Deep within Trial Valley, a circular stone chamber stood in silent stillness.
At its center rose an ancient triangular stone dais. The surface was mottled with age, yet it still gave off a faint, ghostly sheen. It was carved all over with archaic Yao-script and intricate patterns—interlaced rune-lines that flickered with traces of residual Yao-power. The murals on the four walls were twisted and grotesque in style. Their pigments had long since dulled, yet one could still make out the horrific scene depicted: the power of the Five Yao being forcibly torn apart, then poured—together—into a single body. The figure in the painting wore a grim, chilling expression.
It was none other than the Demon Sovereign, once sealed by the Five Yao.
Dim firelight wavered across the murals, making the images look as though they might tear free of the stone at any moment.
Before the dais, Feng Mian stood with his hands clasped behind his back, cold light floating in his eyes. He stared at the Demon Sovereign's likeness on the wall; the corners of his mouth slowly curled into an uncanny smile.
"Give it a little more time, and this one will have a new body…"
He murmured softly, his voice steeped in frosty madness. "When I return, the wounds you forced upon me back then—this Yao-realm… I will reclaim it all, bit by bit!"
His laughter echoed through the chamber, weaving with the flicker of remnant Yao-light like an ill omen.
[Trial Valley · Underground Altar]
At the bottom of the abyssal rift, a rock-hewn altar yawned like a gigantic maw. Black flames burned around it, trembling in the air thick with scorch, iron, and blood.
Wanluo was shackled at the heart of the formation. Chains pinned all four limbs; blood seeped from raw wrists and ankles. She struggled desperately, her voice shaking.
"Feng Mian… you said you would take me away… Why are you imprisoning me here?"
Feng Mian stood on the high platform. Black mist rolled around him. He lifted his eyes, his expression glacial, his voice low—and laced with insanity.
"You should be grateful. To become the sacrificial vessel for my rebirth in Trial Valley—this is your only value."
The black flames swayed. The chains on Wanluo's body were freezing cold, yet her heart slammed wildly against her ribs.
She looked up at the man on the platform. That face was almost identical to the "Feng Mian" she knew—yet the black fog churning in his eyes shattered her last shred of hope.
"You… aren't him." Her voice trembled, but her gaze locked onto him. "Who are you, really?"
The man above hooked a cold smile. With a flick of his fingers, the chains tightened. Wanluo nearly fainted from the pain, yet she bit down hard, refusing to let tears fall.
"Heh… clever girl."
His voice was low, carrying an echo from the depths of the Nether Abyss.
"The world calls me—the Demon Sovereign."
Wanluo's whole body jolted.
He leaned forward, looking down at her, lips curled with icy contempt. His voice dropped hoarse, tinged with a strange pride.
"But long ago—before those foolish disciples pushed me into the abyss… I had a name."
Wanluo's breath caught.
"Remember it."
Each word sounded as though it had been ground out of iron and blood.
"—Ye Yi."
Across from her stood the body of a young man—tall, refined, and handsome, his features seven parts resembling Ling Dang. He was Ling Shuo, eldest son of the Lord of Xiling. At this moment, the rise and fall of his chest had nearly ceased. This was the "new body" Feng Mian had painstakingly cultivated in secret.
Feng Mian stood upon the platform, eyes cold, voice dark and grim.
"Wanluo, you know my secret—so I'll make use of you. You will bear a fragment of a soul, and help me return to my true form."
He swept his sleeve. The black-yao crystals embedded on the altar lit up all at once. Golden-Yao forbidden sigils interwove in the air, forming two opposing soul arrays.
Wanluo's pupils shrank. Her face turned deathly pale.
"No… don't!"
On the altar, countless grooves were filled with blood. Black-yao crystals set into the four corners exuded a chilling,幽光.
Feng Mian stood at the center, draped in a cloak like black gauze. His voice was low, eerie.
"A noble shell… heh. Perfect for carrying my name forward."
He extended a hand. His fingertips traced runes in midair. The sigils flared—then the entire altar began to hum and tremble.
"First, we transfer the soul of this mortal vessel… into that useless woman…"
With a sharp gesture, the valley floor roared. Ten thousand black-yao crystals ignited in unison. In the depths, black radiance and the Golden-Yao forbidden array intertwined; the world darkened in an instant, as if the end had come.
In the void, a wisp of soul-force burst violently out of Ling Shuo's body, shrieking as it tore free of its bindings. Feng Mian spread both arms wide and bellowed in manic fury:
"Let the rift be the anchor, the Black Yao the lure—let the Gold Yao be the bridge! Soul Transfer!"
With a thunderous boom, the runes erupted into searing golden light, weaving with black-yao darkness into a colossal array. The forbidden power pierced heaven and earth, and Wanluo's screams echoed through the entire rift.
An invisible black tide invaded her body; her pupils began to lose focus. Feng Mian forced the soul into her flesh inch by inch, shoving aside—devouring—her original spirit.
And Ling Shuo's body went empty in an instant, leaving only a "perfect shell."
Feng Mian's gaze sharpened. A bloodthirsty smile curved his lips.
"Good… now it's my turn."
He lifted both arms. His chest split open, and a jet-black demonic shadow drifted out from within—like a shattered wraith. Its shriek shook loose gravel from the walls.
That remnant soul—laden with years of hatred and curses—swelled into a dense black torrent and lunged toward the Lord's son's body.
—BOOM!
Black fire surged skyward. The altar convulsed violently.
A moment later, the black smoke slowly dispersed.
The young man on the stone platform opened his eyes. For an instant, his pupils held Ling Shuo's former clarity—then they were stained by black fog, deepening into an abyssal, demonic gaze.
Cold. Bottomless. Eyes that belonged to the demon realm—reflecting only deep water and deceit.
He let out a low laugh.
"Heh… this body isn't bad."
Wanluo's chained body trembled. Yet deep within her soul now lived another—Ling Shuo—weakly murmuring:
"You… you're not me…"
Ling Shuo (Ye Yi) lowered his head, looking down at her from above. A cruel curve lifted his lips.
"I was never you. And she is nothing more than a vessel for transfer. Now that the task is done—"
He turned his palm. The chains writhed like serpents and snapped tight, binding Wanluo's body to the point of crushing.
In the next instant, black-yao flames exploded upward, swallowing her heart-rending scream—leaving only the raging inferno tearing through the valley floor.
"This body… truly suits me." Black-yao markings surfaced over Ling Shuo (Ye Yi)'s hands. In that moment, he was no longer Ling Shuo—
He was the Demon Sovereign, Ye Yi.
Meanwhile, Wanluo lay collapsed at the heart of the array, eyes unfocused. The soul that had been forcibly stuffed into her was still struggling, plunging her into endless torment.
Above Trial Valley, black fog blotted out the sky. The mountains trembled.
At the edge of the array, another figure staggered and fell—Feng Mian.
His soul-body was unstable. Black mist leaked constantly from him, like a fading shadow that could be scattered by a single gust.
Wanluo shook all over, tears blurring her vision as she stared at him.
"Feng Mian… is that you?"
Feng Mian lifted his head in a daze. His eyes were unfocused, his lips repeating broken, senseless fragments.
"…Light… gone… fire… going out…"
The words were shattered—childlike. He even reached for empty air, clumsy and helpless.
Wanluo cried out to him, but her voice grew weaker and weaker.
"Feng Mian…"
He only grinned foolishly. Then he suddenly convulsed and toppled over, a faint mutter slipping out.
"…Don't… leave me…"
In that moment—
Feng Mian was no longer Feng Mian. Soul transfer had stolen his wholeness, leaving only a remnant spirit barely clinging to existence—his mind collapsing into vacant idiocy.
At the array's center, Wanluo—who should have been burned to ash—still rose and fell with fragile breath.
Her whole body trembled, eyes glassy. Suddenly, her pupils tightened, and her voice turned unfamiliar—low and strange, carrying the tone of the young Ling Shuo.
"Th… this… where… is this…?"
In the next instant, she jerked violently again, crying out in Wanluo's own voice:
"No! Get out—this is my body!"
Her voice snapped back and forth, tearing with pain. Her face shifted—at times refined and sharp like Ling Shuo, at times pitiful and delicate like Wanluo, and at last slipping into a vacant, dull stupor, blood trailing down her lips.
Though the black-yao forbidden array had already collapsed, the two souls forced into her were still ripping at each other—making her switch again and again between "Wanluo" and "Ling Shuo" in relentless chaos.
She crumpled in agony, only shattered murmurs left on her lips.
And atop the platform, the youth—Demon Sovereign reborn in "Ling Shuo's" body—stepped into the black mist, a cruel curve still lingering at the corner of his mouth.
He never looked back.
The ruined old soul and the dying sacrificial vessel were nothing but spent pieces to him—discarded after use.
He drowned in the ecstasy of new life… and even forgot one simple rule:
Finish them. Leave no roots.
Above Trial Valley, the black fog pressed the mountains and rivers into submission.