He brought Xiao Yanjing and arrived at the market beneath Kunlun Mountain.
Unlike Kunshan, which was like a fairyland, this place appeared exceptionally lively.
Most of the people here were itinerant cultivators, relying on selling various goods to the Kunlun disciples who occasionally descended the mountain, forming a bustling market by the tranquil Kunlun Lake that was as still as a piece of amber.
The Lord of the Demon Realm remained silent, leading Xiao Yanjing past stall after stall and shop after shop, weaving through lanterns. The lamplight fell upon his cold, stern face, yet did not add the slightest hint of warmth.
The demon youth’s figure was tall and slender, carrying an indescribable sense of oppression. Even with his demonic aura restrained, his gaze still held a beast-like ferocity. Every itinerant cultivator who approached, hoping to peddle something to him because of his low-key yet luxurious robe, would be frightened away by his presence.
But in truth, he was only wandering aimlessly through the streets.
Xiao Yanjing did not dare make a single sound, because it discovered: the master was distracted.
The Demon Venerable had indeed recalled many things from years ago.
If the Demon Realm was a land of eternal night, then the Ten Thousand Demons Cave was Shura hell. Black mist that never dispersed filled the place all year round—there was only slaughter and devouring.
But unfortunately, almost all the low-level demons of the Demon Realm lived there.
Food inside the Ten Thousand Demons Cave was extremely scarce. There was no sunlight, and even water was severely lacking. So from the moment they were born, the low-level demons there almost all survived by devouring one another.
There was no light, no peace—only plunder and slaughter.
This was the cruel law of survival in the Demon Realm. To stay alive, one could only endlessly devour others within it, constantly growing stronger, until one could climb out of the Ten Thousand Demons Cave.
Yet one day, in the Ten Thousand Demons Cave, the lowest and most inconspicuous little demon picked up a small girl in white who had fallen down.
At that time, her white clothes were covered in blood, staining the ground beneath her red. The hand gripping her sword was full of wounds. She leaned in a corner like that, almost like a corpse.
The little demon swaggered over and patted the dead person’s face, intending to drive her away and tell her this was his territory. However, when he lowered his head and saw that pale, blood-stained face, he recognized her.
After all, the two had once met briefly in childhood. He had thought he would never cross paths again with that kind-hearted little girl.
Until the year he turned sixteen, when he picked her up in this boundless hell.
The little demon’s hand froze as he patted her. He looked at her almost in panic: how could she be here? She should be clean and beautiful, far away at the edge of the heavens, hanging in the sky like the bright, pure moon.
But now the moon had fallen down, filthy, its last trace of light about to go out.
The blood on her body attracted the demons of the Ten Thousand Demons Cave. Countless strands of black qi were already gathering toward this corner.
The youth gritted his teeth and quickly cut open his own hand, letting the blood of his demon race on his body completely mask her scent. Then he wrapped the dying girl in his clothes and carried her on his back.
At that time, Yan Xueyi was nothing more than the most ordinary, low-level little demon in the Ten Thousand Demons Cave. He had no heaven-reaching abilities, had never been taught even a single day—surviving alone had already taken everything he had.
He had never climbed out of the Ten Thousand Demons Cave before. The little demon was a despicable, cowardly bastard, but he knew that if she stayed here, she would surely die.
He gritted his teeth and raised his head, looking at the cliffs of the Ten Thousand Demons Cave—so high, so high that no end could be seen. Climb up, send her away from purgatory.
Even the little demon felt he had gone mad.
When he encountered demons, he bit and killed them like a rabid dog; when he met enemies he could not defeat, he carried her on his back and crawled through dog holes and narrow crevices.
He lost a great deal of blood. More than once he thought: maybe I should just throw her down.
Yan Xueyi was not some white fox repaying kindness—he was a scoundrel with no morals to speak of. But she lay on his back, neither alive nor dead, her breathing like that of a dying butterfly.
Just like that, he climbed past the ten-thousand-zhang cliffs, as the sun and moon alternated.
His sense of time became extremely blurred. He did not remember how long he had climbed. When he saw that sliver of daylight outside, he collapsed onto the ground, gasping without end, every bone in his body aching as if it had been shattered.
He would forever remember seeing the eternal night of the Demon Realm then, breathing air completely different from that of the Ten Thousand Demons Cave. He turned his head, and the white-robed sword cultivator on his shoulder had her eyes closed, quietly keeping him company.
A strange kind of tranquility arose in his heart.
But seeing her sleeping face again stirred up a surge of irritation. He pinched her cheek, kneading her face into all sorts of shapes.
You, honestly… bringing you out was truly not easy.
A heavy rain fell in the Demon Realm. The rain poured over the little demon’s face, and also fell upon her cheeks.
Drenched by the rain, her eyelashes trembled slightly, and her fingers also moved.
The little demon placed her against a stone in the corner, intending to find her something to eat. He had calculated it well: raising another mouth in the Demon Realm was indeed somewhat difficult. But he could just fight a few more times. He was not afraid of pain—his body was tough and resistant to blows. He was not afraid he wouldn’t be able to keep her alive.
As he was about to leave, she subconsciously grabbed the hem of his robe.
The little demon felt somewhat pleased.
But he had never comforted anyone before, and she refused to let go. So the little demon had no choice but to sit back down cross-legged, looking at her smugly. He pulled over a few handfuls of dry grass, very perfunctorily folded a grasshopper, and stuffed it into her hand.
Take it, and don’t make trouble for him.
She grasped the grasshopper in her hand, and indeed stopped fussing.
But when the little demon turned around, fate played a joke on him. When he returned carrying food, he saw—
A young man standing beside her.
Dressed in splendid brocade robes, handsome in appearance, he was asking after her with concern. Behind the youth were numerous attendants; clearly he was a young master from a noble family who had mistakenly entered the Demon Realm.
The little demon’s advancing steps halted.
His entire body was covered in wounds. He bared his teeth as he watched her being taken away by that neatly dressed, refined youth. The little demon tugged at his tattered, bloodstained old robe, but could only stand silently in the curtain of rain, watching it all.
—A low-level little demon from the Ten Thousand Demons Cave, who even had to tear and fight with other demons just for a piece of clothing to cover his body, now dripping water drop by drop.
He once had an extremely strong impulse—
To rush forward, take her away, and tell her that it was he who had saved her.
He had brought her out of the Ten Thousand Demons Cave with such difficulty, shed so much blood—little ungrateful wretch, she must not mistake the wrong person.
He wanted to step forward, yet discovered that he did not even have a pair of shoes.
He had never known before what shame was, what dignity was.
Demons were all like this by nature—burning, killing, plundering, never feeling themselves inferior to others, living only by the most savage law of survival.
Yet at that moment, he had never so deeply understood a single phrase: the difference between clouds and mud.
Where could he take her? Back to the Demon Realm?
The lofty Demon Venerable at that time, he was nothing more than the lowest low-level little demon, unable even to secure three meals a day, uncertain whether he would open his eyes to see the sun tomorrow, living from moment to moment, exposed to the elements. Like wild grass by the roadside—in the Demon Realm, there were low-level little demons like this everywhere.
Utterly inconspicuous.
—The best gift he could give her was nothing more than a grasshopper made of grass.
If he appeared before her like this, she was so kind—she would certainly look at him with pity, pity his wretched state, offer him help, feel sorry for him.
No. This little demon, still not very old, when at his most destitute, could abandon any dignity. He could even snatch food from wild beasts, fight fiercely for a single piece of clothing.
But only before her—he could not.
He could be the unparalleled hero who had rescued her from the Ten Thousand Demons Cave, or a valiant warrior who saved others without leaving his name behind—but he could never be a beggar pitied by her.
In that rain, the silent little demon watched them leave.
He thought, next time—next time he saw her, he must be grand and glorious, dignified and respectable. He must not be covered in wounds, must not be ragged and destitute. Ideally, he would be someone who commanded countless followers; at the very least, he must resemble those imposing young demon generals he had seen.
And then step forward and snatch her back to the Demon Clan.
At that time, he would tell her—it was I who saved you. Stop paying attention to that pretty boy. Come back to the Demon Realm with me.
