“!”
Just then, no one expected it—the Vermilion Bird’s movements suddenly stopped.
With a “thud,” the little lamb fell to the ground, immediately scooped into his mother’s arms, with only a trembling tail tip visible.
In the sudden silence, the Vermilion Bird stood frozen as if paralyzed, utterly motionless. Only the expressions on her face continued to change.
She seemed both shocked and furious. But her power was rapidly draining away. She had no idea why, nor could she stop it in the slightest—she couldn’t even speak. All she could do was wear an increasingly twisted face, helplessly watching as the power she had just acquired left her body and flowed off in an unknown direction.
Shen Ming had no idea what was happening either, but he recognized an opportunity not to be missed. He immediately seized the moment of the Vermilion Bird’s stiffness, leaping sideways and transforming his finger into a blade, its tip aimed directly at one spot on the Vermilion Bird’s chest—her vital point, her greatest weakness.
Everything happened too fast for anyone to process. The others didn’t even have a chance to be astonished. They could only watch as the finger blade met no resistance, sliding smoothly into the Vermilion Bird’s chest.
The strike was swift and precise. It wasn’t until Shen Ming withdrew his hand that blood belatedly sprayed from the bowl-sized wound. “Sizzle, sizzle—” The blood, infused with the Vermilion Bird’s divine power, spilled onto the ground, its intense heat instantly melting the earth.
Dead silence. The horrified crowd involuntarily froze all movement, not daring to breathe, their eyes locked on Shen Ming and the Vermilion Bird. What happened? Did it work? Is the Vermilion Bird dead?
From beginning to end, the Vermilion Bird had remained rigid, enduring it all. Her divine blood rapidly drained, and her body visibly shriveled before their eyes. It seemed she truly was dead.
Shen Ming, standing closest, could clearly sense that this evil-god version of the Vermilion Bird was dying.
Divine power only leaked out along with divine blood when injuries were so severe that self-control was lost—a situation Shen Ming knew all too well.
But even as he watched the twisted yet abundant vitality and life force rapidly fade, Shen Ming felt not the slightest relief—only growing unease. What exactly just happened? Could the Vermilion Bird really be this easy to kill?
Most of those who had been captured were yao race, spirit beasts, and cultivators. Though the day’s repeated ups and downs had left them thoroughly exhausted, their basic perception remained intact. Leaning on one another, exchanging glances, they confirmed that the oppressive force that had been bearing down on them within the secret realm was gradually fading.
Not only that, but the light within the secret realm was also changing. Visibility greatly improved, and the eerie red glow, seemingly deprived of its support, grew dimmer and dimmer.
Restless murmurs began to ripple through the crowd below. The exhilaration of surviving against all odds started to spread among them. A few ordinary people who had never understood what was happening but had held on until now were especially elated.
Though they still had no idea what had just occurred, it seemed they weren’t going to die after all. How wonderful!!!
No longer forced to maintain the barrier, the great cultivators finally had their hands free. Ignoring everything else, setting aside distinctions of race or identity, they began treating each other’s wounds. The lesser yao also pitched in to help.
Bai Jun, sustained by a few weak streams of spiritual energy, clutched his chest and coughed up another mouthful of blood mixed with fragments of internal organs. Yet his spirits lifted. He struggled to shift his body and looked toward Shen Ming—only to find that Shen Ming’s expression did not look good.
Something’s wrong.
He clenched his hand, burned by the Vermilion Bird’s divine power, and stared at the shapeless body of the Vermilion Bird, now completely devoid of life. His vigilance reached its peak.
And sure enough, a hidden and devious surge of demonic energy suddenly shot toward them. Shen Ming’s brow twitched slightly as he dodged the strike. But that attack had only been a probe. Immediately following, a torrential downpour of demonic power cascaded down—and mingled conspicuously within that overwhelming demonic aura was the unmistakable divine power of the Vermilion Bird!
This power was aimed at Shen Ming. But with the barrier gone, the people below were also affected by the surging forces, stumbling and reeling. Little Thirteen, clutching Ye Yang, only stayed grounded because Ji Qing—heavy enough to anchor him—held on tight.
Shen Ming’s scant remaining spiritual power could barely protect himself, let alone anyone else. Under the deluge of immense power, the stones of the domed ceiling shattered, and massive boulders crashed down one after another. Shen Ming was pressed directly into the melted ground, his face turning even paler, his gaze growing more ashen.
“What’s happening?!”
“There’s another enemy?!”
“Isn’t the Vermilion Bird dead?!”
“How is Lord Black Tortoise?!”
As the dust and smoke cleared, a figure stood motionless in midair, topped with a head of arrogant red hair.
Fu Ye stared at Shen Ming’s disheveled state, the corner of his mouth curling upward. “You’re at the end of your rope too, aren’t you? Did you really think you could kill the Vermilion Bird, resurrected after gathering so much power?” His mocking tone was like someone teasing a stray cat.
Exactly—the one who had arrived was none other than Fu Ye.
Almost everyone recognized Fu Ye. And precisely because of that, they were all the more dumbfounded.
“…Senior Fu Ye?”
“What’s going on here, Senior Fu Ye?”
“Did he come to save us…?”
“Are you stupid? How could that be? He’s clearly not a good guy either!!”
Most of the crowd was on the verge of collapse. They had barely dared to believe that everything was over, that they might actually get out—only to have, at this moment when everyone was either dead or wounded, and the sole remaining top-tier combatant, the Black Tortoise, was depleted and aggravated by old injuries, a brand-new, fully-powered, health-bar-at-maximum, clearly-empowered-by-some-encounter super big bad appear before them!
Are they really not going to let anyone live?? Were they all truly destined to die here today?
Fu Ye paid no attention to those irrelevant voices. At this point, he only cared about one thing—
“Shen Ming. Now that I possess not only the power I’ve cultivated myself but also the Vermilion Bird’s power, you are no match for me.”
“Oh, that’s right. I almost forgot—I have you to thank for this, Lord Black Tortoise. Without your divine blood, the person standing before you today would never exist.”
Fu Ye’s tone was sincere, but the hatred blazing in his eyes stabbed toward Shen Ming like needles.
The crowd was bewildered, but Shen Ming had already suspected as much. Fu Ye’s words only confirmed his conjecture.
Still, there were things he didn’t understand.
Remaining in his “half-buried” posture, Shen Ming said, “So it was you. You absorbed my divine blood.”
Fu Ye stared at him in silence. Shen Ming asked, “When did it happen?”
Perhaps it was the casualness of Shen Ming’s tone, but Fu Ye’s forcibly maintained composure shattered instantly. He let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “When did it happen? Of course—why would you ever notice the ants beneath your feet?”
After centuries of silent endurance and scheming, with victory now within his grasp, Fu Ye suddenly could no longer contain himself. The pain, hatred, despair, and darkness inside him could no longer be suppressed—he had to let them out.
“Of course you don’t remember, but I haven’t forgotten a single day!”
“I should have died long ago. I could have joined my mother long ago. But it was you—you turned me into what I am now!”
As he spoke, Fu Ye suddenly shifted his gaze to Su Huaiyu and Bai Jun. Su Huaiyu’s entire body tensed—only to see Fu Ye give a contemptuous smile. “At least there’s no one from the Tushan clan here. Good.”
Then, as if no one else were present, he began recounting a history he had never shared with anyone.
Fu Ye should have originally been called Tushan Fu Ye.
He was a distant branch of the Tushan clan, but the Tushan clan had never known of his existence—all because he had no father, only a mother.
His mother lacked the ability to take human form. After giving birth to Fu Ye, she was ostracized by the clan and forced to raise him alone in isolation. But their luck was terrible—they were captured by a heretical cultivator.
In that heretical cultivator’s black workshop, the six-month-old Fu Ye watched helplessly as his mother was flayed alive, her entire skin brutally ripped from her body. His young mind suffered immense trauma.
Although Fu Ye’s mother had lived apart from her clan, they had never truly abandoned her. They often checked on her. When they realized she was missing, they searched for her and rescued Fu Ye from the black workshop.
This clan had poor talent—only a very few could ever open their spiritual awareness. Their own survival was difficult enough.
Raising themselves and their own children was already a struggle, let alone taking in Fu Ye, an orphaned cub. At most, out of blood ties, they would occasionally keep an eye on him and leave him some scraps.
Fu Ye was tiny, but his appetite was not. To survive, he had to steal, to scavenge—even risk venturing into human territory for food.
But what could a cub possibly accomplish? Even if he tried to steal ten times, he might not succeed once. Without enough food, he grew weaker by the day.
Within a month, his condition worsened drastically. He was on the verge of starving to death.
Survival instinct drove him to take a desperate gamble—he ran straight into wolf territory.
A tiny fox cub—practically delivering himself as a meal. But then, just as Fu Ye was about to be torn apart, a single drop of golden divine blood fell from the heavens, striking him precisely on the forehead.
That overwhelming power instantly reshaped his small body—but it also completely stripped him of his sanity.
When the rampaging Fu Ye finally regained consciousness, he was sitting in a pool of blood. His stomach was distended with a fullness he had never experienced before. The youngest cub of his clan lay beside him, drenched in blood, its fur soaked through. Its eyes were vacant and numb, like a broken doll.
Fu Ye had killed all the wolves—and the other foxes who had rushed over to help him after hearing the commotion.
After the initial shock, Fu Ye took his younger brother and found a pack of ordinary mixed-breed foxes. They had a new clan.
Fu Ye still had some talent and luck. The divine blood entering his body did not cause him to explode. His lost sanity quickly returned. He began to cultivate without any teacher, opening his spiritual awareness and transforming into a yao at an astonishing speed.
His brother went on to have many descendants. With no natural predators and under Fu Ye’s protection, the entire clan grew considerably.
The clan had originally consisted of ordinary foxes. Fu Ye’s brother had no talent to speak of. But with Fu Ye’s forceful catalysis, he transformed these ordinary animals, granting them longer lifespans.
Even if they could not take human form, they could at least open some measure of spiritual awareness.
“Well… that sounds pretty good, doesn’t it?” Ji Qing couldn’t help muttering.
Fu Ye couldn’t even be bothered to glance at him. He simply continued—
“Everything was developing for the better…” Fu Ye murmured.
The turning point came when Fu Ye’s brother was on the verge of death, his natural lifespan ending.
Borrowing life from heaven is ultimately defying fate. Fu Ye didn’t understand this, and no one had taught him. He used every means at his disposal to forcibly keep his brother alive for decades—but in the end, he could no longer hold on.
His youngest brother—the one he had watched over and protected since childhood, who had gone on to produce countless descendants, who was only a few years away from successfully transforming into human form—in his final moments, finally spoke the words that had been weighing on his heart for nearly a hundred years.
“Fu Ye… you will come to no good end.”
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