After My Death, the Immortal Venerable Became a Demon for My Sake - Chapter 7

It was late at night within the Xiyi Sect. A heavy silence blanketed the grounds, broken only by the rhythmic footsteps of a few patrolling disciples gripping their scabbards.

Deep within the Sect Leader’s pavilion, Wu Qianshan’s face was twisted in a ghastly expression as he clutched a transmission talisman. On the other end, the disciples could hear his furious, ragged breathing and hardly dared to draw breath themselves.

“Sect… Sect Leader, we’ve scoured every town within a fifty-mile radius of the area you specified. We truly cannot find the traitor.”

Wu Qianshan suppressed a roar of rage. “Useless fools! She knows we’re hunting her; why would she walk straight into a town? They must be hiding in the wilderness. Did you search the mountains?”

“Fei Xiao and Yin Yuan were assigned to the mountains, but… I’ve sent multiple transmissions and haven’t received a single response. Sect Leader, perhaps I should.”

Before the disciple could finish, Wu Qianshan crushed the talisman into dust. With a violent sweep of his arm, he sent the divination arrays laid out on his desk crashing to the floor.

So much time had passed, and yet there wasn’t a trace of Song Wangxiao. Rumors were already spreading like wildfire within the sect, with everyone questioning why he was so obsessed with sending high-level disciples to hunt down a girl who hadn’t even surpassed the Foundation stage.

Moreover, the Great Sect Assembly at Guanqi Gate was only a few days away. He had already dispatched Zongyue and most of the sect’s elite to attend. Currently, only a dozen or so low-level disciples remained outside searching fools who were no match for the master protecting Song Wangxiao.

The longer this dragged on, the higher her chances of escape. If he didn’t find her soon, she might vanish forever.

As the thought crossed his mind, a surge of blood rushed to his throat from sheer fury. Within his dantian, a faint wisp of demonic energy began to coil. He moved his hand sharply, using his spiritual power to forcibly suppress the dark tremor.

“Is the Sect Leader of the Xiyi Sect truly this incompetent? You can’t even keep watch over a tiny little sacrifice.” A mocking, disembodied voice echoed through the pavilion, causing Wu Qianshan’s expression to darken with rage.

“Silence! This is the Xiyi Sect no place for a foul creature like you!”

“Heh. It seems the Sect Leader has sat upon his high throne for too long,” the voice replied, unfazed and dripping with sarcasm. “Have you forgotten how you begged us ‘foul creatures’ for help in the first place?”

“Save your breath. If we don’t find Song Wangxiao, the plan is nothing but a fantasy. Neither of us will stand to gain a thing!”

“Sect Leader, we are grasshoppers tied to the same string. If the string breaks, we both die. I suggest you reconsider it is time to use the Demon Race’s ‘Ten Thousand Search Art’.”

“I have my own plans! You are in no position to command me!”

Wu Qianshan’s heart hammered against his ribs. To use the Ten Thousand Search Art meant sharing his physical body with this half-ghostly entity a price he was unwilling to pay.

He formed a series of hand seals to forcibly suppress the voice, then looked down at the mess on the floor. With an angry flick of his sleeve, he strode out of the pavilion.

Shortly after Wu Qianshan left, a ripple appeared in a deserted corner of the sect. Two figures materialized out of the darkness.

Song Wangxiao stood still, scanning their surroundings warily. Seeing only silence and no guards, she let out a long sigh of relief.

“Why have we come back here?” Jiang Cishuang asked, her brow slightly knit as she looked at the grand, dark architecture of the sect.

“I spent some time practicing here before. I left a few things behind, and I figured we should grab them while no one is around at night,” Song Wangxiao explained vaguely. She wasn’t quite ready to reveal the full extent of the Xiyi Sect’s conspiracy yet.

Jiang Cishuang didn’t press for more. She simply nodded and waited for Wangxiao to lead the way, her trust absolute.

A flicker of warmth touched Wangxiao’s heart as she began to walk.

Her excuse wasn’t entirely a lie. The Xiyi Sect erected a stone tablet in the courtyard of every personal disciple, engraved with their birth details and date of entry. It served as official proof of their status. Song Wangxiao was deeply concerned about the demonic energy in her body and hoped to find some clues in her old quarters.

Using the original owner’s memories, the two navigated the back paths, avoiding patrols until they reached her courtyard in a remote corner of the sect.

To Wangxiao’s surprise, the courtyard which she expected to be overgrown with cobwebs—was vibrating with intense spiritual fluctuations. She froze, staring warily at the entrance.

Jiang Cishuang had sensed it even earlier. She looked at the dark courtyard and then at Wangxiao, her expression turning grave.

“Someone is in my room,” Wangxiao whispered. The spiritual pressure was immense; even from the outside, she could tell the person within possessed a terrifyingly high cultivation level.

Only two people in the sect fit that description: Zongyue or the Sect Leader, Wu Qianshan. Since Zongyue had been sent to the assembly, it could only be the Sect Leader.

What was Wu Qianshan doing in her courtyard at this hour?

She glanced at Jiang Cishuang and saw her staring intently at the house, her fingers twitching as sparks of spiritual light gathered at her tips. Wangxiao decided right then that it wasn’t worth the risk. She couldn’t face Wu Qianshan head-on just yet.

“Since someone is there, let’s head to the Sect Leader’s pavilion instead.”

Avoiding the patrol disciples once more, the pair reached the pavilion. As expected, it was empty.

However, it wasn’t the pristine, grand hall Wangxiao had imagined. The pavilion looked like it had been through a brawl. Tables and cabinets were overturned, and the floor was littered with black liquid, discarded brushes, and crumpled paper.

Song Wangxiao frowned at the dark stains. “What happened here?”

Jiang Cishuang cast a brief glance at the floor. “An array. Likely the one used by the person who tried to track you with that dark energy the other day.”

Wangxiao looked closer and recognized the half-finished, twisted formation. She felt a surge of revulsion.

Pushing the mess aside, she went straight to the bookshelves, searching for the records of sect disciples. If Wu Qianshan was so obsessed with her demonic energy, there had to be a record of it somewhere.

As Jiang Cishuang looked around the room, she felt a strange dissonance. Something was wrong with the atmosphere. Before she could pinpoint the source of her unease, a sharp click echoed through the room. The bookshelf in front of them split down the middle, revealing a pitch-black secret passage.

Jiang Cishuang looked at Wangxiao, who looked just as baffled. “I just pulled one book,” Wangxiao muttered. She realized then that “hidden rooms behind bookshelves” were a classic trope for a reason.

They shared a look and silently agreed to investigate. Wangxiao tossed a book inside first; when no traps were triggered, she stepped in.

Unlike the cold air outside, the passage was dry. As they walked, candles along the walls ignited automatically, their flames dancing in a phantom wind clearly a magical trigger.

At the very end, the room opened up into a faint golden glow. They peered inside and saw mountains of gold, silver, and jewels. The sheer volume of wealth was what created the shimmering light.

Wangxiao’s first reaction was shock, followed immediately by suspicion. Given Wu Qianshan’s hunger for power and status in the novel, why would he keep so much raw currency in a secret vault?

There’s a catch.

Determined, Wangxiao began to examine the walls, pressing and tapping against the stone like a human gecko.

Jiang Cishuang stood in the center of the gold-lit room, her eyes dark and unreadable. She had figured out the anomaly.

It was the spiritual energy.

Outside, the pavilion had felt rich with energy, but once they entered the building, it had seemed to vanish which was why it felt so cold. Yet here in the secret room, the energy was surging again. Why would the Sect Leader go to such lengths to isolate the main pavilion from spiritual flow?

Furthermore, she thought of the black energy from a few days ago. If that was Wu Qianshan’s handiwork, why exactly was he hunting Song Wangxiao?

“Found it!” Wangxiao’s excited voice broke her train of thought. The girl was practically vibrating with thrill, her face glowing in the golden light.

Wangxiao pushed a stone slab aside to reveal the true inner sanctum.

Unlike the outer vault of gold, this room was packed with magical artifacts and grimoires. In the center sat the crown jewel: a perfectly scaled-down model of a spirit flying ship.

Wangxiao walked over to the ship, which was about the height of a person. She didn’t hesitate. She pulled out her storage ring and sucked the entire ship inside. Then, she began sweeping up every other strange artifact in the room.

Wu Qianshan needed these for his ritual to sacrifice her. If she took his tools, she would break his path to the sacrifice.

The mantis stalks the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind.

As she prepared to leave, her eye caught a strangely shaped jade stone tucked in a corner. Out of curiosity, she picked it up. It was odd carved with intricate floral patterns but otherwise unremarkable. It seemed out of place among the high-level artifacts. Seeing no harm in it, she tossed it into her ring and turned to leave with Jiang Cishuang.

She hadn’t found her entry records, but sabotaging Wu Qianshan’s ritual made the trip worth it.

They checked their surroundings before slipping out of the pavilion and heading toward the central practice stage. Suddenly, the air rippled with a violent spiritual disturbance the exact same aura Wangxiao had felt earlier in her courtyard.

Wangxiao’s face paled. She looked up at the darkening sky. A mass of black energy was hurtling toward them, arriving within breaths.

She and Jiang Cishuang leaped in opposite directions to dodge the strike, then quickly regrouped.

“Song Wangxiao. You dared to wound your fellow disciples and flee the sect, and now you have the nerve to return?” A sinister voice boomed from above. A dark silhouette hovered in the air.

“Sect Leader,” Wangxiao said, giving a mock bow. “Long time no see. Last time we spoke, you were throwing me into a dungeon.”

“Hahaha! You were a disciple of this sect and you violated our laws. My punishment was just. Who knew you couldn’t handle a little time in the cells, and instead chose to strike down your brothers to escape? I will capture you and see that you face justice!”

Wu Qianshan spoke with a righteous veneer, but his eyes were glued to Wangxiao with a predatory hunger. He needed a plausible excuse for his actions to hide his true intent from the world.

Then, his gaze shifted to the white-robed woman beside her. He frowned.

“Fellow cultivator, I am dealing with sect business. I trust you are wise enough not to interfere in the internal affairs of the Xiyi Sect.”

Jiang Cishuang had already used a spell to alter her features and suppress her aura the moment she felt the disturbance. To anyone but Wangxiao, she looked like an ordinary, unfamiliar cultivator.

Jiang Cishuang slowly raised her eyes to meet the man in the sky. A fierce wind whipped around her, fluttering her robes and making her appear fragile. Her left hand curled into a fist, and in the next heartbeat, a standard, unremarkable spiritual sword appeared in her grip.

“And what,” she asked softly, “if I insist on interfering?”

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