It wasn't a finger strike—but a fist. His five fingers curled slightly, forming a punch.
The motion was casual, unhurried, almost careless, as if he were swatting away a fly.
However—
Boom!
The instant Yang Cheng threw that ordinary-looking punch, the entire Snow Moon Manor—no, the entire sky above the surrounding region—seemed to be struck through by an invisible, unimaginable force.
Above everyone's heads, the heavy night clouds were suddenly pierced by a domineering wave of fist intent.
A massive, transparent hole appeared in the heavens, as if the sky itself had been smashed open.
And standing at the center of it all was Hu Chen!
The moment that invisible fist intent swept past, his body—together with the sword he had poured all his life's cultivation and hatred into—was crushed like an overripe tomato hit by a hammer.
Hu Chen, a peak Insight God cultivator, his treasured sword, his last defensive true essence, and the protective treasure robe on his body—
All of it exploded into dust!
He didn't even have time to scream.
Blood and shredded flesh burst outward like scattered pigment, splattering across every corner of the room.
In an instant, the entire chamber was dyed in crimson, heavy with the stench of blood.
Just a moment ago, Hu Chen had been a raging, arrogant powerhouse. Now, not even a trace of his body or spirit remained.
Only a faint afterimage of a fist mark lingered where he stood, slowly dispersing into the air under the sweeping energy storm.
Thud!
The two remaining Jiang Clan guards collapsed to their knees, unable to withstand the terrifying sight. Their faces turned pale as corpses, and when they looked at Yang Cheng, their eyes held nothing but absolute terror.
Aunt Liang's body was stiff. Her mouth hung slightly open, but no sound came out.
Peak Insight God—someone with power equal or even greater than hers—was annihilated with one punch?
Her understanding of Yang Cheng's strength had just been shattered again.
Jiang Li felt like she had fallen into an ice cave. She was the closest to the strike, and when that fist wind brushed past her, the shadow of death enveloped her entire body, making every hair on her stand upright.
He was too strong. Terrifyingly strong.
The room was filled with silence—an even deeper silence than when Hu Chen lost his arm.
The sound of blood dripping onto the floor echoed clearly through the still air.
Yang Cheng slowly lowered his hand, as calmly as if he were brushing dust from his sleeve.
"Whether I can stop Lingxi Sect or not—that's my concern," he said evenly. "Your task is to deliver a message for me."
His cold gaze turned toward Aunt Liang, sharp enough to pierce through her soul. "I'm informing you, not negotiating with you. Do you understand?"
A chill ran through her entire body. She didn't dare show even a hint of hesitation.
She bowed her head deeply. "Yes, my lord. Liang Zhi understands. I will deliver your words to the Guild Master exactly as you say."
"Go."
Yang Cheng's tone was indifferent.
Aunt Liang looked as if she had been granted a pardon. She didn't even dare glance at Jiang Li. She bowed low in reverence, then stumbled backward out of the room, practically fleeing.
Only then did Yang Cheng turn to Dongfang Sheng. "Dongfang Sheng, aren't you leaving with her?"
He nodded toward Ma Ruoruo, who was still pale and trembling.
Dongfang Sheng looked at Yang Cheng, his eyes filled with indescribable awe and gratitude. "Master Yang… thank you."
Without further hesitation, he took Ma Ruoruo's hand and quickly left.
Now only Yang Cheng and Jiang Li remained in the bloodstained, ruined room.
The Jiang Clan guards were trembling like quails waiting to be slaughtered, completely insignificant in his eyes.
Yang Cheng's gaze, invisible yet crushing, locked onto Jiang Li once again.
Jiang Li forced a smile, her face pale, trying to look pitiful. Seven parts fear, three parts feigned innocence.
"Young Master Yang."
Her voice trembled slightly, soft and alluring, laced with a delicate charm that carried an inexplicable seductive undertone. "A friend's wife… must not be toyed with."
Such a tone, such a look—most men would be ensnared by it instantly.
But Yang Cheng's eyes held not the slightest warmth.
"Jiang Li."
His voice was low and steady, yet every word carried a force that pierced straight into the soul. "Do you know why you always have the urge to kill? That uncontrollable craving buried deep in your heart—the one that longs to destroy, to tear, to inflict pain in the cruelest way possible?"
Buzz—!
It was as if an invisible bolt of thunder struck her.
Jiang Li's delicate body shuddered violently. The false shyness and feigned charm on her face froze in an instant.
She jerked her head up, eyes wide in shock. In them burned disbelief—terror at having her darkest secret laid bare.
That secret was something she had buried deep within her heart since childhood, something she had never spoken of to anyone.
Even her fifth grandfather, Jiang Bai, had always assumed she was simply born that way.
The world said Jiang Li was born cruel and bloodthirsty, that she reveled in killing, treating lives like grass beneath her feet.
But no one knew—the bloodlust that clung to her like maggots to bone was not truly "natural."
When she was still a child, there came a day when, deep within her consciousness, an icy, sinister whisper began to echo faintly.
That voice was like a devil's murmur, constantly awakening her negative emotions, amplifying her smallest destructive impulses and curiosity, twisting them until they became uncontrollable urges to kill—and a perverse delight in pain.
That voice was the source of her fall—the root of her corruption.
Even she had never understood it completely. All she could do was endure, pretending it was simply her "nature," using that lie to numb herself—while unknowingly feeding the thing within her.
But now, the deepest, most terrifying secret she had ever kept had been spoken aloud in a single sentence.
Terror filled her, but beneath that fear, a spark of desperate curiosity flickered. She couldn't help blurting out, "Why? Why is that?"
Yang Cheng's expression remained calm, his tone flat as ever.
The truth was simple. Jiang Li carried within her a great demon.
That demon was the Heart Desire Heavenly Demon—using her body to recover itself.
Ten years later, Jiang Li would discover its presence. After that, she would endure its torment for four hundred years, and in that time create the Refining Demon Furnace Divine Art to finally subdue and refine it.
Because of her hatred toward the demon, she would later make the technique public—and that was how Yang Cheng knew of it.
He didn't hesitate. His voice was calm, his eyes steady as he met her gaze.
"Because inside you," he said slowly, "there's a great demon."
"Its name is the Heart Desire Heavenly Demon."
"It's parasitic in the depths of your soul, feeding on your emotions—your joy, anger, sorrow, fear, desire, and pain. Using your body, your innate Pure Yin Dao Body, it's slowly awakening… rebuilding the essence it lost in its Nirvana calamity."
Jiang Li froze completely. Her face drained of color, turning as pale as paper.
"Heart Desire Heavenly Demon?" she whispered. "Parasitic… recovering…?"
Each word felt like a curse, burrowing into her mind like venom. Cold sweat ran down her back, but her gaze was clouded with confusion. She wasn't the type to believe easily.
Yang Cheng seemed to read her thoughts. His tone was calm, detached. "You don't need to believe me. Just do as I say—silently recite the words I tell you. Truth will reveal itself."
Then he began to speak. His voice carried a strange, rhythmic cadence, filled with a resonance that seemed to vibrate deep within the soul.
"Do zhi ta. Om. A na li. Pi she ti. Bi la ba zhe la tuo li."
These syllables formed the opening mantra of the Refining Demon Furnace Divine Art—a sacred incantation that contained the embryonic essence of melting and suppressing heart demons.
With Jiang Li's unique Pure Yin Dao Body, combined with the turmoil within her soul as she resisted the demon, that single chant was enough to stir the creature's backlash from deep inside her being.