest, he complied, maneuvering the wheelchair toward the arena’s edge. By the time they arrived, the two demons had already begun exchanging blows.
The air trembled with the force of their strikes. Fists met with thunderous impact, sending ripples of energy outward. Their movements were not mere brawling—every strike, every dodge, every stance spoke of trained technique. A disciplined and honed combat style.
Around them, a crowd had gathered—merchants, travelers, and townsfolk alike, drawn to the spectacle. Among them, a few armored patrol demons stood at attention, iron blades resting at their waists. They watched closely, not to intervene, but to record the match’s outcome.
“What’s happening here?” Gong Shu Chou asked a nearby onlooker.
“They’re fighting to determine the ownership of that stall,” the demon replied.
Ji You’s sharp eyes followed the battle. The round-eared demon pivoted sharply, launching a clean straight punch. The horned one responded in kind, neither yielding, their power clashing midair in a burst of raw force.
Intrigued, Ji You mused aloud, “This is not mere brawling. Their strikes flow like water, each movement carrying purpose. Even their breath moves in tandem with their strikes, manifesting traces of Qi.”
Gong Shu Chou frowned. “So, whoever wins claims the stall?”
Ji You nodded. “The laws of the Demon Clan permit private duels to resolve disputes. The loser must submit to the victor, who then dictates the resolution. Such contests are both legal and binding.”
“How do you know this?”
“A friend gifted me a tome before our journey—The Snowy Expanse: Chronicles of the Demon Clan,” Ji You explained. “I had my doubts about some of its claims, but seeing it firsthand is quite enlightening. After all, books can mislead, but reality seldom lies.”
Gong Shu Chou scoffed. “Such a barbaric system, and yet the Demon Clan has remained stable for centuries?”
Ji You shook his head. “Barbaric? No, it is rather ingenious. The Demon Emperor allows his people to settle grievances through immediate combat, preventing long-festering resentment. However, their laws forbid fatal injuries and do not grant the right to kill. One may win or lose, but never take a life.”
“So, victory decides authority, but death is forbidden?”
“Precisely.”
“And if someone is gravely injured? A strike without restraint could easily cripple.”
“The Demon Clan’s bodies, though not as resilient as the Barbarian Clan’s, far surpass our own. It is rare for injuries to be severe. But if a combatant does cause serious harm, they are imprisoned atop Snowpeak Mountain’s Frozen Prison. Some never leave.”
At this, Gong Shu Chou lifted his gaze to the distant snow-capped summit, where biting winds howled like wailing ghosts. A chill passed through him, though not from the cold.
Ji You’s voice softened. “There is another truth, one unwritten in any book.”
“Oh?”
“This law preserves the Demon Clan’s battle spirit. Even in their harshest winters, through endless years of struggle, they have never lost their will to fight.”
At these words, Gong Shu Chou’s brow furrowed. The deeper implications settled upon him like falling snow. This was not just a system of dispute resolution—it was a crucible, forging an unbroken warrior race. Just as the Barbarian Clan ceaselessly tested themselves against the Cold Iron Pass, the Demon Clan wove battle into their very way of life.
Their eyes were still fixed on the Nine Provinces, waiting for the day they could reclaim them.
Ji You exhaled softly, as if contemplating some distant thought. Then, he spoke. “Shall we seek out a boxing hall?”
Gong Shu Chou raised a brow. “The Demon Clan has boxing halls?”
“The book did not mention them, but they must exist,” Ji You reasoned. “Systems shape industries. If strength dictates one’s fate, then all will pursue strength. Just as all Humans yearn for immortality, the Demon Clan must cultivate martial prowess. Where there is demand, an industry flourishes.”
Gong Shu Chou pondered this for a moment before nodding. “So, you wish to see more of their fighting techniques?”
Ji You’s eyes gleamed. “If common merchants can wield such refined skill, then the true masters must be extraordinary.”
“Then let’s go find one.”
Ji You nodded but suddenly furrowed his brow. A fleeting thought surfaced, but he dismissed it.
[It is of no consequence.]
And so, Gong Shu Chou pushed him forward once more, their path winding through the city’s frost-laden streets. Soon, they arrived at a walled courtyard nestled along the main thoroughfare.
The Demon Clan’s spoken tongue mirrored that of the Human Clan, but their script differed. Yet they needed no signs to guide them—before they even stepped inside, a surge of formidable energy washed over them.
With measured steps, they entered, passing through narrow corridors before emerging into a vast training ground.
What they found exceeded all expectations.
The courtyard was immense, rivaling even the outer grounds of the Heavenly Script Academy. Within, numerous squads trained in disciplined formation. Each squad consisted of over twenty demons, all moving in unison.
At the forefront of each group stood an instructor, demonstrating techniques with flawless precision. Their movements were fierce, their Qi flowing like an unbridled torrent.
Ji You watched in silence, his eyes alight with curiosity.
“Let’s move closer,” he murmured.
Gong Shu Chou followed the direction indicated, his gaze falling upon a group engaged in fierce combat. Their fists carried an intent as violent as thunder crashing through the heavens.
“Such a formidable fist intent.”
“Indeed. This level of ferocity is rarely seen among the Human Clan.”
At that moment, Gong Shu Chou, standing just behind him, failed to notice the faint golden hue flickering within Ji You’s eyes. Meanwhile, the surrounding Demon Clan spectators, who had been observing the duel, now turned their attention toward them. Their brows creased slightly as murmurs spread among them.
The presence of a Human Envoy within the Imperial City was no secret. However, few expected to encounter a human within the very halls of the Fist Pavilion.
“Should the Demon Clan and the Barbarian Clan truly invade, the common folk of the Human Clan would stand no chance of resistance.”
Ji You watched for a long while before the golden light in his eyes slowly receded. He could not help but speak.
Gong Shu Chou furrowed his brows. “Do you truly believe the Demon Clan will ally with the Barbarians?”
“I cannot be certain. Yet, after all I have observed along this journey, the likelihood of war seems lower than I initially thought.”
“And how can you see that?”
“If the Demon Clan truly intended to form an alliance with the Barbarians, they would already be preparing for war. The first step would be to channel their long-dormant battle fervor outward—perhaps through propaganda claiming the Nine Provinces are vast and rich in resources, stirring envy among the Demon folk. Yet, in all my travels, I have heard no such talk.”
Gong Shu Chou paused for a moment before smirking. “So you’re not here just to admire Demon women’s posteriors, after all?”
Ji You’s eyes narrowed instantly. “I told you, I have a friend who appreciates such things. I was merely observing on his behalf. But what we discuss now—this is what I am truly interested in.”
“I had my doubts about this so-called ‘friend’ of yours…”
Ji You chuckled lightly, unbothered, but soon his expression grew troubled once more. He let out a quiet sigh.
[It’s fine. I can hold it a little longer…]
In the frigid snowscape of the Northern Expanse, where daylight was fleeting and night fell swiftly, dusk soon shrouded the grand city in shadow. The mist of snowfall, combined with the constant glow of demon-kind’s charcoal fires, left the sky an opaque haze, veiling both moon and stars.
With Gong Shu Chou’s assistance, Ji You returned to the Jade Garden. From the covered walkway, he gazed toward the majestic Imperial Palace looming ahead. Night deepened, and as Gong Shu Chou took his leave, Ji You remained alone, a slight crease forming between his brows.
Just then, a fragrant breeze drifted past.
Ji You instinctively turned his head, catching sight of Princess Feng Yang gracefully traversing the corridor.
Tonight, Ye Han was hosting a banquet for the Immortal Sect’s chosen warriors within the Jade Garden. Ji You, having wandered about the city, had not attended. Princess Feng Yang had only just left the gathering, seemingly on her way back to the palace.
The Demon Emperor’s progeny were numerous—more than twenty, it was said, a testament to the ceaseless vigor of their bloodline. Yet, only Ye Han and Feng Yang were born of the current Demon Empress, placing them second only to the Emperor himself in status.
Tonight, she was dressed in a flowing gown of water-red silk, adorned with intricate embroidery. Bejeweled pins held up her hair, and the faint shimmer of fine scales at her throat glistened in the dim light. Her steps were poised and unhurried as she passed through the walkway, but then, she suddenly halted, turning to face Ji You.
“You have not yet recovered from your injuries. Why are you standing out here?”
Ji You answered without hesitation. “I just returned from outside. I thought I’d take a moment to breathe before heading in.”
Princess Feng Yang studied him for a moment. She had intended to continue on her way, but then paused, as if reconsidering.
To most humans, she was no different from any other Demon noble—neither friendly nor hostile. Yet, toward Ji You, she found herself carrying the detached concern of a healer for her patient. So she spoke again. “How fares your health?”
“I appreciate the Princess’s concern. I am managing.”
“Yet I see a shadow of worry between your brows. Are you perhaps anxious that my Demon Clan will wage war upon your Human Clan?”
“Ah… No, that is not the cause of my troubles.”
Princess Feng Yang frowned slightly. “Overburdened thoughts will hinder your recovery. You should set your mind at ease. If you cannot resolve your concerns alone, it is best to speak them aloud.”
Ji You fell silent for a moment. He glanced at his arms before speaking solemnly. “I need to relieve myself.”
Princess Feng Yang: “…?”
“You insisted on asking.”
“You—don’t you have someone attending to you?”
Ji You remained silent for a long while before sighing. “Forget it. I would rather perish from restraint.”
Princess Feng Yang bit her lip, clearly at a loss. After a moment, she turned to the maidservant at her side. “Little Rou, assist him.”
“Yes, Princess.”
With a quiet nod, Little Rou stepped forward and gently supported Ji You as they headed toward his chamber.
Ji You, for his part, maintained a dignified bearing, embodying the air of a true gentleman as he crossed the threshold. Of course, dignity was his only option—given the state of his arms, he would otherwise have no choice but to soil himself.
The alternative of seeking Gong Shu Chou’s assistance? Unthinkable. He would sooner wet himself in the streets.
He had endured all the way back to the Jade Garden, originally intending to ask Jiang Yan or Yan Qiu Bai for aid. After all, injuries involving muscles and bones could take months to heal, and he lacked confidence in his own strength.
Of the two, Jiang Yan was the obvious choice. Yan Qiu Bai hailed from Spirit Sword Mountain, and in terms of lineage, she was the cousin of Yan Shu Yi. While the notion was certainly… provocative, it would be nothing short of courting death.
Yet, in the end, neither Jiang Yan nor Yan Qiu Bai answered his call. Instead, it was the Demon Princess herself who sent assistance.
Outside, Feng Yang lingered in the corridor, waiting. Her gaze drifted idly in different directions, though her expression remained composed. Yet, her wandering eyes betrayed a certain restlessness.
At last, the door creaked open.
Little Rou emerged, but her face was stricken with shock, her steps uncertain, as though she had yet to recover her wits.
Feng Yang frowned. “What is it?”
“He… He… He…”
Little Rou stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence. Her face was flushed, and after hesitating for a long moment, she finally gestured with her hands, indicating a scalding measurement.
Princess Feng Yang’s crimson lips parted slightly as an unbidden image surfaced in her mind. She held her breath, turned swiftly, and hastened away from the corridor, her footsteps light yet hurried.
As dawn broke, the golden sun ascended over the towering Snowpeak Mountains, bestowing light but withholding warmth.
The human envoy had already changed into their ceremonial robes. Under the watchful gaze of demon guards, they were led into the heart of the Imperial City. The prodigies of the Immortal Sects followed closely behind, their steps steady as they traversed the vast boulevard of white marble, approaching the palace that sprawled like a crouching beast in the distance.
Contrary to expectation, the Demon Emperor’s palace did not exude the same opulent splendor as the Great Xia’s imperial court. Instead, it was stark in its grandeur, woven solely of black and white. The columns were obsidian, the dome shadow-dark, while the floors gleamed in pale stone. The ascending steps of white granite were already lined with demon ministers and tribal chieftains, their gazes solemn.
Ji You was nudged forward by Gong Shu Chou, and as he moved, his eyes caught sight of Ye Han and Princess Feng Yang standing to the left. At his approach, the princess instinctively averted her gaze.
Ye Han, noticing his sister’s subtle reaction, furrowed his brow.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Nothing… nothing at all.”
“Are you feeling unwell?”
“I am fine…”
Ji You did not linger on Feng Yang’s expression. Instead, his gaze traveled to the white throne where the Demon Emperor sat.
The ruler was broad-shouldered, his frame powerful. His eyes, a piercing shade of cerulean, gleamed with an unnatural light. Even though he concealed his aura, the sheer weight of his presence pressed upon the gathered cultivators, causing some among them to involuntarily pale.
[Such strength,] Ji You mused to himself.
Since leaving Yuyang County and entering the Heavenly Script Academy, he had encountered many formidable cultivators. Of them all, the mightiest he had seen was Qi Zheng Yang, the Sword Dao prodigy of Spirit Sword Mountain. A master at the peak of the Upper Five Realms, Qi Zheng Yang was a force to be reckoned with. And yet, even he did not possess the suffocating dominance of the Demon Emperor.
Before the gathered court, Jun Qian Zou stepped forth. Wang Ming Chang, holding a folded decree, read aloud the ceremonial offerings.
Once the recitation concluded, he bowed deeply and addressed the throne: “Your Majesty, for a thousand years, our peoples have maintained harmony, coexisting without strife. Yet now, there are those with wicked intentions who seek to incite war, bringing calamity upon all living beings. Such treachery cannot be allowed. I beseech Your Majesty to see the truth.”
A chieftain of the Scaled Clan immediately scoffed. “The Nine Provinces are vast and fertile, where your kind flourishes in peace. Have you ever considered the plight of us demons?”
“After the war of the Ancient Era, we humans sought nothing but harmony with the demon race, pledging everlasting peace. Never did we force you into exile.”
“You—!”
The Scaled Clan chieftain, momentarily stunned, then erupted into fury, nostrils flaring as he waved his sleeve. Yet Wang Ming Chang’s words left him speechless. It was true—the humans had not driven the demons to these lands; they had chosen to migrate on their own accord.
A murmur rippled through the court. Among the demon ministers, some bristled with battle-readiness, while others hesitated, their gazes flickering toward the Demon Emperor, awaiting his decree.
Though the human envoys were aged, they carried themselves with unyielding dignity, matching wits with the demon court in fierce debate.
Ji You pressed his lips together. [So, even within the demon ranks, there is division on whether to ally with the Barbarian Tribes. A unified decision has yet to emerge.]
Yet, surveying the hall, he could see that many tribes had already sharpened their blades, prepared for war. But unlike the fragmented ambitions of humanity—where every faction vied for dominance, disregarding the authority of the Emperor—the demons had but one voice. And that voice belonged to the Demon Emperor. Whether there would be war or peace rested solely on his will.
But the emperor’s gaze remained as cold and fathomless as an abyss, revealing nothing.
At that moment, the High Chancellor of the Demon Court stepped forward. “The three races have long shared this world. We were never meant to be mortal enemies. Our proximity to the Barbarian Tribes has led to this diplomatic overture, yet this does not mean we must stand against humanity.”
Gong Shu Chou smirked. “Well, Ji You was right after all. The Demon Emperor’s battle intent is weak.”
Yan Qiu Bai, standing beside him, raised a brow. “Who was right?”
“Ji You. He told me yesterday that the likelihood of the Demon Emperor choosing war was low.”
“…Weren’t you two just out shopping?”
“Mm.”
Yan Qiu Bai blinked. “What did he see that led him to this conclusion?”
Gong Shu Chou pursed his lips. “He spent the entire day helping his friend stare at women’s backsides.”
“…”
In the depths of the Imperial Palace, behind layers of gilded halls, the chieftains of the Scaled and Fang Clans knelt in fierce debate before the emperor.
“For too long have we languished in this icy domain while humanity thrives in the Nine Provinces. This is injustice! Now that the Barbarian Tribes extend their hand in alliance, this is our opportunity!”
“Indeed! In the Ancient Era, it was our kin who were meant to rule the heavens! The humans merely stole the favor of the Dao!”
Yet, opposing them, the chieftains of the Fur and Claw Clans furrowed their brows. “The Barbarian Tribes, who once fled in disgrace during the Ancient War, are no worthy allies. If we march into the Cold Iron Pass alongside them, we may find ourselves as nothing more than their pawns.”
“We suffered such betrayal once before. It was that very act that forced us to abandon the Nine Provinces and retreat to these frozen lands.”
“Your Majesty, we urge you to reconsider!”
“We have already waited a thousand years!”
“Your Majesty, please think of our people.”
“A millennium has passed! How much longer must we wait? It is time—we must reclaim the destiny that is rightfully ours!”
The Demon Emperor, seated within his secluded study, listened to the rising clamor. With an exasperated breath, he finally opened his piercing blue eyes.
In the past, he had sensed an ascension within the Nine Provinces—one that defied the established Daoist lineage. It had confirmed his suspicions that humanity had lost the favor of the Heavenly Dao. The time to reshape the world had arrived.
Yet, unlike the Ancient Era, the Dao had not bestowed a Sacred Artifact, nor chosen a champion among the tribes to lead a celestial war.
[Heaven’s will has changed… but to whom does the new mandate belong?]
(This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation)