After the Demon Lord Lost His Memory, He Became the Immortal Venerable's Dao Companion - Chapter 21

In the dim room, Qi Yan’s scales, as beautiful as the person himself, shimmered with a self-generated glow that caught Shen Yuzong’s eyes.

He touched Qi Yan’s scales with an air of obsession.

“Zhuzhu, will you despise me?” Shen Yuzong raised his head, looking somewhat dejected.

“I don’t despise you,” Qi Yan said weakly.

Shen Yuzong leaned in, forcing his face into the palm of Qi Yan’s hand.

Qi Yan truly did not want to accept this. Shen Yuzong’s face had just touched that area, and now he was rubbing against his hand. However, unable to withstand Shen Yuzong’s insistent attitude, Qi Yan had no choice but to accept it as if handling a scorching hot potato.

“But I am truly worried and afraid. What if one day, Zhuzhu leaves your husband behind again? What should I do then? It is all your husband’s fault.”

Qi Yan propped himself up to coax Shen Yuzong, pressing dense, damp kisses onto his jawline. “I won’t run away.”

Having been worn out all night, Qi Yan no longer had any strength left. His eyelids drooped, fluttering ever so slightly.

Shen Yuzong held Qi Yan from behind, his rough hands resting against the other’s delicate skin. He lowered his gaze to see Qi Yan’s thick lashes and the dried tear stains on his cheeks.

“Sleep.”

Hearing this, Qi Yan finally closed his eyes with peace of mind. He was exhausted today. First, he had spent the entire day on edge, trying to divert Shen Yuzong’s attention, and later, he had suffered a scare, leaving him completely drained.

Once Qi Yan fell asleep, Shen Yuzong picked up Qi Yan’s body to examine it closely. His hand lingered on the brown scar, his gaze fixated on it as well.

Shen Yuzong pressed his face against Qi Yan’s thin abdomen. As the scars touched, he felt a strange, subtle sense of satisfaction, a psychological one. He looked down; there was nothing imperfect about Qi Yan from head to toe, yet it was precisely this scar cutting across the middle that disrupted that incomparable perfection.

What exactly was it?

Judging by the color, it was clearly an old scar. Even after healing for so long, the mark still remained on the skin. It must have been agonizing at the time. What exactly did Qi Yan experience during the days he was away from him to make himself look so wretched?

Shen Yuzong pondered this unconsciously.

After staying in the pool with Qi Yan for a while and sensing that Qi Yan’s state was gradually improving, the heavy fish tail transformed back into slender legs. Shen Yuzong slipped one arm under the bend of Qi Yan’s knees, placed the other person’s arms around his own neck, and stood up from the bath.

Shen Yuzong had not taken off his clothes before entering the pool, so now they were soaked through, dripping water as he moved. This inadvertently drenched Qi Yan’s body all over again. Perhaps feeling the chill, even in his deep sleep, Qi Yan could not help but shrink inward.

Shen Yuzong found it amusing and took out a thin silk robe to drape over Qi Yan. A rose, wilted by the water, fell forlornly onto the steps.

Back on the bed, Shen Yuzong tucked Qi Yan under the covers and lowered the gauze curtains, returning the world to a misty haze. Watching the features of the person beside him carefully, Shen Yuzong’s restless heart finally calmed down. He held the person tightly in his arms, feeling the warmth of skin against skin, the warm breath of Qi Yan, and the vibrant, vital heartbeat of his partner.

Everything was fine.

Two bodies pressed closely together, no longer distinguishing between you and me. Never again would Zhuzhu leave him, not even for a moment.

Shen Yuzong reached out to trace Qi Yan’s facial features bit by bit, his fingers skimming over them like a dragonfly touching the water. The gentle, friendly facade he wore during the day vanished, leaving only dark desire and a craving to completely absorb the person into his own body.

He had been deceived for so long; how could he possibly remain the naive, foolish simpleton he once was?

Shen Yuzong took hold of Qi Yan’s fingers, threading his own into the gaps between the knuckles, eventually locking their hands together.

“Zhuzhu, I truly love you so much.”

In his dazed state, drifting into dreams, Qi Yan found himself in a strange place.

The surroundings were overgrown with wild grass, dark gray smoke billowed upward, and a flock of birds and beasts flew across a gray-purple sky. Qi Yan looked up, feeling dense sweat seeping from his forehead. His body felt as if it were submerged in magma, his palms slick with sweat.

“So hot.”

Qi Yan bit his lip, his body feeling as heavy as if it were burdened by thousands of pounds. In the dream, his body was not controlled by his own consciousness; he just walked forward mechanically.

Suddenly, he lowered his head and gently touched his abdomen.

The sight before his eyes made Qi Yan’s scalp tingle. Why was his belly like this? It was exactly like a woman ten months pregnant. He tried to comfort himself, thinking it might just be because he had eaten too much.

But suddenly, he felt a slight kick against his belly, and he heard the body in his dream speak softly: “Zong’er, hold on a little longer. It will be fine soon.”

Something exploded in his mind. Qi Yan could not imagine that this person was himself.

He took a few more steps forward, a sharp pain piercing his chest as if his internal organs were being shredded. He looked into the distance and saw an endless field of Manjusaka flowers. Thick black energy swirled around something ahead, and Qi Yan dragged his exhausted body into the darkness.

The blood that welled up in his throat was suffocating. He reached out to wipe the blood from the corner of his mouth.

“Descendant of the Merfolk, Qi Yan. I am willing to swear upon my life, promising to nourish your soul with my blood and vitality, and to warm your evil aura with my meridians.”

“I only ask for the Demon-Slaying Sword to manifest and lend me your strength.”

Immediately after, the mist before him dissipated, and Qi Yan could finally see clearly. It was a jet-black sword, locked into the ground by chains, surrounded by dried bloodstains.

“Are you pregnant?”

Qi Yan looked up. It was a young girl, sitting on the hilt of the sword, asking out of curiosity.

“Yes. May I ask who you are, young lady?”

“I am the sword spirit of this blade, Xiao Yao. We have been waiting for you for a thousand years. Why did you take so long to arrive? I am starving to death.”

Qi Yan frowned, not quite understanding, and asked, “What do you mean by this, young lady?”

She smiled, climbed down from the sword, and used a wisp of sword energy to cut Qi Yan’s finger. A drop of blood fell, and in an instant, a massive wave of energy rippled outward from the sword.

Qi Yan reached out and grasped the hilt, feeling as if all the blood in his body was surging toward one point. He heard the distinct sound of chains snapping, and the Demon-Slaying Sword was pulled free.

For hundreds of miles around, demons and demonic blades were instantly affected by the shockwave, instinctively kneeling in the direction where the sword had been sealed. The sky cracked open, revealing a blood-red wound, and blood continued to flow downward, soaking the entire blade.

“The Demon-Slaying Sword has emerged! Greetings to our Master!”

“The Demon-Slaying Sword has emerged! Greetings to our Master!”

The final image was Xiao Yao kneeling on one knee, looking at Qi Yan and saying earnestly: “Greetings to my Master.”

A sharp, needle-like pain struck his chest, and Qi Yan snapped his eyes open, drenched in sweat. The sound of those repeated shouts still echoed in his mind: “The Demon-Slaying Sword has emerged, greetings to my Master.”

Qi Yan blinked, and the tears that had been squeezed out slid from the corners of his eyes. He unconsciously pressed his palm against the scar on his lower abdomen.

“The Demon-Slaying Sword, what exactly is it? Xiao Yao. And Zong’er, who is that?”

His mind was a mess of chaos. Qi Yan pressed his hand against his throbbing temples.

Shen Yuzong had already woken up and pulled him into his arms, their foreheads touching as he asked with concern: “Zhuzhu, what’s wrong?”

Qi Yan gripped the quilt, speaking vaguely: “I had a dream.”

“What dream?”

“I do not remember.”

Shen Yuzong patted Qi Yan’s back comfortingly. “If you cannot remember, do not think about it. It is just a dream; there is no need to take it to heart.”

But was it really just a dream? Why was the scene so familiar?

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