Chapter Forty-Five: You May Come, But You Cannot Leave

The black clouds churned, with flashes of lightning and fire occasionally illuminating their depths. From below, the people could only watch as the dense clouds above gradually rose higher, no longer crushing down upon their heads. The buildings that had once been shrouded now emerged into view. Yet no one returned; instead, each person lifted their gaze skyward, watching as the black clouds continued to shift and ascend, still thick and ominous.

A sense of relief settled in their hearts. To the people of the Yangping clan, it seemed the blue-faced demon was slowly being driven away…

Suddenly, a beam of white light shot out from the black clouds. It quickly revealed itself to be half of a horsetail whisk, flickering in the air. In the next instant, Daoist Yuanji appeared, his robes tattered, long black hair in disarray. He snatched the whisk from the void and, with a sweep before him, transformed once more into a streak of white light, fleeing far away. Without uttering a word, he vanished.

The people of the Yangping clan stared in disbelief, mouths agape, unable to accept that Daoist Yuanji had been defeated—so utterly and miserably defeated that he fled without a single word.

Are we abandoned?

Panic swept through the crowd. They exchanged fearful glances, each seeing terror reflected in the others’ eyes.

The black clouds above surged like a sea of ink, rolling down as if to swallow the entire Yangping clan. Demonic energy filled the air, and a wild wind swept down from the heavens. Nan Luo held Redfruit with one hand and Luoshui with the other, quietly watching the black clouds pressing ever closer overhead.

At that moment, led by the chieftain of the wasteland tribe, the people of Yangping fell to their knees with a thud. Their foreheads hit the ground again and again as they chanted, “Spare us, great king… Spare us, great king…” The pleas were chaotic and discordant, but every voice shouted loudly in supplication.

Suddenly, Nan Luo felt a weight on his hand. Turning, he saw that his own sister had knelt beside him, clutching his hand tightly. Her eyes, wide with terror, stared at the black clouds above as if afraid the demon there would notice her brother.

She tugged at him repeatedly, but Nan Luo remained motionless, giving her only a strange look. She had no time to fathom the meaning in her brother’s eyes—she only knew that if she did not kneel, her brother, who had only just returned, would lose his life.

Redfruit was nearly in tears, her eyes filled with desperate pleading. Nan Luo took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment, then quietly lifted his sister from the ground. Among the five hundred or so people of the Yangping clan, all were prostrate, save for Nan Luo, Redfruit, and Luoshui, who still stood.

Throughout it all, Luoshui seemed never to have known fear—or perhaps she knew not what it meant. When the massive blue-black claw descended from the clouds, she simply squeezed Nan Luo’s hand more tightly. As the others knelt and begged for mercy, she only gazed quietly at Nan Luo, her thin face upturned.

“Human, why do you not bow to me?” The voice boomed through the void like the bellow of an ox, vibrating the air with a mixture of fury and intimidation.

Only then did the people of Yangping realize Nan Luo still stood upon the altar. Dismay seized their hearts—had it not been too late to kneel, they would have urged him to do so at once.

“An elder once told me that in this life, I need never kneel to anyone again. I thought it wise, so I remembered it,” Nan Luo replied, his voice carrying through the void, its resonance reaching far and wide. The people remembered then that Nan Luo also possessed magic, but if Daoist Yuanji, who could ride the clouds, had been defeated, how could Nan Luo hope to stand against the demon above?

“Then you shall all die.” Suddenly, a blue-faced, fanged head emerged from the black clouds. Its eyes glowed red as it gazed down upon the Yangping clan below.

“Spare us, great king… Spare us, great king…” At the demon’s words, the people kowtowed even more fervently, their cries more desperate than ever.

“Hahaha… ha… ha!” The blue-faced beast in the clouds laughed triumphantly, his voice booming across the wilderness like thunder.

Nan Luo stood firm on the earth, still holding a hand in each of his own, his bearing proud as he declared, “You cannot kill them. If you leave now, we shall never cross paths again. Otherwise…”

“Otherwise what?” the blue-faced beast roared in fury from the clouds, cutting him off.

“Otherwise, you may come, but you will not leave.” Nan Luo’s swift retort reverberated through the void, sharp with murderous intent and a presence that seemed to command the very heavens and earth.

“Aha… hahaha…” The blue-faced beast, enraged, laughed wildly as the clouds rolled in tumult.

The people of the Yangping clan were stunned beyond measure. Never had they imagined Nan Luo would dare speak so defiantly to the demon whose power overshadowed all.

“Human, what gives you the right to say you can bar my return? Do you think a few years of learning magic make you my equal? Today, you shall learn that humans, no matter what they do, are nothing but our food.”

With that, a massive blue-black claw thrust from the clouds—the very same that had forced Daoist Yuanji to unleash the violet heavenly thunder. This time, however, it was not shrouded by the clouds; half the beast’s body was visible, covered in scales or armor of blue-black hue.

The people of Yangping were beyond terror, too stunned even to scream. They stared at the beast’s arm, as thick as a tree that would require three or four to encircle, its talons gleaming coldly—a silent, motionless audience to an unfolding nightmare.

The monstrous claw brought a foul wind as it swept down, stirring clouds of dust. The people blinked, and in that instant, a beam of white light burst from below.

With a scream, the black clouds dissolved wherever the white light passed. The claw recoiled as if burned, retreating several times faster than it had struck.

No one understood what had happened. All eyes turned to Nan Luo, who now held a small, blue-green mirror in his hand, its surface shining with blinding white light aimed straight at the black clouds.

Wherever the mirror’s light shone, the clouds melted away like snow in boiling water, exposing the blue-faced beast’s body. Each time the light touched him, he howled in pain and rage, only to shrink back, fleeing into the darkness. Yet no sooner had he hidden than the mirror’s light found him again, relentless as a shadow. The vastness of the clouds seemed to make no difference—Nan Luo saw through every hiding place.

Nan Luo stood tall on the altar of the Yangping clan, holding the small blue mirror, his face impassive, body turning steadily to follow his prey. A breeze stirred his Celestial Veil robe, and the three-foot sword at his side glinted as he moved.