Chapter Five: No! I Don’t Want To!

Zhang Ning stared at the young man in astonishment, unsure how to respond. The youth seemed increasingly embarrassed, then dashed out of the room like the wind.

He arrived at the door to the room where the Vientiane Demon Lord was staying and called, “Master!”

This young man was actually the Demon Lord’s fourth disciple, Han Zhifei, fourteen years old, already cultivated to the Martial Master realm with the Bloodweight Divine Fist. The boy who often made outsiders shudder, whose name had entered the bedtime tales used to frighten children, was now waiting obediently outside.

Receiving no answer from his master, and being someone who never knew how to care for others or utter words of concern, he simply said, “I’ve met the fifth junior brother. What gift should I present him?” Still, there was no reply from within. Quietly, he bowed and left.

Normally, with his master’s profound cultivation, Han Zhifei could not sense whether he was inside, but he would have gone in to check. However, he had once been scolded by his third senior brother for misinterpreting his master’s intentions. This time, he was determined to deepen his understanding: his master’s silence was tacit approval!

As for the fifth junior... rumor had it he hailed from the same place as the eldest brother. The master, loving by association, might be grieving and unwilling to speak, so such trivial matters as gifts could be decided without disturbing him. Though he had not seen his master since he emerged from seclusion and missed him dearly, it was late and a disciple should not intrude.

He thought for a moment, found nothing else to say, and respectfully took his leave. On his way, he told the surrounding guards, “Take good care of the Fifth Prince!” The guards knelt and softly agreed, while Han Zhifei walked away without looking back.

In truth, as soon as he learned his master had left seclusion, he rushed over, not even bothering to pursue the remnants of the Joyful Buddha Sect. Had this been heard by outsiders, their jaws would have dropped in shock. For the past few years, Han Zhifei had led external campaigns, adhering strictly to his principle: “Say little, act much.” This earned him a reputation among the righteous sects as ruthless and merciless.

Yet, to him, these were merely means to an end; protecting his own sect was paramount. The truly bloodthirsty one, ironically, was praised by the righteous as the Scarlet-robed Immortal Lord, simply because he killed more from the demonic path—proof that people only see what they wish.

Han Zhifei continued to hunt down the scattered followers of the Joyful Buddha Sect.

Less than a quarter of an hour later, another person came. Observing etiquette, he knelt at the Demon Lord’s door, requesting an audience. Receiving no reply, he pushed the door open and entered.

“It seems Master only met with Fourth Brother,” he remarked, then asked the seemingly empty surroundings, “Did Fourth Brother confirm his identity when he arrived?”

A man stepped out—it was his subordinate. The man, slightly trembling, replied, “Third Prince, Fourth Prince instructed us to take good care of the Prince when he left.”

The young man addressed as Third Prince nodded. “Tell the men: the new prince is young, but not a single mistake will be tolerated!”

Two hours earlier

On the upper-grade artifact, the Great-bellied Boat.

The Demon Lord’s third disciple, Zhuge Yi, was bent over his desk, processing official documents. He had been working for six straight hours. Though a martial artist, the fatigue of the mind could not be dispelled. Since the great masters had, over twenty years ago, fought a minor battle every three days and a major battle every five, inter-sect tension had escalated, every trick deployed, and the baseline lowered time and again. Now, tasked with recruiting new disciples, Zhuge Yi was cautious to the point of handling everything personally, afraid of any mistake.

He was always prepared for war with other sects, wary that these recruits might soon be sent to battle, anxious that betrayal might occur on the battlefield.

At this moment, two reports arrived at his desk almost simultaneously: one, his master had emerged from five years in seclusion and appeared in the Demon Umbrella City (perhaps with another disciple, though he was unsure); the other, his direct subordinate who had previously betrayed the Grand Heaven Demon Sect had resurfaced.

Gazing at the intelligence report, Zhuge Yi was so furious he laughed: “First, I’ll take that dog’s life, then meet Master!” His subordinate, without a hint of doubt, received the order and departed.

Zhuge Yi straightened up, waiting quietly.

The enormous vessel, racing through the sky, quietly veered off course toward another destination.

An hour later, two people—a man and a woman, bound tightly, their joints broken as per Zhuge Yi’s custom, their dantian destroyed, and force-fed muscle-relaxing drugs—were tossed before him.

Zhuge Yi gazed coldly at them for a moment.

His subordinate had betrayed the Grand Heaven Demon Palace, secretly sending messages to other righteous sects, then, bafflingly, escaped with incredible luck. Even now, the sect’s countless elite had failed to catch him; he had fled to some unknown minor world. The man and woman before him were merely followers of that traitor.

Under his gaze, the woman broke first. Zhuge Yi, ever with eyes half-lidded and a smiling face, suddenly ceased to smile, unsettling her. She believed she had countless ways to deal with this prince.

“Third Prince,” she spoke, her voice alluring, her pure appearance always shocking to men. She knew she was not one to be disliked, and had mastered how to use her charms. She whispered, “Third Prince, will you hear my explanation?”

This time, Zhuge Yi finally smiled as usual, leisurely approaching her. Under her soft, tender gaze, he gently brushed her hair with a hand that seemed untouched by worldly affairs.

The woman closed her eyes, collapsed softly into his arms, and ceased to breathe! Even as breath left her, her body remained warm, as if in a sweet slumber.

Zhuge Yi replied, “No, I will not.”

As if answering her question.

He took out a handkerchief and wiped his hands, while the man, terrified, exclaimed, “I never expected Third Prince’s Seventeen Fatal Moves to be so masterful! The world only sees Fourth Prince’s illustrious battle achievements, but fails to recognize Third Prince’s extraordinary brilliance!”

Finishing, he looked around with a hint of bravado, as if surveying the world. When he saw someone beside him watching, he cried out, “Elder Xu?!”

His surprise was justified. Elder Xu was a renowned elder of the sect, of high seniority, though he rarely involved himself in mundane affairs, and was seldom seen. Yet, within the sect, his prestige remained.

He couldn’t help but glance at Third Prince anew, realizing his previous appraisal was insufficient—how could Elder Xu himself support Third Prince... He said, “Third Prince, you wish to know why I betrayed you, don’t you?” He paused, knowing his betrayal was likely incomprehensible: he had status, cultivation resources—no reason to join the righteous. Claiming it was for the world’s well-being, to follow that person, who would believe? He smiled bitterly. “It was because, half a year ago, I encountered that damned woman, then…”

He spat a mouthful of blood, staring blankly at his chest, now pressed against a wrist—clearly, its owner had thrust their entire hand into his chest. This was his last thought before collapsing to the ground.

Zhuge Yi said, “I do not.”