NOVPUB◎"Little sapling, do you want to marry many little wives?"◎
Given that the Crying Crow Flame once shattered into fragments,
And its scattered embers still drift across the demon realm’s sky, dyeing it a deep crimson,
We still cannot determine whether, if gathered together, those lost sparks could piece together the Crying Crow Flame’s heart and mind.
As it turns out, the Crying Crow Flame is indeed the brightest flame in the world.
He is dazzling, warm, and full of passion.
The adorable little bird pecked at Wu Manshuang five, six, seven, or eight times per minute, tugging at his hair while flapping its tiny wings with great effort, trying to drag him away from Yan Luoyue’s side.
Whenever he succeeded—even if it was just making Wu Manshuang take a single step—the Crying Crow Flame would instantly radiate with pride!
Yan Luoyue remarked, "Crying Crow, you’re so bright."
Even the solar-powered light bulbs crafted by mischief-making players in World Unification couldn’t outshine the Crying Crow Flame!
Upon hearing this praise, the Crying Crow Flame immediately puffed out his little chest. "Of course, I’m the most dazzling."
Yan Luoyue: "…" That wasn’t quite the word she meant.
But since he was so happy, she decided not to correct him and instead praised him even more.
A faint smile curled at her lips as she leaned back against the stone pillar in the hall.
Twirling a strand of hair around her finger, she watched with amusement as Wu Manshuang and the Crying Crow Flame playfully chased each other into the distance.
The scene before her overlapped with memories from long ago—when the Crying Crow Flame had swooped down from the sky and relentlessly pecked at the Frostheart Stone.
Back then, the world was so quiet, with only the three of them in it.
Yet it was also so full—with these two companions by her side, every day the Moonfall Tree spent was filled with joy and contentment.
And now, after twists and turns, she and Manshuang had stayed together, and the scattered Crying Crow Flame had been slowly reclaimed… How wonderful it was that, after so long, the three of them were finally reunited.
Watching the retreating figures of the man and the flame, Yan Luoyue felt an overwhelming sense of peace and stability.
She thought: Once they dealt with the Puppet Love-Devouring Demon and severed that wretched thing’s connection, she, Manshuang, and Crying Crow could return to how things used to be—
She and Manshuang would stay together, forever.
As for Crying Crow, he would surely fly off to the ends of the earth again, only returning when he missed them, reuniting for another joyful gathering.
Wu Manshuang, leading the Crying Crow Flame, stretched his wings as they circled the underground hall.
Having successfully pieced their little companion back together, Wu Manshuang was clearly in high spirits, his demeanor more relaxed than usual.
He acted much like he had when he was still a stone—hardly retaliating against Crying Crow’s antics.
Only when the flame became too rowdy, flapping wildly in his face, would he tilt his head slightly to the side.
—Their little friend had suffered enough over the years. Let him be a little wild for now.
Patting the Crying Crow Flame’s wings, Wu Manshuang soothed, "Alright, don’t envy us. When the time is right, we’ll find you a spirit flame as a partner, how about that?"
"Pah! Pah! Pah!" The Crying Crow Flame chirped angrily, shaking his head so vigorously it looked more like a sneeze than a spit of fire.
"I don’t want some common, lowly flame as a partner!"
"…"
Wu Manshuang thought it over and realized he had a point.
After all, every spirit flame in existence carried a trace of the Crying Crow Flame’s essence.
In other words, all those flames were practically his descendants.
With this realization, Wu Manshuang’s gaze toward the Crying Crow Flame grew even more affectionate.
Suppressing a chuckle, he kindly suggested:
"Then, how about a Three-Legged Golden Crow? I’ll find you an egg to hatch, alright?"
The Crying Crow Flame: "…"
This wasn’t about hatching an egg—it was blatantly poking at a sore spot.
The Crying Crow Flame erupted in fury, his pink crest shooting up three feet high.
"Screeee! You’re the one who should hatch eggs! I’ll peck you to death!"
Just then, the two circled back to where they started.
Yan Luoyue stepped forward with a grin, joining in the teasing.
"Hatching an egg sounds nice. Who knows—maybe one day, a stone monkey born of heaven and earth will pop out. And since your temperature is so high, it’ll have fiery golden eyes right from the start…"
The Crying Crow Flame actually paused, considering how a stone monkey could emerge from an egg.
But the next second, he realized he’d been tricked.
"—Ack! No! I don’t hatch eggs!" He spat out a burst of flames, glaring at Yan Luoyue. "Little sapling, you—you—!"
A moment later, he dive-bombed Wu Manshuang again, pecking furiously.
"You jerk! You’ve corrupted the little sapling!"
……
For the sake of the Crying Crow Flame, Yan Luoyue had already made plans to head to the demon realm as soon as possible.
But no matter how much they hurried, certain matters couldn’t be skipped.
For example, they needed to inform Ji Qinghong about their upcoming journey.
They also had to explain the events of the past few years and the details of the cooperation between the cultivation world and the spirit realm.
That was why, at this very moment, Yan Luoyue, Wu Manshuang, and their tagalong Crying Crow Flame were seated in the hall Ji Qinghong had temporarily commandeered.
Ji Qinghong regarded the three of them with solemnity, his expression one of rare fascination.
From the subtle emotion in his gaze, Yan Luoyue could tell—they truly were master and disciple, their thoughts aligned.
After all, that look on Ji Qinghong’s face made it obvious: He deeply regretted not having a quick method of capturing the moment.
If he’d had a camera, he would’ve undoubtedly taken a commemorative photo with the three divine entities.
And then, he probably would’ve hung the oversized portrait in the sect leader’s meeting hall.
Taking advantage of this rare downtime, the master and disciples exchanged stories of the past few years.
When Ji Qinghong heard about their upcoming journey, he fell into contemplation.
"The demon realm?" Ji Qinghong rested his chin on one hand. "I have indeed heard rumors that a fragment of the Crying Crow Flame resides there."
However, after the Demon-Subduing War, the most commonly used spatial passage had been sealed with the demon realm’s barrier.
The remaining passages were unstable, so for the past three thousand years, there had been little interaction between the human and demon realms.
Even Ji Qinghong couldn’t say for certain about the whereabouts of that Crying Crow Flame fragment.
He could only offer: "The last time news came from the demon realm, there was no word of anyone subduing a fragment of the Crying Crow Flame."
The lack of news could mean the fragment was still hiding well—or that someone had quietly claimed it for themselves.
Still, hearing Ji Qinghong’s words, Yan Luoyue felt a wave of relief.
She looked expectantly at Ji Qinghong: "Master, do you know anyone in the demon realm?"
After all, Ji Qinghong was a figure from the era of the Demon-Subduing War. Back then, the human and demon realms had close ties. Perhaps, once Yan Luoyue arrived, she might find one or two of Ji Qinghong's old acquaintances who could lend a hand. Having connections would make things easier.
Ji Qinghong pondered for a moment. "I think I should clarify something for you."
"What?"
Ji Qinghong smiled cheerfully. "It's true that I’ve been to the demon realm, but my personality in my youth was even more... delightful than it is now."
Yan Luoyue: "..." If Ji Qinghong had outright admitted to having a terrible temperament, she wouldn’t have batted an eye. But this particular description made her feel an overwhelming urge to spit out her tea.
Ji Qinghong beamed, pretending not to notice the slight twitch in Wu Manshuang’s eye.
He continued leisurely, "Now, would you still like to know about my friends from back then? I can write them down for you."
Ji Qinghong cheerfully suggested, "If you find that you can’t leverage those connections, you could always burn the news of my survival to them."
Yan Luoyue replied with genuine sincerity, "No, thank you. Really, thank you so much."
She was going to the demon realm to search for the Wuti Fire, not to make enemies.
Ji Qinghong chuckled softly, his long, silvery-white hair slipping over his shoulders like water. The soft, warm rabbit fur looked so inviting that Yan Luoyue’s fingers itched to give it a tug.
But Ji Qinghong’s next words quickly dispelled that notion.
"In the demon realm, there’s a place called Birdcall Ravine. If you don’t find any leads locally, you might want to check there."
After thoroughly combing through his memories, Ji Qinghong offered this suggestion.
"Birdcall Ravine?"
Muttering the name, Yan Luoyue and Wu Manshuang simultaneously turned to look at Wuti.
The Wuti Fire spat out a small flame. "Why are you looking at me like that? Do I really look like a bird? Chirp!"
Yan Luoyue and Wu Manshuang: "..."
What do you think?
Ji Qinghong waved a hand, clearly signaling that it was time for them to leave.
But before they did, he remembered something rather important.
"Oh, by the way, don’t you have a white crane friend?"
"For this campaign against the Hongtong Palace, the crane clan sent a team of historians. If you’re interested, you might want to visit their camp first."
With a faint smile, Ji Qinghong added leisurely, "The historians have all memorized materials related to the demon realm. Bringing one along could save you a lot of effort."
"—So, if you can’t find your friend, just pick a lucky crane at random, stuff them into a sack, and take them with you," Ji Qinghong said calmly. "Consider it a way to familiarize yourself with the demon realm’s customs in advance."
Yan Luoyue: "..."
She had a strong suspicion that this wasn’t the demon realm’s style—it was Ji Qinghong’s personal style from his younger days.
If this was how you behaved back then, no wonder you had so few friends, you rabbit!
Following Ji Qinghong’s directions, Yan Luoyue and her companions arrived at the crane clan’s territory.
The Righteous Alliance had just achieved a great victory—Hongtong Palace had fallen, and the casualties among the cultivators were minimal.
Such joyous news naturally called for celebration with song and dance.
And the avian clans, particularly the cranes, were renowned for their musical and dancing prowess.
By the time Yan Luoyue arrived, the area around the crane clan was already packed with spectators.
Extending her spiritual sense into the crowd, she saw a group of ethereal beauties with frost-like elegance, their foreheads adorned with striking vermillion marks, dancing gracefully.
The crane historians, both men and women, exuded an otherworldly charm.
Dozens of white cranes swayed in unison, their wide, snow-white sleeves billowing like clouds as they danced in the wind.
Their sleeves resembled drifting clouds, their waists as supple as bamboo—harmonious and unyielding.
The scene before her evoked the poetic imagery of "bathing in the Yi River, dancing in the wind, and returning home in song."
The dancing cranes formed a flower-like circle, and when they arched backward in unison, it was as if a water lily had bloomed in the breeze.
At the center of the circle, one historian would step forward and sing.
A bystander quietly explained, "This is the crane clan’s Song Contest, held during celebrations."
The contest had no restrictions on theme or length.
Given the joyous occasion, no one chose mournful tunes.
Every crane who stepped into the center sang uplifting melodies that filled the listeners with happiness.
Not wanting to disrupt the beautiful scene, Yan Luoyue found a sturdy tree and settled on a branch with Wu Manshuang, enjoying the performance from their makeshift VIP seats.
The crane clan’s members all shared the same transcendent aura, but after scanning the crowd several times, Yan Luoyue finally spotted Ling Shuanghun and his elder brother, Ling Shuying.
Ling Shuanghun was engrossed in the dance and didn’t notice Yan Luoyue perched in the tree.
Now, Ling Shuanghun had grown to the same height as his brother.
Standing side by side, the two looked so alike they could have been twins, evoking countless poetic comparisons.
Lost in thought for a moment, Yan Luoyue was brought back to reality when the Wuti Fire flapped its wings, circled twice, and landed gracefully on her shoulder.
With a mischievous grin, it asked pointedly, "Enjoying the view?"
Yan Luoyue answered honestly, "Of course."
It was common knowledge that the crane clan was full of stunning beauties—tall, elegant, and proud.
Delighted by her answer, the Wuti Fire bounced excitedly.
"You’ve got good taste! Let me tell you, the avian clans are the best-looking. The snake clans? Nah, not even close!"
Yan Luoyue: "..."
Given the Wuti Fire’s exposure to some rather unsavory influences in Hongtong Palace, she couldn’t help but wonder what exactly it meant by those last three words.
Undeterred, the Wuti Fire continued, shamelessly badmouthing Wu Manshuang right in front of him:
"Snakes are downright evil. They slither up trees and eat bird eggs all the time. My suggestion? Chop them all into pieces and make snake soup!"
Yan Luoyue: "..."
She wasn’t in a position to comment on that particular recipe.
After all, compared to snake soup, turtle soup was far more common.
Oblivious to her discomfort, the Wuti Fire pressed on with its grand plan:
"Listen, little sapling, ditch the big rock, and I’ll help you out!"
Yan Luoyue blinked. "Help me with what?"
The Wuti Fire thumped its chest proudly. "I’ll help you marry all these crane beauties and take them as your concubines!"
Yan Luoyue: "..."
How generous of you, Wuti.
The Wuti Fire had it all figured out.
"We can all sleep together on the branches!"
Yan Luoyue: "..."
She was beginning to realize that over the past three thousand years, Wuti had indeed picked up some... unconventional ideas.
And after hearing the sleeping arrangements, she strongly suspected that Wuti wasn’t so much interested in helping her acquire concubines as it was lonely and wanted a bunch of Yan Luoyue’s spouses to keep it company.
...Wait a minute, this logic doesn’t add up.
Why does sharing a perch with Wu Ti necessarily mean becoming Yan Luoyue’s spouse first?!
Hearing Wu Ti so confidently arranging the affairs of the crane beauties, Wu Manshuang finally reached his limit and decided to arrange Wu Ti’s fate instead.
With a terrifyingly gentle smile, he grabbed Wu Ti—the firebird—by the scruff of its neck.
Even with his fate held in Wu Manshuang’s grip, Wu Ti remained unbothered, wings akimbo.
“Big rock, what are you doing?”
Wu Manshuang asked softly, “Luoyue, are you cold?”
Yan Luoyue, confused, replied, “No, not at all.”
Perfect. That was exactly the answer Wu Manshuang had been waiting for.
He murmured, “Good, because I’m a little cold.”
No sooner had he spoken than Wu Manshuang began kneading Wu Ti into a round, squishy bird-ball—just like many years ago, when an angry boulder had used spiritual energy to drag the firebird over and pin it beneath its weight.
Without hesitation, ruthlessly, and with absolute conviction… Wu Manshuang stuffed the bird-ball under his rear.
Squish.
The bird-ball instantly flattened into an electric heating pad.
Yan Luoyue: “...”
Wu Ti, now pancaked into shape, let out a series of indignant cheep-cheeps, setting off a chorus of chirps from every bird in the tree.
Wu Manshuang, however, remained deaf to the protests beneath him.
He smiled at Yan Luoyue, sitting upright with an air of magnanimity.
“Luoyue,” he asked pleasantly, “which one do you want as your little wife? Should I catch one for you?”
Yan Luoyue raised her hand to the heavens. “I don’t like any of them, I swear! And—Manshuang, stop smiling like that! Also, don’t laugh while choking Wu Ti to make him provide background music for you!”
...
Some time later, it was Ling Shuanghun’s turn to sing in the circle.
The moment he began, Yan Luoyue burst into laughter.
By sheer coincidence, the song Ling Shuanghun was singing happened to be the lullaby he had once used to lull Yan Luoyue and Wu Manshuang to sleep during the Thousand Refinements Tournament.
“Stone below, wood on earth,
Fire above, drifting free.
Let it wander as it pleases,
You and I, bound eternally…”
As Ling Shuanghun sang his crane song, Wu Ti was struggling—inch by painful inch—to wriggle free from Wu Manshuang’s crushing weight.
Listening to the lyrics, Wu Ti suddenly found the imagery oddly familiar.
Once Ling Shuanghun finished and stepped down, Yan Luoyue and Wu Manshuang leaped from the tree to greet him.
Before Ling Shuanghun could even speak, Wu Ti fluttered excitedly around him in a circle.
“Cheep-cheep! What was that song you just sang?”
Ling Shuanghun blinked in surprise at Wu Ti, recognizing the crest feather on his head—Yan Luoyue’s signature pink plume.
How strange. He had never encountered a sentient, reassembled fire-spirit before.
Ling Shuanghun flipped open a page of his notebook—a telltale sign to those who knew him that he was about to document this firebird’s story.
As his brush danced across the page, the white crane patiently answered, “That melody is soft and soothing. Our clan often uses it as a lullaby.”
Wu Ti pressed, “But what’s it called?”
Ling Shuanghun, ever poised, replied serenely, “It has no name. Passed down through generations of cranes, it’s said to be the very first love song of heaven and earth.”
Wu Ti: “...”
The moment he heard “love song,” every flame on his body bristled.
After a moment of contemplation, Wu Ti suddenly asked, “Have you spent time with the two of them before?”
Given how extraordinary this fire-spirit was—and the high likelihood that it was Yan Luoyue’s old pink plume—Ling Shuanghun answered with great patience.
He nodded, a flicker of nostalgia and pride in his eyes.
“The three of us have shared many experiences.”
“...”
At this answer, Wu Ti’s voice took on a tone of sympathy, camaraderie, and shared suffering.
“Did you… by any chance, sing this song to them in the past?”
Ling Shuanghun looked up, puzzled. “Yes?”
“Well then, let me suggest a name for this song.”
Wu Ti declared with absolute seriousness, “How about The Song of the Lonely Bird? Fitting, don’t you think?”
Ling Shuanghun: “...”
For a moment, Ling Shuanghun felt as though he was being subtly mocked.
After a pause, realization slowly dawned on him.
He glanced between Yan Luoyue and Wu Manshuang, noticing the unspoken warmth in their exchanged looks.
These two had been childhood friends—always close, but now, something was different.
If their past bond was like mountains and rivers standing side by side, now it was more like water encircling the mountain, the mountain embracing the water—an intimacy beyond words.
Suddenly, Ling Shuanghun gasped. “Wait—Xiao Yan, Xiao Wu, are you two…?!”
At the question, Yan Luoyue and Wu Manshuang shared a smile.
Studying their appearances, Ling Shuanghun frowned. “Strange… Why do you both look so much older all of a sudden?”
Over the past two years, he had written to Yan Luoyue and Wu Manshuang.
But the replies had come not from his friends, but from Jiang Tingbai.
Jiang Tingbai’s letters had explained that his junior siblings were in seclusion.
Ling Shuanghun eyed them suspiciously, wondering just what kind of seclusion could make someone grow so much—had they been eating age-pills like candy?
Yan Luoyue suddenly remembered: Ling Shuanghun was originally five years older than her.
She and Wu Manshuang had spent seven years in the spirit realm, while only two had passed in the mortal world.
Which meant… hehehe, she might actually be older than Xiao Ling now!
Grinning, Yan Luoyue reached out and patted Ling Shuanghun’s head with practiced ease.
“Well, we spent seven or eight years in a world where time flows faster. So—come on, Xiao Ling, call me jie.”
Ling Shuanghun: “???”
He turned to Wu Manshuang in disbelief. “Xiao Wu, aren’t you going to say something?!”
Wu Manshuang smiled faintly and echoed, “Yes, call me ge.”
Ling Shuanghun: “...Xiao Wu, I’ve known you were a lost cause ever since you started taking her side all those years ago.”
The three of them exchanged glances—then burst into laughter.
Wu Ti fluttered around them, observing for a long moment before realizing something:
—Rather than focusing on the fact that Yan Luoyue and Wu Manshuang were together, this silly crane seemed more bothered by being called “little brother”!
Left with no choice, Wu Ti took matters into his own wings. “Can’t you see? They’re together now!”
“I can see that,” Ling Shuanghun replied, puzzled. “Why are you so fixated on it?”
Wu Ti’s flames flared. “Aren’t you surprised?!”
“A little,” Ling Shuanghun admitted honestly. “But what’s truly surprising is that it took them this long.”
After all, the bond between Yan Luoyue and Wu Manshuang had been obvious since they were children.
“...”
Upon hearing these words, the little red bean-colored flame widened its round eyes in surprise: "What about me?"
Ling Shuanghun fell silent.
He straightened his robes and bowed solemnly to the Black Crow Flame.
"I meant to ask earlier—may I inquire who you are...?"
—Aren’t these two destined to be together? Why are you so concerned?!
—Look, he doesn’t even care!
Everyone: "..."
Well, that’s a long story...
Wu Manshuang patted Ling Shuanghun’s arm and slung an arm around his neck, leading him aside.
"Come with me, Xiao Ling. Let me tell you a story."
By the time the two returned, Ling Shuanghun’s expression was dazed, as if he were in a dream.
Yan Luoyue, sharp-eyed, noticed that he had already changed the title of The Biography of Yan Luoyue to The Biography of the Moonfall Tree.
Not only that, but Ling Shuanghun was also rearranging the pages, seemingly preparing to merge The Biography of Yan Luoyue with The Biography of Wu Manshuang.
...
Among the few remaining spatial passages to the demon realm in this world, the most stable one was located in the Snow Domain.
Upon hearing about Yan Luoyue and Wu Manshuang’s upcoming travel plans, Ling Shuanghun was more than willing to accompany them.
As a historian, he was delighted at the opportunity to document the customs and culture of the demon realm. And as a friend, helping his two dear companions was exactly what Ling Shuanghun wished for.
Without even packing his belongings—merely ensuring he had enough scrolls, brushes, and ink—Ling Shuanghun immediately turned to bid farewell to his elder brother.
The moment Ling Shuying saw Yan Luoyue, he visibly froze, clearly finding her familiar.
After a moment, the white-crane historian managed to recognize her identity, connecting her to the little tortoise girl from his memories.
With a polite nod toward Yan Luoyue, the crimson mark between his brows glowing faintly, Ling Shuying stood with an air of dignified grace.
Then, in the next instant, he reverted to being a doting elder brother.
He adjusted Ling Shuanghun’s collar and whispered, "Little brother, have you grown too slowly these past few years?"
That tortoise girl who’s five years younger than you has already grown so much taller!
Ling Shuanghun: "...If I told you it’s because she’s lived too long, would you believe me?"
...
After parting with his brother, their flying vessel soared into the sky, heading straight for the northern Snow Domain.
Along the way, Ling Shuanghun made full use of his expertise as a historian, giving Yan Luoyue, Wu Manshuang, and the flame an advance introduction to the customs of the Snow Domain.
"In the Snow Domain, whether they’re mortals or cultivators, people tend to be optimistic and straightforward. The harsh environment tempers their spirits, so sword cultivators are especially common."
Yan Luoyue raised her hand. "Is the spatial passage managed by the Hanson Sect?"
If the Hanson Sect was in charge, they could also drop by to greet Senior Brother Chu Tiankuo and the others.
Ling Shuanghun shook his head. "No, the passage lies to the west, while the Hanson Sect is in the east."
Since their primary goal was to locate the Black Crow Flame’s split-off fire, reunions could wait until their return.
Wu Manshuang pressed further, "Then who oversees the spatial passage?"
Ling Shuanghun replied, "The Slashing Clouds Sword Village."
The next second, Wu Manshuang and Yan Luoyue exchanged a glance.
The down-to-earth name of the sect instantly reminded them of a certain someone.
...
Fierce winds howled across the Snow Domain, sharp and biting as blades.
The gales were so violent that even the flying vessel struggled to advance. The group had no choice but to disembark and continue on foot.
Along the way, they spotted numerous sword cultivators riding their blades, charging heroically into the sky to challenge their limits in this natural training ground.
Their straight-backed figures tore through the clouds like meteors streaking upward against the heavens.
Yan Luoyue silently admired the sight: No wonder the Snow Domain breeds so many sword cultivators.
Such majestic, icy landscapes were meant to forge fearless, indomitable heroes.
The trio (plus one flame) pressed onward. As they passed the first mountain ridge, they finally encountered a sect—or rather, a village.
While walking through the settlement, Yan Luoyue noticed that everyone was bundled in thick clothing.
Cotton garments were the most common, but fur coats were also popular, with many sporting sleek mink pelts.
Some even wore additional dogskin hats.
The already sturdy figures looked even more imposing under the layers of fur—enough to make even wild bears think twice before approaching.
A quick sweep with her spiritual sense revealed that all these people were cultivators.
Strange. Cultivators weren’t affected by temperature extremes—they wouldn’t feel cold in light clothing, nor hot in heavy layers. So why the uniform preference for such attire?
As Yan Luoyue pondered this, the villagers also eyed them with curiosity.
Translated into plain speech, their gazes seemed to say: "These folks definitely ain’t from around here."
Wu Manshuang glanced around, then approached a kindly-looking elder to ask politely:
"May I ask, fellow cultivator, why do you all dress so warmly?"
The old man took a slow drag from his pipe before answering cheerfully:
"Little fool, there’s a kind of cold called ‘you look cold just seeing it.’"
Wu Manshuang: "..."
At that moment, he suddenly recalled the reasoning he’d once given Cen Mingxiao in the Spirit Realm for wearing more layers.
Back then, Wu Manshuang could never have predicted that boomerangs always come back—swift, merciless, and unerring.
Perhaps this was what they called: "Dead clothes suddenly rising to attack me."
After trekking through snow and ice, the group finally arrived at Slashing Clouds Sword Village. Even before entering, Yan Luoyue spotted Bu Ye at the village entrance.
—The same aloof sword cultivator who, at the Silver Light Arena, had twice staked his entire fortune and lost to Yan Luoyue and Dui Choumian.
According to intel from Wu Manshuang, the third time they met Bu Ye, the man had seemingly gambled away even his underpants...
Unlike the heavily bundled locals they’d encountered along the way, Bu Ye wasn’t wearing much.
When their paths crossed, Bu Ye was practicing sword forms bare-chested.
Under the thin sunlight of the Snow Domain, his sweat-glistened muscles gleamed like a steaming cup of coffee in winter.
Two years later, the moment Bu Ye recognized Yan Luoyue and Wu Manshuang, his expression turned complicated.
By now, Wu Manshuang had grown into a tall, straight-backed youth.
Even without his Southern Border demon attire or peacock-feather makeup, Bu Ye recognized him instantly.
...Mostly because the losses had been too unforgettable.
In that moment, Bu Ye recalled both the camaraderie of fighting alongside Wu Manshuang and the heart-wrenching pain of losing everything.
"..."
The two parties exchanged greetings.
To blend in with local customs, Yan Luoyue borrowed the elder’s words and asked cheerfully:
"Fellow Cultivator Bu, why aren’t you wearing more? Don’t you know—there’s a kind of cold called ‘you look cold just seeing it’!"
Bu Ye had an aloof personality, but he was also brutally honest.
He stated succinctly, "Lost it all."
Yan Luoyue: "..."
So, the reason you're practicing swordplay shirtless is because you gambled away your robe?
—Bro, I told you long ago that gambling addicts have no future—how have you not realized this yet?!
Though the memories were a bit awkward, since they had unexpectedly reunited, Bu Ye was happy to play the host.
After hearing their purpose for visiting, Bu Ye nodded and said slowly, "Got it. Let me find my Second Uncle for you."
Yan Luoyue’s mind blanked for a moment: "...What?"
Ling Shuanghun leaned over and quietly translated for Bu Ye:
"According to Snow Region customs, 'Second Uncle' is basically their Second Elder."
Since the Snow Region had few permanent residents, everyone was practically family if you traced their lineage back far enough.
And in such a frigid place, wasn’t it only natural for people to warm things up with affectionate nicknames?
In contrast, the Hanson Sect, located further east, was a much more "formal" sect.
Their titles—like Sect Leader and Elder—sounded much more official.
As for sects like the Slaying Clouds Sword Village… well, the name alone told you they were down-to-earth.
But hey, they were all sword cultivators—who cared about such trivialities?
Under Bu Ye’s guidance, the group arrived at a mine.
Though the Snow Region was bitterly cold, it was rich in resources. This mine served both as a training ground for the sect’s sword cultivators and a source of spirit ore, which they sold to the cultivation world to fund their operations.
Standing at the foot of the mountain, Yan Luoyue could faintly sense the varying sword auras emanating from different tunnels—likely reflecting the cultivators inside.
If Jiang Tingbai were here, he’d probably make even finer distinctions.
But for Bu Ye, identifying a specific sword aura was as easy as losing his last pair of pants in a bet.
Soon, the group stood before one of the tunnels.
Then what? Yan Luoyue gave Bu Ye a questioning look.
Bu Ye, the aloof sword cultivator, cleared his throat, took a deep breath—
And then bellowed into the tunnel at the top of his lungs:
"SECOND UNCLE—! PEOPLE FROM THE GUIYUAN SECT ARE HERE—! HEADING TO THE DEMON REALM—! WHERE’S YOUR GATE KEY—?!"
Yan Luoyue: "..."
Wu Manshuang: "..."
Ling Shuanghun: "..."
Crack! Crack! Crack!—like three bolts of lightning striking them where they stood, shattering Bu Ye’s icy-cool image into tiny, irreparable pieces.
Sure, they’d known he wasn’t as unapproachable as he looked, but this was way too folksy!
From inside the tunnel, the sound of clanging swords never stopped.
But the reply that came back was sharp as a blade, piercing through the winding mine walls with undiminished force.
Though the content… well.
"—KEY AIN’T WITH ME! GO ASK YOUR THIRD AUNT!"
Yan Luoyue: "..."
Ling Shuanghun dutifully translated: "'Third Aunt' probably refers to the Third Elder of Sword Village."
After a brief pause, the slightly aged voice boomed again:
"—IF YOUR THIRD AUNT AIN’T GOT IT, TRY YOUR GREAT-AUNT!"
Ling Shuanghun continued: "Here, 'Great-Aunt' likely means the Sword Village’s Grand Elder."
Yan Luoyue: "..." Got it.
Honestly, Sword Village’s new ranking system was pretty straightforward.
—Wait, did her accent just slip a little?
Maybe because he’d already warmed up his voice, or perhaps because he was more relaxed on home turf, Bu Ye gradually shed his aloof demeanor and opened up a bit.
He explained, "I keep quiet outside to avoid giving myself away."
Yan Luoyue: "???"
Buddy, I call bull—what exactly were you hiding?!
Do you realize you were this close to getting completely exposed (in more ways than one) at the Silver Light Arena?!
Bu Ye clarified, "When I first left the Snow Region, people could tell where I was from just by how I talked. And I swear I never told them."
Yan Luoyue facepalmed.
"...Maybe your origins are just tattooed on your vocal cords," she muttered.
No tedious paperwork, no middlemen taking cuts—Yan Luoyue and the others received the spatial passage key directly from Sword Village’s Third Aunt.
This Third Aunt was a bold, unconventional figure.
When Bu Ye led them to her, she was sitting on a stool in her courtyard, leisurely roasting corn with her scorching sword aura.
After verifying their identities and checking Ji Qinghong’s sealed letter, Third Aunt waved them through without hesitation.
By the time they stepped into the spatial passage, waving goodbye to Bu Ye, each of them—including the tiny Flaming Crow—was holding a roasted corn cob.
(For the crow, Third Aunt had even skewered a few kernels on a stick.)
---
As they traveled toward the Demon Realm, Ling Shuanghun, in high spirits after the snack, gave them a quick cultural primer.
"Records say there are two origins for demon surnames," he explained.
"One is based on species—like the weasels taking 'Huang,' the foxes 'Hu' or 'Linghu,' the sheep 'Yang,' the horses 'Ma'..."
"As for the other kind..." He paused, smiling at Yan Luoyue.
"Take you, Xiao Yan. Your 'Yan' is the same as the turtle clan of Yunning Great Marsh—a major surname among demons."
(Actually, Yan Luoyue’s "Yan" wasn’t from the turtles, but before she could correct him—)
Just as they stepped out of the passage, a razor-sharp wind blade shot toward them!
The Demon Realm’s famously fierce customs lived up to their reputation.
Yan Luoyue blinked. They really attack on sight? Was Ji Qinghong’s "sack them first" advice not a joke after all?
Wu Manshuang flicked a hand, dispersing the blade effortlessly.
Oddly, Ling Shuanghun looked thrilled, as if witnessing a textbook example come to life.
"And your name, sir?" he asked eagerly.
The attacker—a fierce-looking youth with wild yellow hair and a spear—bared his teeth.
"Dou Zilin!"
"Exactly like this!" Ling Shuanghun beamed, using the guy as a live demonstration.
"According to the customs of the demon realm, generally speaking, the more combative clans tend to have the surname 'Dou'..."
Before Bai He could finish speaking, the trio spotted a billowing cloud of dust approaching from the winding mountain path in the distance.
The dust was kicked up by incredibly swift footsteps, and in the blink of an eye, the owner of such extraordinary speed had already come to a halt before them.
It was a slender, pretty young girl, her muscles sleek and powerful yet exuding a lively grace. She appeared quite young, her skin a healthy shade of wheat.
Perched atop her head were two fluffy, warm brown pointed ears—clear evidence of her half-demon transformation.
With a clear, melodious voice, the girl announced, "I sensed the spatial passage being activated, so the elders sent me to inquire about the situation."
Noticing that the group before her was rather good-looking—nothing like those hideous demonic creatures—she flashed a grin, revealing a pointed canine tooth, and waved cheerfully at them.
"Hello there! I'm Pao Lulu!"
Yan Luoyue: "..."
Wait, that name seems a bit...
Ling Shuanghun, his eyes sparkling with excitement, chimed in, "See, those who excel at running tend to have the surname 'Pao.' And some bird clans, because they can fly, take the surname 'Fei.'"
Lowering his voice, he glanced at the girl’s pointed ears and whispered, "I’d guess Pao Lulu’s lineage is from the Tibetan antelope clan."
As Ling Shuanghun spoke, Pao Lulu’s fluffy ears twitched twice, looking utterly adorable.
Yan Luoyue felt an inexplicable itch in her fingers, as if she wanted to pet them.
But the next moment, Ling Shuanghun’s speculation redirected her attention.
Ling Shuanghun continued, "Yan Luoyue, as for why your turtle clan has the surname 'Yan'... Well, I think—"
Yan Luoyue swiftly cut him off. "Ling Shuanghun, don’t say another word."
Because she already knew what he was implying!
Undoubtedly, in the demon realm, turtles could never outrun others.
As for fighting... well, they might not necessarily lose.
Though they had their racial strengths, no decent clan would ever take "getting beaten up" as their surname!
That would just be demoralizing, wouldn’t it?
So, considering all factors, they had no choice but to reluctantly settle for the surname "Yan."
Thinking of the turtle clan’s elder, Yan Luoyue touched the tip of her nose and mused: Well, well. So the turtle clan’s 'Yan' stands for 'Let me explain this slowly.'
Just then, Dou Zilin raised his spear, pointing at them from a distance, his battle spirit flaring as he demanded their origins.
"Who are you people? Why did you activate this long-abandoned spatial passage?"
Yan Luoyue responded at a leisurely pace: "As—for—our—clan’s—origins—why—don’t—you—guess?"
Dou Zilin: "..."
