Countless, like the little demon lord, were thrown into gladiatorial arenas.
They entertained others through endless mutual slaughter. Amid laughter and blood, they ultimately became goods to be bought and sold at will.
It was an unimaginable hell on earth.
The little demon lord hated all living beings—whether the human race who inflicted violence, or the demon race who lost control of their demonic nature and tore at their own kind.
Perhaps because an unyielding, rebellious beast lurked in his bones, he was not easily tamed like the other slaves. Even when iron chains ground his flesh until skin split and blood flowed, he still bared his teeth, ruling over the group of little slaves like a king. Whips and iron chains alike seemed unable to make this unruly little demon lord obedient.
Therefore, the treatment he received was also the worst.
They locked the little demon lord inside a massive iron cage, covered it with red cloth, intending to sell off this troublesome creature. But every time the red cloth was lifted, buyers would see, within the shadows, tangled hair of a young beast—and in those pitch-black pupils flickered a wolf-like ghostly light.
That gaze chilled even the most seasoned traders to the spine, as if stepping half a pace closer would result in their throats being torn out.
Through long torment, the little demon lord was never sold.
Until one day, the huge cage concealed beneath the red cloth was lifted open.
Before the little demon lord appeared a pair of pristine white little boots embroidered with golden thread in the shape of rabbit heads. The snowy white of the boots was dazzling, directly facing his tattered straw sandals with exposed toes.
Not some noble figure, but a clean and pretty little radish-head child, holding a small wooden sword.
Little Suisui crouched down to look at the little demon lord covered in wounds inside the iron cage. But the moment she drew near, a beast-like warning growl rose from his throat. Within his small body seemed to lurk a ferocious creature, watching the world outside the cage with vigilance and hatred.
Though his clothes were in rags, though he was curled in the corner of the cage barely alive, the little demon lord’s gaze burned with flames of defiance and arrogance.
The little demon lord was extremely wary. He had seen countless people dressed in fine clothes like this—feigning pity, only to reveal mockery and contempt the moment he fell for it. If not for the cage between them, the little demon lord would seize every chance to kill them.
At that time, little Suisui was not even as tall as a table, carrying a small wooden sword on her back as she descended the mountain.
She vaguely knew that she had come down the mountain to eliminate evil and help the poor, just like the sword cultivators in storybooks who upheld justice. But she had grown up in the sect—how could she know the hardships of the mortal world? The greatest hardship she knew was being left alone to endure when she had a fever; the most unfair treatment she knew was her father’s favoritism.
Yet the first time she descended the mountain to “help the poor and aid the weak,” she encountered the little demon lord in the cage, barely clinging to life.
The young little sword cultivator, descending the mountain in naive innocence, was stunned. She saw wounds on the little demon lord’s body that cut so deep bone could be seen, his pale and emaciated body entangled in chains, one of his demon horns broken off—so miserable it was unbearable to look at.
The little sword cultivator was born with a compassionate heart. Though her own life was not very good, she could not bear the suffering of the world. The first time she saw this pitiful little cat with both legs broken in a heap of refuse, she could not help but shed tears of sympathy.
The little demon lord shrank back warily, afraid that an adult might appear from somewhere and scold him for looking too frightening and scaring the little brat into tears.
But the child clutching the wooden sword stopped crying, leaned her little face close to the cage, and asked him, “Does it hurt?”
The little demon lord froze. His throat, unused for speech for so long, was too hoarse to make a sound.
Every time the seller introduced the little demon lord to others, the first thing they always said was: “This demon—no matter how much you beat him, he doesn’t feel pain!”
But now, she asked him: Does it hurt.
She must have heard the seller’s introduction, so why ask again?
The fanged, clawing little demon lord pressed his lips together and turned his head away.
—He was injured and exhausted, and tonight he would still be thrown into the beast arena. He needed to conserve his strength and did not want to deal with this pampered little brat.
But this little radish-head circled around him again and again, asking whether this hurt or that hurt, saying she wanted to rescue him and other such nonsense.
The little demon lord sneered inwardly: rescue him? With that toy wooden sword of hers?
She leaned in close—he could have grabbed her, could have hurt her. But every time he tried to show that fiercely aggressive side, he would meet the little sword cultivator’s eyes, brimming with tears about to fall.
She might cry—too frightening for a demon.
The little demon lord drew back his hand, thinking she talked far too much.
A meddlesome little radish-head.
Yet this little radish-head really did rescue him. Not with her wooden sword, but because she was very rich—she directly bought the little demon lord.
He no longer had to fight giant beasts, no longer had to struggle against humans. But he did not lower his guard at all. He had heard too many stories of slaves being bought only to be killed later. He did not believe good fortune would fall upon him.
But that little radish-head seemed to truly be nothing more than a fool overflowing with a sense of justice.
Holding her sword, she asked him, “What’s your name? I heard they all call you Little Demon… Demon Lord or something!”
Who are you calling little bun-head!
The little demon lord had not spoken for too long; his throat burned with pain. He swallowed and finally responded to her: “Yan… Yan…”
He stuttered for a long time but never managed to finish saying the words “Yan Xueyi.” After all, since being captured, he had gone a long time without speaking.
The little demon lord silently bit into a bun and did not try again to tell her his full name.
After all, no one cared whether a demon slave was called Tom or Dog.
The little radish-head was delighted. “Yanyan! I’ll call you Yanyan.”
He did not understand what made her so happy and watched her coldly. The little radish-head dragged him to a medical clinic to treat his wounds, spending a great deal of money; she took him to a clothing shop and replaced the ragged clothes on his body.
The little demon lord quietly calculated the cost: this little radish-head was such a big fool. The money she spent on him could have bought three more little demon lords like him!
So unshrewd—truly the number one fool under heaven.
He completely did not understand the little sword cultivator’s feelings during her first time helping the poor and aiding the weak. Although this pitiful demon did not seem to want anything to do with her and was nothing like she had imagined, she was still full of righteousness and enthusiasm, earnestly hoping this little demon lord could live on and grow up safely like the children of Kunlun Sword Sect.
Yet she knew that demons could not survive in the cultivation world.
Chao Jinsui’s childhood days in Kunlun Sword Sect had not been easy either. She was not a child who was doted on at will; rather, she had matured early. She knew clearly that if Chao Taichu learned she had brought back a demon, he would certainly fly into a rage, and the little demon lord would undoubtedly die.
But since she had rescued him, she could not just ignore him.
This tiny sword cultivator seemed to have been born with a strong sense of responsibility.
She thought for a long time, and finally gave him all the money she had saved in her storage pouch. “Yanyan, go back to the Demon Realm.”
This was the only way she could think of to help him.
The little demon lord looked suspiciously at the little radish-head with the earnest expression: she spent so many spirit stones to buy him, just to set him free?
A demon like him, who would stop at nothing to survive, of course could not understand the small heroism of a little sword cultivator born into a famous righteous sect. He only felt he had seen a great fool.
The little demon lord laughed inwardly, but then heard that fool sigh: “If you go back to the Demon Realm, maybe there will still be a way to live.”
The mocking smile at the corner of the little demon lord’s mouth disappeared. He stiffly lowered his head and bit into a bun.
A way to live? In all heaven and earth, was there a way to live for a born demon seed like him?
That number one little fool under heaven stood on tiptoe and handed him her bamboo hat. She told the little demon lord to keep his demon horns covered along the way, not to look back, to walk straight west, bring enough food, cross a stretch of red wilderness, and he would reach the Demon Realm. There, no one would discriminate against his demon horns—everyone would be demons like him, and he would not be treated as a slave.
She instructed him patiently and verbosely, chattering endlessly like a little housekeeper.
The little demon lord listened silently, thinking she was truly strange—
They had only just met. Why did she care whether he lived or died?
He was a cunning and vicious demon. Among these demon slaves, countless little demons like him died every single day. Just staying alive was already unimaginably difficult. Not only did the people here not care whether they lived or died—even the little demon lord himself did not care.
He did not know when he might die either.
But the little radish-head before him spoke and acted on her own, deciding that his life was very valuable.
—More valuable than a hundred mid-grade spirit stones, more valuable than an expensive storage pouch.
He heard the little radish-head call him “Yanyan,” Yanyan this, Yanyan that.
Though it sounded better than bun-head, he still thought the name was foolish beyond belief—
He was the only demon among them who actually had a name.
So the little demon lord suddenly spoke, his voice hoarse from injury:
“M-my name is Yan Xueyi.”
“Xue as in falling snow, yi as in cicada’s wing.”
The little sword cultivator stared at this little demon lord foolishly: so he wasn’t a stammer who could only make one sound after all.
The little demon lord lowered his head and cleared his throat. “You… what is your name?”
He had gone too long without speaking—his words still came out haltingly.
The little sword cultivator smiled adorably:
“Suisui! Sui as in ‘peace year after year.’”
So the little demon lord took her bamboo hat, hugged the hot buns and the storage pouch she had given him, and strode westward in great steps.
He never looked back again.
When he was among the slaves, the little demon lord had heard many demons pray to gods and Buddhas. He had sneered at it. Of all the gods and Buddhas in the heavens, who would care whether demons lived or died? But because so many people knelt in prayer, he half believed, half doubted, and in the end secretly made a wish:
If the gods and Buddhas truly had eyes, then send him a number one fool under heaven. Someone to give him food, give him warm clothes, and set him free.
Today, he had indeed met the number one fool of all—the silly little radish-head.
—From this day on, the little demon lord decided to believe in gods.
Only, as he strode forward in great steps, the little demon lord had never imagined:
For the rest of his life, he would never forget that number one foolish little radish-head.
