Chapter 35: "No Need for Thanks"

She dragged him all the way to the spot the formation master had mentioned—a place where several knee-high stones were piled together, pressing the grass flat against the earth, some even sinking into the soil.

Vane didn't know how to trigger the formation's conditions. Truthfully, the few times he had entered arrays earlier, he had been in a state of confusion, completely unaware of what he had done to trigger them; he had simply been walking normally, just like Zora.

As the youth was about to step out of this patch of grass, he was suddenly pulled back.

His sleeves were too narrow; after catching him, Zora’s hand slid down to grip his wrist. Only a small section of Vane’s skin was exposed; most of what she held was the coiled cord binding his cuff. He stopped, forced back a few steps, and looked at Zora.

Zora scanned the surroundings. "Walk through the parts you haven't stepped on yet."

Vane: "..."

A quick thought revealed her plan. She had taken the formation master’s words to heart and, refusing to give up, wanted to keep trying.

Vane walked a circle around the grass. Although she held his wrist, she always lagged half a step behind. He didn't turn his head to look at her, staring straight ahead, though his posture carried a trace of deliberate awkwardness. Zora didn't notice, nor did she care; she was focused on the anticipation of the formation.

After all, hadn't Vane said that someone was once sent into a scroll, gained deep insights, and advanced on the spot?

—

Advanced. On. The. Spot.

She hadn't realized formations could be used this way, so she was naturally determined to try.

The two of them walked across the modest patch of grass like they were taking a leisurely stroll. From behind, it looked as if they were holding hands; the girl’s slightly loose light-blue sleeve slipped down to cover her hand, brushing against the back of the youth’s hand as they moved.

Vane watched the path ahead. Since he understood her intent, he followed it, and he did it well. He truly stepped on every single corner of the grass.

No formation was triggered.

Just as Vane was about to turn back and inform her, his foot landed on a green leaf. Before he could see her face, his vision blurred, the surroundings shifted, and the tightening grip of the girl on his wrist vanished.

...He really had entered a formation.

What strange array was it this time? He had already been inside a maze-like array once, and an array that forced him to solve a crime once... Well, because the "him" in that illusion was worried Zora would walk too far away, he had opted for a quick resolution—the youth had simply branded every suspect in the illusion a criminal and executed them on the spot, earning the title of the "Fastest Constable with the Most Solved Cases." He had also entered an illusion where he was promoted in the imperial palace; he had decapitated the emperor and directly usurped the throne.

The surroundings looked like an overturned palette of colors, a strange canvas of swirling,蠕 swirling hues that made it impossible to guess what lay ahead.

It was dizzying.

Suddenly, a man’s fawning voice reached his ears: "Look, this boy of ours has a fine face. He's a bit thin, but wouldn't someone good-looking be more pleasing to eat? Please, Brother Zhang, show some mercy and let us trade."

Another female voice pleaded: "Yes, we are just mortals. If we can truly become demon cultivators, we will never forget your kindness, Brother Zhang!"

Hearing these familiar voices, Vane took a long moment to realize they belonged to his parents.

He opened his eyes to the familiar Demon Realm. The butcher was a burly man with thick bloodstains around his mouth, standing before a thatched hut. The butcher wore a feigned expression of reluctant difficulty: "If it weren't for your sincerity, a boy like this definitely couldn't be traded for a piece of a Great Master's flesh."

"Yes, yes!" the two said hurriedly. "Brother Zhang is truly kind!"

The small, thin boy was pushed roughly forward. His father pried open his eyelids, then his mouth: "Look, there are no dark spots in his eyes—the black is black and the white is white! His teeth are perfectly straight; they could serve as decorations for you..."

This was the scene of his parents selling him.

It wasn't that Vane didn't want to resist; it wasn't because his body had truly become that of a weak mortal child, but because his memories were rapidly fading. It was a troublesome formation. With that thought, Vane lost his memory entirely.

The butcher looked with slight suspicion at the boy’s dark eyes, which suddenly churned with a strange emotion. It was a look of condescension, focused only on observing the surroundings, as if he didn't care about the other three people present—or rather, as if they were dead things, mere plants, anything but living beings.

The next moment, those eyes reverted to the wolf-cub-like hatred from before.

...Must have misseen. He's just a pig waiting for slaughter.

The butcher snorted inwardly.

Vane was pinned down, unable to resist. He had been starving for days and had little strength left. His face was pressed against the butcher’s outdoor wooden table; inches away was the chopping block, the scent of blood filling his nostrils. He struggled in vain. His parents were like an impenetrable fortress—not to protect him, but to trap him.

"Don't move!" the man shouted.

A rough, large hand grabbed the boy's hair, slamming his head against the table with a

thud

, hiding his face from view.

The butcher watched. The boy indeed went silent, suddenly turning deathly still. The butcher remembered this family; at first, they would pretend to be a loving family struggling to survive, hoping to use a facade of simplicity to trade for a servant position under a Great Demon of the Northern Realm. After all, rumors claimed the Demon Lord of the North was a kind person.

But as time passed, people realized those were just rumors. In the Demon Realm, there were no "kind people."

Suspicious of his earlier hallucination, the butcher said flatly, "Lift his face so I can see. I'm a picky eater."

The parents hurriedly pulled the boy up by his hair with fawning smiles: "How is he? People have wanted to trade for him since he was small. He's very good-looking, hasn't seen much sun, and his skin is tender."

The boy had scratches on his face dripping blood. His dark eyes were exceptionally calm—or rather, they had lost all will to live, like a thick swamp that allowed no light to pass through.

The butcher breathed an imperceptible sigh of relief and said casually, "Put his hand up here. I'll check the goods first."

Checking the goods meant chopping off the forearm and eating it first. If the boy died, the price could be lowered. If the meat didn't taste good, the trade would be canceled. It was a blatantly unfair business deal, but he was the one with the power to set the rules.

The boy's arm was placed on the chopping block. The cleaver rested at his elbow, searching for the right place to strike. The boy's other hand quietly tightened into a fist.

Not just a desire to survive, but a sense of savage violence boiled within him. He lowered his head, his pupils moving slightly to look at another meat-cutting knife laid to the side, his dark pupils reflecting the snowy brightness of the blade.

He had once thought he would struggle like this with his parents forever. He had once believed in their clumsy disguises. He had once mapped out every route along the borders of the Northern Demon Realm, all for the sake of a single bite of food.

It wasn't until he grew a bit older that he realized the undercurrents. They were only out for themselves. The things he obtained at the risk of his life were devoured by them even as they complained, fantasizing about the easy days of being under the Northern Demon Lord.

Abused, beaten, lowly and humble—he was like an ant before anyone, forced to be cautious and meticulous. He desperately wanted to grow up, at least to have enough strength to scrape by. Those two hands that had stroked his head and mended his clothes had turned into shackles. To escape, he had to break them.

Just like the "kindly" strokes on his head were only done for show when the Demon Lord’s subordinates passed by. The clothes his parents mended for him always ended up stained with the dust of their footprints.

An unprecedented killing intent filled his heart. His fingertips were about to touch the knife handle.

Suddenly, a cold light flashed.

"Ah—!"

The three adults were knocked to the ground like a pile of round meat, rolling several times before stopping with bloodied faces. Several strands of spiritual power enveloped them, binding their movements.

The boy felt the pressure vanish, replaced by shock. He looked up.

Perhaps the Demon Realm was too dark, or the hour too late; the newcomer wore a light blue dress, her hair as black as ink. Her eyes were a beautiful color he had never seen before. The whole person was like a sliver of the pale moon, suddenly descending upon the mortal world.

He remembered a phrase he had heard once:

—

An Immortal, come from Penglai Island.

The boy stared blankly, unable to speak. His intense emotions were suddenly interrupted, leaving him unable to react. Upon seeing an Immortal for the first time, he thought he would feel hatred—everyone in the Demon Realm hated them—yet he felt a tremor in his heart, as if deep down he knew she was different from the "Immortals" spoken of by others.

His dark eyes were filled with the girl’s figure. He lacked the ability to hide his emotions that his older self possessed. The boy now was more direct, staring unblinkingly as if in a dream.

In this moment, he felt as if he had two hearts.

One belonged to the child, unsure if it felt joy or loathing.

One belonged to the teenage Vane, who was uncontrolled by the formation; his heart hammered like thunder, instinctively pulling him to trust her.

The Immortal came on the wind, saving him with ease and landing before him.

—And then she grabbed him by the collar, lifting the ten-year-old, scrawny boy directly off the ground. His throat was immediately constricted by the tight collar. His hands clawed uselessly at her sleeves as breathing became incredibly difficult.

She looked displeased: "Now, break this array immediately."

...

A quarter of an hour ago, Zora had opened her eyes.

The surroundings were utterly unfamiliar. A bright formation was about to dissipate; Zora saw its shape clearly before the runes on the ground vanished entirely. She had seen this type of formation before; it simply turned people back into their past selves, trapping them in memories until their sanity collapsed.

The best way to break it was for the person inside to experience a change of heart different from the original memory. In this illusion, it wasn't the physical body that entered, but a wisp of divine sense.

Zora stared at the scenery she had never seen before for a long time in silence.

First: Her memory had not been erased, nor had she turned into a past version of herself.

Second: She had never been to this place.

Third: Her cultivation was intact; she had entered the illusion with her own body.

—So, the person trapped in the formation wasn't her. She was merely an intruder, a person isolated by the formation's effect.

Zora: "..."

She needed to break the array quickly; she didn't want to waste time here.

Aside from the scene surrounding Vane, any scenery not in his memory was a gray haze, yet to be unlocked. Thus, she found the young Vane with ease. She hoisted him up by the collar and told him to break the array.

The boy was a mess. His clothes barely covered him, his arms and legs were covered in blue and purple bruises and old scars. He struggled violently, kicking his legs, so Zora held him further away. Deprived of air, the boy’s face gradually turned red.

Only when white lights began flashing before his eyes did Zora let go.

"Cough, cough, cough!" The boy collapsed on the ground, breathing and coughing violently.

Didn't work? I thought a near-death experience might produce a new state of mind.

Zora felt a bit disappointed. The puppet strings didn't work either; this wasn't his body, just a wisp of sense.

She then remembered Vane had said he killed his parents; this was likely that moment. For a child to kill three adults, the process must have been difficult. Would a "clean" revenge produce a new state of mind?

With that thought, she handed him the knife from the table.

When the boy recovered, a knife appeared before his eyes. He looked up. The "Immortal" who had seemingly been trying to kill him a moment ago showed no killing intent on her face, nor did she have the twisted, foul emotions of the Demon Realm. She looked entirely pure.

She said: "Go do what you were about to do."

"...What I was about to do...?"

The boy’s voice was raspy. He looked at the blade. He didn't understand what she wanted, but the other person was too powerful; he had to obey.

After hesitating for a long time, the boy reached out slowly. She was patient, waiting quietly for him.

...If she were truly an Immortal, why would she let him kill? If she truly weren't an Immortal, how could she be like a real one—using magic, her eyes clear and bright, without a hint of turbidity?

...Or perhaps even a real Immortal couldn't be like this.

His mind was in a mess as he took the knife, the original hatred already gone. The three people couldn't speak or move; only their eyes shed tears of terror.

When the warm blood sprayed, his heart shivered with excitement for a moment, but he forcibly suppressed it. Once the three fell to the ground, he looked at her. The girl was observing him with an inquisitive look.

"Come to think of it," she seemed to recall something, her eyes brightening, "if a person from the Demon Realm entered the Immortal Realm and then fled back in a wretched state with no one to welcome him, where would be the best place for him to hide?"

Zora was thinking of that future plot point; she had to find Vane quickly after he went to the Demon Realm. By then, he should be in the Core Formation stage. If he didn't intend to awaken the evil spirits, and hadn't thought of ripping his bones out to escape the puppet strings or erasing the Master-Servant Covenant, she could relax a bit. But if he did, she had to control him while he was weak and endure the evil spirit outbreak period. Better to ask now and save herself some walking later.

The boy was stunned.

"...If the person isn't from the North or South Realm, the best place would be Linxun Slope, or Blackstream Bank."

Zora gave an acknowledgment and took him along to recognize the path. Throughout the journey, he only spoke when she questioned him. After identifying the routes, they stopped at a cliffside.

The boy suddenly said: "Ahead is the territory of the Northern Demon Lord."

"And?"

He thought she was doubting him and said: "I won't lie to you, because killing me would be easy for you."

She turned to stare at him. The boy only reached her chest. His black hair reached his neck, sticking up like a hedgehog. His superior future looks were already evident in his brow. There wasn't a patch of healthy skin on him; he was barefoot, his skin covered in blood and filth.

"It has been a long time."

He heard the Immortal say.

"I have no idea how to handle this." Zora seemed a bit troubled. She looked at the illusion closing in from the distance, while the person involved seemed entirely unaware, looking up at her. Any longer and they would be stuck in the illusion forever.

The boy didn't know what the Immortal was talking about. He was observing.

Strangely, his heart was exceptionally peaceful. The waves had turned to ripples, then total stillness. One heart wanted to be vigilant, but the other was incredibly relaxed.

She didn't look much older than him—a difference of less than ten years. Of course, Immortals might just not age, but the boy had traveled many places and fought many people; he could somehow tell that she was indeed around the age she appeared—at least mentally.

The girl watched the void that was devouring the memory scenes, her brow slightly furrowed. The boy watched her, scrawny and thin, but his dark eyes were fixed on her. He didn't know why he was staring at her; he didn't need to think about it—he just did.

Zora suddenly gave a light sigh and said, "No other way. You must remember to thank me."

The boy snapped back: "...What?"

The moment the words fell, his neck was again held tightly by the girl. Her expression remained innocent, her rounded amber eyes like translucent jewels in the sunlight. Her grip tightened. The boy clawed weakly at the back of her hand, his feet leaving the ground.

"Heh... heh...!"

His breath was cut off. He had intended to gouge her skin, but as his nails were about to sink in, he stopped for some reason, simply pressing the pads of his fingers against the protruding bone of her knuckles. His dark eyes stared intently, reflecting her image.

Resist!

A small heart was about to burst through his chest in indignation.

The other, larger heart hammered violently as well, but it carried an ambiguous, thick emotion—it seemed to be directed at the person about to kill him, making him feel an extreme sense of strangeness, panic, and a bizarre excitement.

It was as if he were happy she was participating in his "past"—even in this cruel manner. When others hurt or tried to kill him, he wanted to eat their flesh alive. When

this

person hurt or tried to kill him, why was it—?

He didn't understand what was happening to him. The boy's heart was colliding violently with his teenage heart.

The boy was unaware. He simply didn't understand why even his hatred for those kin was fading, his state of mind shifting until he could face it with indifference in an instant. He didn't understand why this Immortal wanted to kill him. Which step had he gotten wrong?

...Which step did I get wrong?

His breathing stopped. The boy's hands slid away, his head drooping to one side. His eyes were wet, but not a single tear fell.

Zora let go. The dead boy fell limp to the ground. She looked at the surroundings; the encroaching void stopped abruptly. Zora assumed it was because the central figure of the array had died.

If Vane were here, he would know better.

—It was because his state of mind had undergone a violent change.

The corpse turned into a wisp of divine sense, flying up to escape the array. Zora caught it again. It might be difficult to suppress Vane’s actual spiritual platform, but this was just a wisp of sense; she easily sealed his memory. After all, she couldn't let him know the questions she had asked, to avoid unnecessary trouble.

...

When Vane woke up, he found himself standing on the grass.

He must have entered a formation, yet he had no memory of it, nor any sense of insight. Was it a formation that erased memories upon escape?

"You just fell into an array," Zora said sincerely from the side. "I went in too, but the array couldn't bind me, so I killed the 'you' inside the illusion."

"..."

Vane looked at her. His wrist was still being held by her. He blinked slowly, taking a moment to regain his senses. The youth ignored the strange, excited tremor that had been present ever since he left the illusion and curved his lips slightly.

"Mhm. Thank you."

Zora: "No need for thanks."