Blood rained down from the shattered sky, hissing as it hit the scorched earth.
Yan Shuo wiped a mixture of sweat and gore from his eyes. His breathing was heavy, rattling in his chest like broken glass.
Around him, the Heavenly Execution Peak was reduced to a smoldering crater. Thousands of corpses littered the mountain, painting the ancient white stone a gruesome red. Yet, the ten figures floating above him were still very much alive, their auras blazing like miniature suns.
"Give up, Yan Shuo," the Grand Elder of the Righteous Alliance sneered. His golden robes were spotless, completely untouched by the slaughter below. "Your meridians are shattered. Your spiritual sea is dry. Hand over the Heavenly Dao Relic, and we will grant you the mercy of an intact corpse."
Yan Shuo spat out a mouthful of blood and laughed. It was a raspy, tired sound.
"An intact corpse? You hypocrites chased me across three continents for a shiny rock, and you think I'm going to just hand it over?"
He had lived a long, exhausting life. He had fought for every scrap of resources, clawed his way out of bloody pits, and climbed to the absolute peak of the martial world. And for what? To be ganged up on by a bunch of greedy old men spouting nonsense about righteousness.
He was a pragmatic man. He was tired, his bones ached, and he just wanted to rest. But if he was going down today, he was taking every single one of these bastards with him to ensure nobody would ever bother him in the afterlife.
Yan Shuo closed his eyes and ignited his very soul.
"You want it? Go fetch it in hell."
The ten elders' eyes widened in sheer horror.
"He's detonating his core! Stop him—!"
It was too late.
Yan Shuo felt his body dissolve into pure, destructive energy. In his final, fleeting moment of consciousness, he watched with grim satisfaction as the blinding shockwave caught the Grand Elder mid-sentence. The arrogant old man's golden shields shattered like cheap glass before his body was vaporized into fine gray ash, along with the other nine elders.
Complete annihilation. Not a single soul survived. No loose ends. No one left to plot revenge.
Finally, Yan Shuo thought as the darkness took him. I can sleep.
His head throbbed like someone was hammering a rusted nail directly into his skull.
Yan Shuo groaned, his eyes fluttering open. The smell of rotting leaves and damp earth filled his nose. The ground beneath him was incredibly hard and cold.
I'm not dead?
Before he could even attempt to sit up, a flood of foreign memories slammed into his brain. He gripped his head, gritting his teeth as a lifetime of humiliating, pathetic moments played out in his mind.
A boy, also named Yan Shuo.
Fifteen years old.
An outer disciple of the prestigious Azure Sword Sect.
And quite possibly the biggest piece of trash this continent had seen in a thousand years.
Yan Shuo let out a long, heavy sigh, slowly sifting through the kid's memories to figure out where—and when—he was. His breath hitched slightly as a specific piece of information surfaced.
The 412th year of the Heavenly Dao Calendar.
Yan Shuo blinked. He had detonated his core in the 312th year.
Exactly one hundred years. He had been dead for a full century.
He slowly pushed himself up against the trunk of a massive pine tree, wincing at a sharp, piercing pain in his ribs. He pulled back his ragged gray robes. His chest was covered in dark purple bruises. According to the memories, the original owner of this body had been beaten to death and dumped in the back mountains by the lackeys of a wealthy Inner Sect disciple over a spilled cup of tea.
Yan Shuo rubbed his temples. He closed his eyes and checked his internal state. It was a disaster. His meridians were thinner than a strand of hair and completely clogged. His dantian was cracked, leaking what little Qi he gathered straight into the air.
A normal reincarnated expert would probably roar at the heavens right now. They would swear bloody vengeance and prepare for decades of miserable, agonizing grinding to fix their body and slap the faces of their bullies.
"I am way too old for this," Yan Shuo muttered.
He already killed his enemies. He had no lingering regrets.
"Alright, let's look at the bright side," he murmured, ever the opportunist. "I'm alive. The Righteous Alliance is dust. I know enough ancient breathing techniques to slowly repair this broken dantian. If I lay low, farm spirit herbs out here in the back mountains, and avoid everyone for about sixty years, I can have a nice, quiet retirement."
It was a solid, low-stress plan.
He leaned against the tree, using it for support as he forced his aching legs to stand. He needed to find some basic blood-clotting herbs before nightfall.
He hadn't taken more than ten steps through the dense forest when a sharp, terrified scream shattered the quiet afternoon.
"Please! Let me go! I don't have any spirit stones!"
Yan Shuo paused. He peered through the thick brush into a small clearing ahead.
Three outer sect disciples, their robes clean and their expressions twisted into ugly, arrogant sneers, had cornered a young girl against a rocky outcrop. The girl was trembling violently, her plain gray robes covered in dirt, her face buried in her hands as she sobbed.
"Don't lie to us, little beggar," the tallest disciple laughed, drawing a wooden practice sword and tapping it against his palm. "We know you found a Blood Lotus near the creek. Hand it over, and maybe we'll just break your legs instead of throwing you to the spirit wolves."
Yan Shuo's eyes narrowed.
He hated bullies. In his past life, he had slaughtered warlords and kings for acting exactly like this. Before he could even think, his soul reacted. A terrifying, overwhelming wave of pure killer intent flared in his eyes, dense enough to freeze a man's blood.
He took a step forward.
Then, his shattered ribs screamed in agony, nearly sending him to his knees.
Yan Shuo froze. Wait.
He looked down at his trembling, bruised hands. Pragmatism hit him like a bucket of ice water. He had absolutely zero cultivation. He couldn't even throw a punch without snapping his own wrist. If he stepped out there now, emitting the killer intent of a legendary warlord from a crippled fifteen-year-old body, they wouldn't just beat him—they would slice him into pieces.
I can't save her, he realized calmly. I need to leave. Now.
He turned to quietly slip away into the shadows.
"Fine. Have it your way."
The voice didn't come from the bullies. It came from the crying girl.
Except, she wasn't crying anymore. The terrified sobbing had vanished, replaced by a tone so completely flat and utterly devoid of human emotion that it made the hairs on the back of Yan Shuo's neck stand straight up.
Yan Shuo glanced back over his shoulder.
The three bullies had frozen in their tracks. The air in the clearing suddenly dropped by twenty degrees. A suffocating, terrifying spiritual pressure descended on the forest, so heavy that the surrounding trees physically groaned under the weight.
The dirty, crying girl sighed.
In the blink of an eye, the illusion shattered. The drab gray robes dissolved into flowing silk of deep, rich crimson, heavily embroidered with dark gold lotuses. The dirt vanished from her skin, revealing a breathtaking, mature woman with a remarkably well-endowed figure and a face of flawless, porcelain perfection.
Yan Shuo held his breath. What in the hell? This wasn't an outer disciple. The aura radiating off her was at the absolute peak of the mortal realm. This was someone who could wipe the entire Azure Sword Sect off the map without breaking a sweat.
The three bullies stared at her, their mouths opening and closing like suffocating fish. They couldn't even scream. The sheer pressure of her aura was crushing their lungs.
"You were too loud," the stunning woman whispered.
She didn't draw a weapon. She merely flicked her pale wrist.
Squelch.
The three disciples were instantly reduced to a fine mist of blood. Not a single bone or scrap of clothing remained. They were simply erased from existence.
Yan Shuo stood perfectly still in the bushes. His veteran mind was working in overdrive. Why is a supreme expert playing dress-up in the outer sect slums? Was she testing them? Is she crazy? I need to stay perfectly still so she doesn't notice—
The crimson-robed woman turned her head. Her striking, golden-amber eyes locked directly onto the bushes where Yan Shuo was hiding.
She didn't look angry. She didn't look like an arrogant immortal who had just swatted a fly.
She looked… hungry. It was a desperate, burning, utterly unhinged obsession that completely contradicted her holy aura.
With slow, deliberate steps, she walked toward him. Her silk robes dragged elegantly across the blood-soaked grass.
Yan Shuo didn't run. His legs wouldn't carry him fast enough anyway. He just stood up straight, doing his absolute best to maintain a calm, unbothered expression while his heart hammered against his broken ribs.
She stopped right in front of him. She was close enough that he could smell the faint, intoxicating scent of lotus blossoms mixed with the sharp metallic tang of fresh blood.
Slowly, the icy, terrifying beauty smiled.
It was a smile that was breathtakingly gorgeous, but genuinely, deeply crazy.
With a flick of her hand, she produced a heavy, glowing golden scroll. It radiated an ancient, undeniable magic. She pressed it gently against his chest.
"Sign it," she said. Her voice dripped with an intoxicating sweetness.
Yan Shuo looked down at the scroll. The bold, glowing characters at the top made his brain short-circuit for a full three seconds.
Soul-Binding Marriage Contract.
He looked back up at her, utterly bewildered.
"Excuse me?"
The woman leaned in, her flawless face mere inches from his. Her golden eyes flashed with a dark, possessive intensity that left no room for argument or escape.
"From today onward, you are my husband, Yan Shuo," she whispered, her breath warm against his neck. "And anyone who dares to look at you again… I will slaughter their entire nine generations."
Yan Shuo looked at the overpowered, blood-soaked beauty, then down at the golden contract pressed against his chest.
Well, he thought pragmatically, there goes the sixty-year farming plan.