She Dominates the Immortal Realm with Her HP Bar-Chapter 57

◎When turtle and snake unite their hearts, their combined might can cut through gold.◎

On Wu Manshuang’s palm, Yan Luoyue carefully traced out pinyin sentences, one stroke at a time.

She treated his palm like a hybrid input keyboard—part handwriting, part pinyin—and after spelling out each character, she lightly tapped his thumb like a simulated spacebar.

Back and forth they went, engrossed in this playful exchange for several rounds.

At first, Yan Luoyue asked Wu Manshuang: [Do you think this temple has eyes?]

Wu Manshuang pondered briefly before mimicking her method, spreading open her palm and writing in careful strokes: [Probably not.]

A simple shake of his head would have sufficed, but seeing how much Yan Luoyue enjoyed their "secret code," he couldn’t resist joining in.

Yan Luoyue gave a slight nod, thinking this aligned with her own suspicions.

She believed that outside the Matchmaker’s Temple, this lingering obsession must have had some way of perceiving the outside world.

Otherwise, it wouldn’t have been able to manipulate the formation so precisely, sealing off their escape route, nor could it have dispatched an army of paper figures to surround them at just the right moment.

But inside the temple? That was a different story.

Anyone with eyes could see that the recent clash with the left-handed spiral demon had been entirely instigated by Wu Manshuang.

He was the one who yanked the demon’s silver threads, the one who stubbornly refused to let go.

The demon had even been so frightened that it retreated back the way it came, abandoning its paper servant inside the coffin.

This was a textbook case of provocation.

Yet when the temple’s obsession manifested, it didn’t blame Wu Manshuang—it scolded the left-handed spiral demon instead.

This led Yan Luoyue to a hypothesis:

—The temple might only sense the scent of blood, unable to accurately perceive what truly happened.

Just as a person can easily inspect external wounds but needs instruments to examine internal ailments, the temple’s interior might be like its own internal organs—vague sensations, overheard conversations, but no clear vision of events.

For the three of them, this was excellent news.

Their back-and-forth exchange continued with great enthusiasm.

Ling Shuanghun, an uneducated youth who had never learned pinyin, craned his neck but couldn’t decipher a thing.

Though his expression remained composed, inwardly, his wings were flapping in frustration.

At the same time, he had to cover for them, weaving lies to deceive the ever-watchful temple.

The white crane cleared his throat and continued spinning his tale without batting an eye:

"As we can see, the estranged groom and bride are now furiously cursing each other with their eyes! They gnash their teeth, they glare with hatred, they regard one another like mortal enemies—"

Never mind how Wu Manshuang, with his eyes bandaged in white silk, was supposedly exchanging venomous glares with Yan Luoyue.

After a while, the temple’s voice drifted over, puzzled: "Why… no… shouting…?"

Ling Shuanghun chuckled.

"Why would an estranged couple on the verge of divorce not be shouting? Let the master of ceremonies explain.

"The truth is, their throats have gone hoarse from sheer rage.

"Yet even so, they persist in glaring daggers at each other, fingers locked in battle, and soon may escalate to slapping.

"—Thus concludes the master of ceremonies’ explanation for the lack of shouting. We hope this resolves your confusion."

The temple: "...Oh."

Yan Luoyue, who happened to overhear: "..."

She regretted ever joking with Ling Shuanghun about "tabloid-style" narration.

And was he choosing this moment to showcase his storytelling skills as a way of asserting he wasn’t being left out of their trio?

Stealing a glance at Ling Shuanghun, she found the crane-demon solemnly observing her and Wu Manshuang’s interaction, brush and notebook already in hand.

Given how studiously he was taking notes, in a few years, Wu Manshuang and Yan Luoyue might very well become the protagonists of "The Bickering Duo Observation Log," published for all to read.

Yan Luoyue: "..."

Time was precious. She quickly scribbled a few lines on Wu Manshuang’s palm and asked, "Well?"

Wu Manshuang nodded, took her hand, and wrote: [Good.]

Afterward, he mimicked her earlier gesture, rubbing his palm over hers like an eraser smudging nonexistent ink into a messy blur.

With their plan settled, Ling Shuanghun promptly announced the commencement of the second ghostly divorce ceremony.

At his words, two paper figures—one red, one green—emerged from the crowd in the corner.

One had round, rosy cheeks, while the other had its face torn off by Wu Manshuang.

Each horrifying in their own way, they made a perfectly matched pair.

Guided by silver threads, the paper figures shuffled step by step toward the coffin.

This left-handed spiral demon might not have learned the idiom "avoiding suspicion by staying clear of compromising situations," but after being scolded by the temple, it had instinctively grasped the concepts of "undeserved misfortune" and "caution ensures long life."

Thus, this time, it manipulated the threads with extreme care, ensuring they never entered the trio’s line of sight.

It propped the paper figures at the coffin’s edge, then swiftly withdrew its threads, letting them topple limply through the sliding lid.

—My job’s done. If anything happens now, it’s not my fault.

This masterclass in blame-shifting left Yan Luoyue in awe.

Truly, "an orange turns bitter when transplanted north of the Huai River."

A pure-blooded left-handed spiral demon, native to its realm, had somehow absorbed the bureaucratic art of passing the buck in the human cultivation world!

Who would have guessed that this demon, so adept at reading the room, didn’t even have eyes?

Yet what it never expected was that its prey were unlike any it had encountered before.

For Yan Luoyue and Wu Manshuang were—

"Lifelong masters of the art of provocation—practicing since birth—brought together by a scaly scam—bonded over half a health bar—their history of schemes as long as their lives!"

Yan Luoyue: Hehe, we’re teaming up to mess with you now.

Just as the demon maneuvered the paper figures toward the coffin, Wu Manshuang removed his glove again and tore open the barely healed wound on his palm.

The thin scab split effortlessly under his fingers, fresh blood welling up like scattered beads before seeping into the temple’s floor.

He showed no sign of pain—ripping his own flesh apart as casually as discarding a botched homework assignment.

At this point, Wu Manshuang still wasn’t satisfied. He pressed down on his wound, forcing more blood to well up from his palm, then scattered the droplets in a half-circle around the tail end of the coffin.

Yan Luoyue gave the back of Wu Manshuang’s robe a sharp tug.

She let out a dramatic scream: "Ah, you fiend—how cruel! My dear husband—you’re so badly hurt!"

—Seriously, why did this little green snake have to be so ruthless with himself?

Yan Luoyue had noticed that Wu Manshuang was usually perfectly composed, but the moment he entered battle mode, a wild, relentless ferocity would rise within him.

Feeling the pull on his back, Wu Manshuang threw on a cloak to conceal his aura.

Leaning back with Yan Luoyue’s momentum, he transformed into a slender green snake against her arm, slipping fluidly into her sleeve with a single dip of his head.

Yan Luoyue had once crafted an armguard from leftover demon hide, and now it proved its worth.

As the saying goes, the first time is unfamiliar, the second time is routine.

Last time Wu Manshuang had coiled around her wrist, his length had only been enough to form a bracelet.

But this time, as he wound gently around her arm, he had grown into a proper jade armlet—one that was truly presentable.

With this limited-edition jade armlet now in her possession, Yan Luoyue’s combat power instantly maxed out.

She even usurped Ling Shuanghun’s role as the master of ceremonies, delivering a full-fledged performance of wailing and dramatic gestures.

Two-person scams meant double the fun.

Yan Luoyue covered her face with both hands, like a sorrowful otter refusing to face reality.

"My dear husband! How could that accursed demon have eaten him!"

"Wahhh, it ate him so cleanly—who am I supposed to divorce now?"

"Someone from the office, come out and tell me—can I still file for a ghostly divorce? That deadbeat of mine has already died a second time!"

Ling Shuanghun: "..."

The left-spiral demon: "..."

Uncertain what act these two were putting on, the left-spiral demon hesitated slightly as it retracted its silver threads.

Then, in the next instant, it realized that the previously tranquil Matchmaker Temple was now shaking violently, as if the entire structure had been provoked into a frenzy!

As it turned out, Yan Luoyue’s impromptu acting was still a bit over-the-top, coming off slightly exaggerated.

So the only ones gullible enough to fall for it were a certain very, very foolish little snake… and the genuinely not-so-bright Matchmaker Temple.

The temple couldn’t perceive exactly what was happening inside, but it could sense the outcome.

From the perspective of its lingering obsession, the situation was as follows:

[The left-spiral demon’s silver threads entered the temple grounds.

The scent of blood spread through the temple.

One of the "dear husbands" it needed suddenly vanished.

The left-spiral demon’s silver threads poked around the shallow floor layers, as if aware it had botched the job and couldn’t clean up the mess.]

—So, what exactly had just happened inside this room?

Based on what it sensed, the Matchmaker Temple quickly jumped to the easiest—and most incorrect—conclusion.

Wasn’t it obvious? The left-spiral demon must have given in to its gluttony again!

It was like someone discovering bloody stool, immediately self-diagnosing with terminal cancer via an online search—when in reality, they’d just eaten an entire dragon fruit the night before.

The temple’s lingering obsession fell silent briefly before erupting with a vengeance.

Every floorboard bounced like a trampoline, and its once-mournful voice now roared like thunder.

The obsession bellowed: "I said… not… yet!!!"

"They… know the ritual… NOT YET!!!"

The sound reverberated through Yan Luoyue’s skull like a blender set to puree.

If she, as an innocent bystander, felt this overwhelmed, the left-spiral demon—being the direct target—must have been having an even worse time.

Within seconds, Yan Luoyue spotted a mound of earth rising slowly from the ground just outside the temple.

The shape of this mound was identical to the wild graves they’d seen earlier outside the village.

New novel chapt𝒆rs are published on ƒгeewebnovёl.com.

Perhaps… perhaps among those graves they’d passed, the left-spiral demon had disguised itself as one of them, laying its trap from a distance.

As a bird spirit, Ling Shuanghun transformed his arms into wings, hovering midair to maintain balance amid the temple’s violent tremors.

He shouted to Yan Luoyue: "Say something!"

Yan Luoyue swayed like seaweed caught in a storm.

Following Ling Shuanghun’s suggestion, she reflexively replied:

"Friends, today we’ve discovered a left-spiral demon in the process of burrowing. The Matchmaker Temple just sprinkled some salt on its breathing hole…"

Ling Shuanghun: "..."

Ling Shuanghun: "...That’s not what I meant."

Ling Shuanghun: "...Never mind, I’ll do it myself."

He’d long since realized that when it came to matters of eloquence or wit, neither of his companions could be relied upon!

A sharp crane’s cry pierced the thick night air as the white crane raised its wings, singing a mournful dirge amid the escalating tension.

Ling Shuanghun lamented with theatrical despair:

"A demon clan breaks free from its seal, the left-spiral demon brings calamity.

First, it made the dear husband bleed endlessly, then swallowed him whole in one gulp.

The dear wife weeps in sorrow, yet cannot divorce without her husband.

The Matchmaker Temple’s reputation is ruined, the departed find no peace below.

No more ghostly divorce rites can be held, all masters of ceremonies devoured…"

Yan Luoyue stared at Ling Shuanghun in shock.

She realized now—this guy was basically a walking, talking collection of trigger words.

In just five lines, he’d managed to hit every single one of the Matchmaker Temple’s psychological sore spots.

When it came to inciting infighting, Ling Shuanghun was an absolute master.

It was unclear which lyric had set it off, but the temple’s obsession promptly lost its mind.

Meanwhile, the left-spiral demon—lacking the benefit of a nine-year compulsory education—clearly didn’t grasp advanced principles like "internal unity before external resistance."

First, it couldn’t spare the effort to crush Yan Luoyue and Ling Shuanghun.

Second, the Matchmaker Temple wouldn’t allow it.

And third, demons had never subscribed to philosophies like "turn the other cheek" or "courtesy and restraint."

So after taking a few solid hits from the temple, the left-spiral demon had had enough.

It flung off its disguise of dirt, revealing its true form—a towering figure twice the height of a man.

Dozens of silver threads shot out from its spiral shell as it began tearing the temple apart with vicious abandon!

Yan Luoyue’s literary skills weren’t refined enough to compose a stirring crane song, but she was more than capable of stirring the pot.

Taking inspiration from Ling Shuanghun’s success, she immediately shrieked: "The temple’s collapsing! The temple’s collapsing!"

For a while, the scene descended into utter chaos.

One moment, the silver threads would fiddle with the temple’s mechanisms, sending it lurching forward like a screeching halt, nearly ejecting the trio from the temple’s gaping "mouth."

The next, the left-spiral demon’s mind would fall under the temple’s control, its threads twisting unnaturally midair before stabbing back into its own hardened shell.

This tactic of "using the enemy's spear to attack their shield" not only dealt two thousand points of damage to the foe but also forced them to pay compensation.

The left-handed spiral demon snapped one of its silver threads, leaving a vivid scratch on its sturdy shell armor.

During this time, Yan Luoyue and Ling Shuanghun were like two tiny boats adrift in a tsunami.

They clung to the protruding ridges inside the Matchmaker Temple to steady themselves, occasionally pulling each other up.

After what felt like an eternity, they finally witnessed the outcome—the best-case scenario they had hoped for: the Matchmaker Temple and the left-handed spiral demon had fought to a stalemate, both severely wounded.

When the Matchmaker Temple spoke again, its voice was labored and breathless.

"You… huff… hurry up… puff… begin…"

It compromised with the left-handed spiral demon, panting, "Once the ceremony is over… wheeze… you can eat…"

As for the left-handed spiral demon, over a dozen of its silver threads had been severed, and its shell was now marred with numerous scratches.

The moment Ling Shuanghun straightened up, his first priority was to tidy his appearance from head to toe.

At present, the white-crane youth’s jade crown was askew, his robes wrinkled and disheveled, and even the powdered lacquer on his boots was smudged with dust—a far cry from his usual immaculate image.

With a touch of irritation in his voice, Ling Shuanghun snapped, "The ex-husband has already been eaten. Where am I supposed to pull another one from?"

The Matchmaker Temple murmured faintly, "You… seem quite eloquent… why not… take on the role… yourself…"

"Preposterous! Since when does a dead man preside over his own divorce ceremony?"

Ling Shuanghun erupted in fury. "Why don’t you just have that demon eat the ex-wife too and let me play all three roles at once?"

"Ah… well… that…"

While Ling Shuanghun bargained with the Matchmaker Temple, using its obsession with the underworld divorce ritual to monopolize its attention, Yan Luoyue had already slipped one foot past the temple’s threshold.

Her goal was clear. Activating her Turtle Shell Technique, she charged straight toward the left-handed spiral demon, fresh from its battle.

Sensing Yan Luoyue’s approach, the demon swiftly unleashed over a dozen silver threads, aiming to skewer her through.

As the saying goes, a starved camel is still bigger than a horse.

Even after its fight with the Matchmaker Temple, its combat prowess should still far surpass that of a mere minor demon.

Yan Luoyue barreled forward with unyielding force, her petite frame belying her sheer tenacity as she forcefully deflected a dozen of the resilient silver threads.

Above her head, damage values of -1000, -1000, -1000 flickered intermittently.

Yet, after a brief glance, Yan Luoyue merely snorted and averted her gaze.

Taking three or four direct hits from the left-handed spiral demon would have cost an average Foundation Establishment cultivator half their life.

But for Yan Luoyue—who had activated her Turtle Shell Technique, maximized her defenses, and recently leveled up her health pool after her birthday—this level of damage wasn’t even worth a reaction.

She could withstand at least a hundred such attacks!

Today, Yan Luoyue was going to teach this left-handed spiral demon a lesson.

She’d make it understand the meaning of "ten thousand points," the power of exponents, and why math education was an undeniable duty!

Realizing Yan Luoyue had breached its safe zone, the left-handed spiral demon finally sensed danger and frantically unleashed all hundred of its silver threads.

At the same time, Yan Luoyue made her move.

Just as Ling Shuanghun could partially transform his arms into wings, skilled shape-shifting demons could alter parts of their bodies at will.

Now, Yan Luoyue—while maintaining her human form—manifested the shell of a turtle.

But she didn’t stop there. Without hesitation, she swiftly retracted her limbs and head into the shell.

—If you’ve got a shell, why not use it?

Back when she first learned to transform into a tiny turtle, the very first thing Yan Luoyue mastered was tucking in her neck!

The hard shell clattered noisily as it knocked aside over twenty silver threads.

In retaliation, the sharp, whip-like threads carved deep grooves into the surface of her shell.

But Yan Luoyue was an overly cautious little turtle with absurdly high defense.

These threads hadn’t even pierced her keratin layer, so it didn’t hurt one bit.

Riding the momentum, Yan Luoyue finally closed in to within three feet of the left-handed spiral demon.

After a quick mental calculation of the attack range, the next instant, the "Divine Turtle Whirlwind" was unleashed once more.

Under the frenzied lashing of the anemone-like silver threads, the pale green shell spun at high speed, defying the demon’s oppressive force as it shot straight upward!

Yan Luoyue soared to the height of the demon’s shell opening.

Now, she was so close to its soft body that she could reach out and touch the fingernail-sized pore.

And so, she extended her arm toward the pore.

Don’t misunderstand—Yan Luoyue, as a turtle demon, had low single-target attack power, and the demon’s threads were already retracting defensively.

This window wouldn’t last long. She had only one shot.

She chose to leave that shot to Wu Manshuang.

The jade bracelet coiled around her arm suddenly rippled like water.

A hand stretched out midair, as if adding legs to a snake.

Pale from years without sunlight, the hand had distinct knuckles and faint blue veins visible beneath the skin.

Crimson blood trickled along the pale palm lines.

The droplets, carrying a quiet yet relentless killing intent, dripped calmly into the pore, sinking deep into the clam-like cavity.

At the same time, a soft, mocking laugh echoed in the air.

"—Hello, spicy stir-fried river snail."

The moment the words left his lips, the Divine Turtle Whirlwind’s momentum peaked and waned. Yan Luoyue spiraled downward from her apex.

As she spun rapidly, her mind reeled in silent astonishment.

How did Wu Manshuang manage to blend his habitual politeness (greeting everyone he met) with a single-strike lethality so seamlessly in just one sentence?

Not to mention, he hadn’t forgotten the task Yan Luoyue assigned him.

Wu Manshuang had memorized the "Menu of Dishes" by heart and successfully applied it here!

Yan Luoyue: "…"

At this moment, she realized with profound clarity—once this little green snake mastered his skills, he would undoubtedly become someone extraordinary.

The next second, Yan Luoyue landed safely, immediately shifted back to human form, rolled on the ground, and sprinted in the opposite direction.

She still remembered what happened to Wu Chunhui after being injected with the little snake’s venom—his entire body had swollen into a grotesque, explosive mass.

In the blink of an eye, Wu Manshuang also transformed back, gripping Yan Luoyue’s hand (covered by his glove) as they fled at full speed.

While running, he attempted to drape his cloak over her shoulders—a gesture he repeated two or three times.

Then, a muffled explosion erupted behind them.

Yan Luoyue glanced back, her eyes lighting up with delight.

"The left-handed spiral demon’s threads really are durable!"

Inside the tightly sealed spiral shell—with only a fingernail-sized opening—the demon’s flesh rapidly decomposed due to the potent venom, producing copious amounts of putrid gas until it finally burst.

The violent surge of air blasted the entire shell skyward.

The corpse of the left-handed spiral demon soared into the heavens.

That visual effect... hmmm, it was roughly equivalent to the explosive display of a double-kick firework!

Yet despite enduring the corrosion of venom, an internal explosion, and being physically battered like a double-kick firework—launched high into the air only to crash down—this spiral shell woven from countless threads showed surprisingly little wear!

Yan Luoyue was overjoyed: "Perfect! I’ve been in need of refining materials!"

Especially materials capable of withstanding Wu Manshuang’s toxicity.

After all, the little green snake was still growing.

The leather he had brought from the Yimo Demon, though used sparingly without a single scrap wasted, was no longer sufficient as his frame gradually became taller and more upright.

Though Yan Luoyue never voiced it aloud, she had kept this matter close to her heart.

Now, this Left-Coiled Snail Demon was practically a pillow handed to her just as she was about to doze off.

The snail shell was enormous—enough for Yan Luoyue to craft a full-body isolation suit for Wu Manshuang, a protective suit for herself, and still have plenty of material left for other uses.

For this reason alone, their daring venture into the ghost village could already be considered a worthwhile trip.

With the death of the Left-Coiled Snail Demon, the Matchmaker Temple became like a tiger stripped of its fangs.

Without its ghostly minions to serve it, the lingering obsession could hardly reactivate the formation and manipulate the entire village.

The trio relaxed and began cleaning up the aftermath of the battle.

Areas tainted by Wu Manshuang’s blood had to be scorched away, and the scattered flesh of the Left-Coiled Snail Demon had to be burned on the spot.

The two bloodstained wedding robes they wore were hastily removed and tossed into the flames as well.

The first half of the night had been spent conducting a ghostly divorce ceremony, while the latter half was devoted to battlefield cleanup. Their schedule was so packed that the night passed in a flash.

The horizon gradually lightened to the color of a fish’s belly, and the morning star flickered in the eastern sky.

"Speaking of which, what should we do with this Matchmaker Temple?"

Ling Shuanghun straightened up, removed his face mask, and glanced back at the dilapidated temple bathed in dawn light before shaking his head gently.

"If it were just an ordinary, harmless obsession, leaving it be would be fine. But since it has learned to collaborate with demons, luring travelers to their deaths by any means necessary, we can’t let it remain."

Yan Luoyue recalled her lessons: "Generally, the way to dispel an obsession is to destroy its physical anchor."

"Exactly." Even as he wiped sweat from his brow, Ling Shuanghun meticulously smoothed back a few stray strands of hair at his temples. "We’ll have to dismantle the Matchmaker Temple later."

At ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​‍this, his expression turned slightly odd.

"Yan Luoyue, what exactly is your relationship with Master Yan? As everyone knows, the last time he predicted a house would collapse, Daoist Friend Zhen’s house indeed collapsed. And just now, you fanned the flames by telling the Matchmaker Temple its house was about to fall... and now..."

Now, the house was truly on the verge of collapse.

Yan Luoyue: "..."

Gritting her teeth, she insisted, word by word: "That was purely a coincidence..."

Ling Shuanghun closed his eyes, shaking his head with exaggerated sorrow. "I don’t believe you."

Yan Luoyue turned a pleading gaze toward Wu Manshuang. "Manshuang, what do you think?"

"..."

Wu Manshuang lowered his head.

Even with his eyes veiled by white gauze, the others could sense his inner conflict.

Tugging gently at Yan Luoyue’s sleeve with his gloved hand in a silent attempt to comfort her, he spoke from the heart: "I... I can’t believe it either."

After all, he had witnessed it firsthand—every time Yan Luoyue mentioned ghosts, ghosts appeared; when she spoke of a village, a village materialized; paper figures, lanterns, lone graves—whatever she said, it manifested without fail.

With a 100% accuracy rate, Wu Manshuang couldn’t bring himself to betray his conscience.

Yan Luoyue: "..."

Ling Shuanghun burst into laughter, utterly unrepentant.

He even had the audacity to mimic the soaring, operatic trill of a crane’s song, his laughter rising an octave in a dramatic flourish.

Yan Luoyue: "..."

Ugh, what kind of cursed friend was this?!

Before dismantling the temple, the trio rummaged through its interior and eventually discovered the corner of an old letter tucked beneath the shrine.

As soon as they pulled it out, a cloud of dust billowed into their faces.

Waving the dust away, they carefully unfolded the yellowed, brittle pages. It turned out to be a letter addressed to passersby.

The letter briefly recounted the village’s history:

Long ago, the village had supposedly produced a formidable immortal cultivator. But by now, none of its descendants retained any aptitude for cultivation.

In recent times, the village had been plagued by supernatural disturbances. They had once invited a Daoist from a nearby sect to investigate, but the results were unsatisfactory.

After half the villagers woke up to find themselves digging up ancestral graves, standing in the abandoned Matchmaker Temple in the dead of night, or kowtowing before coffins, they decided to relocate en masse.

With such precedents in mind, the letter warned any travelers who stumbled upon their village to proceed with caution.

By the time they reached the end, Yan Luoyue felt a profound sense of the passage of time.

"It seems this custom didn’t endure. Later generations didn’t even know their ancestors had such traditions."

Perhaps these villagers weren’t even aware they were descendants of demons.

They certainly didn’t know that three thousand years ago, a cataclysmic war against demons had nearly overturned the three realms—forcing humans and demons to join hands under pressure. That was the origin of their bloodline, the root of their customs, the reason for the "hauntings," and the beginning of everything.

Ling Shuanghun carefully stored the letter and jotted down additional notes in his personal bamboo scroll.

With a gentle smile, he remarked, "This is why we record history."

Official chronicles document heroes, while unofficial accounts preserve the lives of ordinary people.

Ballads carry emotions, literature preserves culture, biographies immortalize spirits, and myths pass down folklore.

To record these stories is to preserve traces of what once existed.

A custom may fade, a city may vanish.

But centuries later, when someone brings up this old tale, others may still respond—Ah, yes, I’ve read about this history!

As long as stories remain in the world, the departed shall never truly disappear.

Today, the white crane demon remained, as ever, a recorder of unofficial history.

...

As the Matchmaker Temple collapsed with a thunderous crash, its lingering obsession released one final, mournful sigh before fading into silence.

The trio stood before the ruins for a while, reflecting on the night’s tumultuous events, each feeling a sense of wonder.

Ling Shuanghun clasped his hands behind his back, gazing thoughtfully into the morning breeze.

"Say... don’t you feel like we’re forgetting something?"

Yan Luoyue blinked. "What?"

Ling Shuanghun counted off: "I obtained firsthand historical records, you got refining materials, Wu Manshuang secured materials for future armor. We returned laden with spoils, and then we even watched you talk the house into collapsing... So? What else?"

"...Stop spreading nonsense. The house didn’t collapse because I said so."

Yan Luoyue emphasized this firmly before also furrowing her brow. "But you’re right—it does feel like we overlooked something..."

"The formation," Wu Manshuang murmured in reminder. "We came here to deactivate the no-flying barrier."

As for the later incidents involving ghosts, the desolate village, and the ghost wedding... they were merely acting in self-defense.

One could only say that Yan Luoyue’s prophecy was eerily accurate. Under her influence, the trio’s train of thought took a sharp detour, nearly making them forget their original purpose for being there.

"...Heh."

A soft chuckle suddenly rippled through the air as the three of them conversed.

The other two glanced around, searching for the source of the sound.

As for Yan Luoyue, she stiffened abruptly.

—That voice!

—It was the same voice that had echoed in her mind earlier, when Wu Manshuang had seized the threads of the Left-Spiral Silk Demon!

Under the trio’s wary gazes, a silhouette gradually materialized in the dim light of dawn, its outline blurring like frosted glass smeared with water.

The moment Yan Luoyue saw his face, only one word, bold and enlarged, filled her mind:

—Damn!

—It’s you!!

—The white-haired man from the beginning!!!

At the very start, Yan Luoyue had remarked, "The current atmosphere is perfect for a ghost story."

The next second, this white-robed figure with snow-like hair had flashed them an ethereal glimpse of his back before vanishing without a trace.

And that was the true origin of this ghostly village expedition.

The white-haired man was strikingly handsome, with an air of wicked charm. His silver hair cascaded down to his waist, and his narrow eyes held crimson pupils that gleamed like rare gemstones.

Though his posture was upright, his demeanor was anything but solemn. His lazy smile made him seem anything but a proper gentleman.

In fact, with that face and aura...

If not for the fact that most local demons were grotesque in appearance, Yan Luoyue might have mistaken him for a demonic sovereign who had stepped right out of the pages of a novel.

It wasn’t until he revealed himself that the trio became aware of his presence.

Even standing face-to-face with him, Yan Luoyue and the others could sense his unfathomable power.

A single glance was enough to send cold sweat trickling uncontrollably down their foreheads.

...This was the most formidable cultivator Yan Luoyue had encountered since arriving in this world.

With a faint smirk, the white-haired man crooked a finger, summoning something from a nearby corner with a casual gesture.

At his command, a palm-sized formation flag appeared out of thin air, obediently settling into his palm before he carelessly rolled it up and tucked it away.

"Young friend," the man’s gaze shifted, his blood-red eyes locking onto Yan Luoyue with an amused glint.

"Your flying contraption is quite unique, your words are entertaining, and your companions are... rather distinctive. Well then, until we meet again."

With a wave of farewell, his figure dissolved like mist, vanishing just as silently as he had appeared.

The oppressive aura lifted, and the familiar air wrapped around them once more. Only then did Yan Luoyue realize they had been holding their breaths, their breathing subdued to the faintest rhythm.

"...Who was that?"

The first words out of Yan Luoyue’s mouth were directed at Ling Shuanghun.

"No idea," Ling Shuanghun admitted, wiping away the cold sweat with a handkerchief.

"I’ve definitely read records about someone like him... but the moment he looked at me, my memories were sealed. That’s an advanced technique of spiritual control—his cultivation must be at least at the Nascent Soul stage."

"...At least Nascent Soul? I doubt he’s only that." Yan Luoyue murmured.

Jiang Tingbai was a Nascent Soul cultivator, yet she had never felt such overwhelming pressure around him.

Remembering what the white-haired man had just done, the two amateurs in formations hastily checked the ground for traces of the array.

The previously discernible formation was now completely erased.

Yan Luoyue even suspected he might have located the formation’s core and dismantled the entire thing.

"Speaking of which..." A strange thought suddenly struck Yan Luoyue.

"He clearly watched us toil all night, so he singled me out and mentioned you two... but why on earth did he give my flying saucer a shout-out?"

The trio exchanged uneasy glances, a sense of foreboding creeping into their hearts.

"Let’s go check it out!"

They sprinted back, only to find the flying saucer still parked where they’d left it.

Except now, a conspicuously placed slip of paper was pasted onto the porthole Yan Luoyue had designed.

Cautious, Yan Luoyue tested the paper with a pulse of spiritual energy. When it neither exploded nor attacked, she donned special gloves and carefully peeled it off.

Scrawled across the paper in bold, sweeping strokes were three characters: "Confiscation Notice."

...Confiscation. As in, seized.

In other words, Yan Luoyue had just been issued a fine.

Yan Luoyue: "..."

Unsure whether this was a joke or a serious penalty, she shot a questioning look at Ling Shuanghun:

"Tell me... do they even have fines in the cultivation world???"