The Villainous Demon Lord’s Handbook for Success: Rebirth - Chapter 8

As if possessed, Ning Fuyi reached out once more, her hand moving toward the other’s throat. A tongue of fire seemed to lick at her heart, searing her lungs.

She had never seen Chu Qingqiu like this; not standing high above, but defenseless and soft. Even when she had imprisoned her in the demon den years ago, Chu Qingqiu had remained as unyielding as a deity, as loathsome as ever.

Ning Fuyi’s gaze deepened like a bottomless pool of ink. Her fingertips brushed against Chu Qingqiu’s neck, and her fingers curled slightly.

Chu Qingqiu’s expression grew more pained. She suddenly shuddered, her hand rising unconsciously to rest against the crook of Ning Fuyi’s arm.

That face, which held its own against any beauty in the Six Realms, tilted back slightly, as if trying to evade Ning Fuyi’s touch.

A clap of thunder exploded in Ning Fuyi’s mind, followed by a sensation like cold water drenching her body. She snapped out of the trance, exhaling a long breath while feeling the sticky sweat coating her back.

She jerked her hand back as if the skin were scalding hot.

“Ning Fuyi, oh Ning Fuyi, have you gone mad? You aren’t the Demon King in that den anymore; you are Ning Changfeng’s daughter, a disciple of the Yunjia Mountain Sect!” she scolded herself fiercely, wiping the sweat from her brow.

Setting aside whether that marriage covenant would trigger, the mere act of harming Chu Qingqiu would result in the entire cultivation world hunting her to the ends of the earth.

Ning Fuyi shook her head, returning to her usual state of mind. She tentatively placed her hand on Chu Qingqiu’s forehead, mobilizing her immortal energy to probe the other woman’s body.

She wanted to know what was wrong with her.

Perhaps due to the marriage covenant, this body accepted her completely. Her immortal energy traveled through the meridians without any resistance. However, the deeper she searched, the tighter her brow furrowed.

Chu Qingqiu appeared to be gravely injured. It wasn’t visible on the surface, but a thorough internal investigation revealed that almost none of her meridians were intact. Her immortal energy was no longer vast; instead, it felt as if there were a vortex inside her, constantly consuming her.

Ning Fuyi withdrew her hand and stared at Chu Qingqiu’s bloodless face in shock, momentarily speechless.

With Chu Qingqiu’s current level of cultivation, who could possibly torment her to this extent?

Was it the same in my past life? I just didn’t know? Or is this an anomaly of this timeline?

Ning Fuyi couldn’t figure out the reason. Since Chu Qingqiu was unconscious, she set aside her doubts for now, placed Chu Qingqiu back in her original position, and stood up. Fortunately, the injuries weren’t fatal; she had simply overexerted herself, causing her immortal veins to rupture further, leading to a temporary coma.

Chu Qingqiu’s hall was characteristically sparse, containing only a cold stone bed, table, and stools. Ning Fuyi leaned over to pick up a piece of麻纸, examining it closely, but found no writing on it.

The other papers were the same; not a single drop of ink.

“Strange. Does Chu Qingqiu read ‘Heavenly Books’ that are blank?” Ning Fuyi grumbled inwardly. Finding no clues, she threw the paper down in frustration and turned to leave.

However, just as she stepped over the threshold, she heard a faint gasp behind her. Her footsteps faltered, and she turned back.

Chu Qingqiu remained lying on her side, wrapped in her pure white skirts like a fading night-blooming cereus. A few spots of striking red blood stained her clothes.

With her messy hair clinging to her face and those peach-blossom eyes tightly shut, she looked a little less cold.

Ning Fuyi hesitated for a moment before walking back to Chu Qingqiu’s side. She crouched down, once again gripping the woman’s arm to pull her into her embrace.

No matter how mature or hardened a woman appeared on the outside, her body remained soft. In Ning Fuyi’s arms, she felt as light as a feather, her cheek resting unconsciously against Ning Fuyi’s shoulder, transferring warmth through the fabric.

She didn’t feel at all like that icy deity who had lived for thousands of years.

While marveling internally, Ning Fuyi exerted herself to lay the body flat, placing Chu Qingqiu’s hands over her lower abdomen. She even took a moment to straighten the hem of the skirt before standing back up and satisfiedly dusting off her hands.

It was rare for a grand Demon King of the Eight Desolations to show such kindness.

Having finished, she turned and strode away.

Between the forced soul-protection ritual and the unauthorized use of Gu techniques, Ning Fuyi expected to face a mountain of trouble upon returning to Yunjia Mountain. However, she spent two full days holed up in Zhuguang Pavilion without a single person summoning her for punishment.

It was as if the four Great Elders had forgotten the events of that day, or perhaps someone had interceded, sparing her out of pity for her loss of her mother. To Ning Fuyi, escaping punishment was a win regardless of the reason.

After two days, Ning Fuyi felt at ease. She feigned illness to skip daily cultivation and instead began secretly researching demonic cultivation techniques.

However, regardless of the path, one requires the unification of mind and technique: internal mental cultivation paired with external physical refinement. In her previous life, she had entered the demonic path through a cultivation deviation triggered by the tragic death of her best friend. Lacking such a catalyst in this life, her attempts at demonic arts were amateurish at best; she could only grasp the surface, not becoming a true demon.

She had assumed that her Peak Yin meridian would make demonic cultivation easy. Yet, for some reason, despite multiple attempts over these two days, she couldn’t summon that familiar demonic power.

One morning, the sunlight was particularly pleasant. The other disciples of Zhuguang Pavilion had all gone out for morning practice. Only then did Ning Fuyi get out of bed, step past the screen, and stretch toward the orange-yellow sunlight hitting the wall.

She didn’t want to interact with the other disciples, so she had been avoiding people for several days to enjoy some peace.

She picked up a book she had been browsing the night before and walked into the main hall. The spacious area held several square tables and rows of bookshelves for the disciples’ study.

She searched for a moment, stuffed the wrinkled ancient text back into its place, and sighed in boredom.

The book cataloged most types of contracts. She had hoped to find an explanation for the marriage covenant, but the text only offered a few vague lines about “fate becoming one once the contract is formed,” useless platitudes.

No matter how she looked at it, it seemed like a formal, useless contract. Why on earth would Chu Qingqiu bind herself to her like this?

Unable to find an answer, she could only wait for an opportunity to test Chu Qingqiu again.

“Yiyi,” a familiar, soft voice came from behind. Ning Fuyi smiled and turned, reaching out as a slender hand fell into her palm. Simultaneously, a heavy food container appeared in her other hand.

“I knew you wouldn’t have gone to eat,” Liu Wenzhu scolded. She was wearing a jade-green dress today. On anyone else, the color might look gaudy, but on her, it looked like green bamboo in the mountains, gentle and full of spirit. “You haven’t left the room in days. You can’t avoid cultivation forever.”

“A few more days,” Ning Fuyi muttered, scratching the back of her head as she sat down to open the container.

“I know the Sect Leader just passed, but the Zhaoyao Assembly is coming up. It’s a great chance to make a name for yourself,” Liu Wenzhu advised patiently. She paused, then added, “But if you truly hate cultivation, that’s fine too. Once I achieve success, I will protect you and never let anyone bully you again.”

A warmth she hadn’t felt in a long time welled up. Ning Fuyi’s eyes grew slightly stinging.

In her previous life, for centuries after Liu Wenzhu’s death, she couldn’t bear to hear the word “protection.” Hearing it felt like a knife to the heart, often driving her into a killing spree.

“I’m just tired and want to rest. Don’t worry, I will cultivate,” Ning Fuyi said.

“You,”

“Wenzhu,” the girl placed her palm over Liu Wenzhu’s. Her dark eyes looked up at her. “You don’t need to protect me. I will protect you.”

Ning Fuyi knew she wasn’t particularly “likable,” so even as a child, she never acted spoiled, except with her friends.

Hearing this, Liu Wenzhu’s eyes curved into crescent moons. She nodded firmly and pushed the bowls toward Ning Fuyi. “Alright, eat up.”

Ning Fuyi suppressed the mist in her eyes and lowered her head to eat.

Just as she swallowed the last grain of rice, a mechanical wooden bird used for messages flew in through the window. It opened its beak to deliver a long, booming scolding that made Ning Fuyi’s head spin. She had to cover her ears to feel better.

The message was from Elder Pingyao, who used the harshest tone to give her a thorough dressing down. Every sentence was sharp, warning her that a cultivator should not wallow in grief. With the Zhaoyao Assembly approaching, she had to practice diligently so as not to shame the late Sect Leader.

Now, Ning Fuyi had no way to escape. She had to tidy herself up and, under Liu Wenzhu’s lead, join her returning peers heading toward the Xuanliang Courtyard.

This was the place where disciples studied. It was divided into four sections (East, West, South, and North) for disciples of different ranks. The East Courtyard held those with the highest cultivation, while the North Courtyard was the opposite.

Ning Fuyi, Liu Wenzhu, and others were low-ranking disciples, so they were all in the North Courtyard.

Xuanliang Courtyard was similar to a mortal academy, with a web of covered bridges leading to various halls, though it was much larger and more grand. Precious jades were placed everywhere, overflowing with spiritual energy and emitting colorful glows.

It was still early, and the teaching elders hadn’t arrived yet. Ning Fuyi yawned as she stepped over the threshold, only to be met by a sudden flash of cold light. She dodged instinctively, barely preventing the light from slicing her neck.

“Yiyi!” Liu Wenzhu rushed over in alarm. “Who,”

“Oh, if it isn’t our Young Sect Leader?” a dainty voice called out, interrupting Liu Wenzhu. “We were just sparring; I didn’t expect you to show up today.”

“After all, we weren’t even using strength. A normal disciple wouldn’t get hurt even if they took a direct hit. But if it were you, you’d probably lose your life. My apologies; I didn’t consider your safety,” Li Chaoan said with a smile.

She was dressed in a pretty pink today, her face as bright as a peach blossom. Two dimples appeared when she smiled, making her look innocent and cute.

Li Chaoan had lost both parents at a young age. She viewed Ning Changfeng’s appearance as a lifeline of familial love, which developed into an obsessive possessiveness over her godmother.

Before Ning Changfeng’s death, Li Chaoan’s attitude toward Ning Fuyi had never been great, but for the Sect Leader’s sake, they had maintained a surface-level peace. Only after the death did they start clashing directly.

If Ning Fuyi were to list the people she hated most, Li Chaoan would be near the top.

“Nonsense. You don’t spar when all those other disciples enter, yet you spar right when we walk in? Yiyi has just recovered, and you are her sister in name; don’t bully her too much,” Liu Wenzhu said, her face red with anger. Unfortunately, her voice was naturally soft, so even her arguing sounded gentle.

“So what? Godmother never forbid sparring within the sect. She has no skill herself but expects everyone to coddle her; where is the logic in that?” Li Chaoan was sharp-tongued, leaving the conflict-averse Liu Wenzhu speechless.

“Besides, I only recognize my godmother. This dummy isn’t worthy of being her daughter, let alone my sister,” Li Chaoan sneered.

Her words were truly too much. Even Liu Wenzhu couldn’t bear it. She pushed Ning Fuyi aside, her eyes red as she flipped her right hand. A burst of fire emerged from her palm, surging toward Li Chaoan. Li Chaoan, however, acted as if she didn’t care. Without moving her hands, a white light appeared from the void, easily devouring Liu Wenzhu’s flame.

At the same time, the white light shot toward Liu Wenzhu’s face, threatening to disfigure her.

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