TBR CH27

Gu Shishu, after several hundred years, once again tasted the sensation of a kiss. At first, he was somewhat inexperienced, but soon, it was as if he had returned to those bygone days.

A sweet taste spread between their lips and teeth. The immortal’s gasps and uncontrollable whimpers were swallowed entirely by him.

The Demon Lord kissed from his lips all the way to his eyes, touching his damp eyelashes and the bitterness of tears.

“Don’t cry.”

Fu Tingxue’s eyes remained as beautiful as ever. Compared to others, their color was relatively light, and at this moment, they seemed to be infused with a vast mist of spring, an almost unbelievable sight.

Tears welled up in his eyes, though they did not fall—only a damp gaze remained. His entire being was utterly unguarded.

“I have always loved you, Immortal Lord.”

Gu Shishu lowered his voice and began kissing his hair, then the back of his neck. Fu Tingxue slightly lowered his head, exposing that stretch of snow-white skin without any defense, going from icy cold to burning hot.

“I will never leave again, is that alright? Immortal Lord, Immortal Fu, Tingxue…”

His voice was low and hoarse, as if it was resonating right against his ear. Fu Tingxue felt himself drowning in a tide of chaotic heat, yet he could not help but listen intently as Gu Shishu called his name over and over again.

From unfamiliar to intimate, and finally, back to the most personal address—one he used only when they had been utterly without distance.

Gu Shishu uttered words of love slowly and gently, leaving Fu Tingxue with no place to escape. Each phrase struck at the heart of the immortal.

He felt as if he were about to melt into a pool of spring water, shimmering with a beauty as rare as peach blossoms over snow.

Gu Shishu’s fingers brushed against his lips and teeth, calling him:

“Ah-Xue.”

The person in his embrace no longer wished to be the moon in the sky but only the moon cradled in his palm.

And the moon melted.

By the latter half of the night, Shen Nian finally succumbed to exhaustion and fell into a reluctant sleep in the eerie, dreadful dungeon of the Demon Sect.

The past few days had been anything but kind to him.

He had to stay on constant alert to avoid running into Wusu in the Demon Palace. The system’s shrill warnings had dragged him out of any brief moments of respite time and time again, urging him to embark on yet another escape. As a result, he had been unable to get any proper rest.

Now, the system had fallen into complete silence, yet he suddenly realized that he found this even harder to endure.

The oppressive uncertainty was enough to drive him mad. He had never been good at making decisions for himself, always relying on others to dictate his fate. At this moment, he had no one to turn to for help…

Besides, what kind of place was the dungeon of the Demon Realm?

Back in the day, after Gu Shishu descended into demonic corruption and seized power, those Demon Lords who refused to submit to his rule often found their final resting place in this very prison.

These once-mighty figures, who had once been steeped in demonic energy and wielded unparalleled strength, who had slaughtered countless lives and indulged in blood and flesh for pleasure, were now left to rot in these cells, stripped of any chance of escape.

Even if they did escape, they would only be captured by Gu Shishu once again.

Thus, the air here reeked of death and the stench of blood. Gu Shishu had arranged for Shen Nian to be held in the darkest part of the entire dungeon, where not a single glimmer of light could be seen. It was cold, damp, and overgrown with slimy moss.

No—this wasn’t moss. In a panic, Shen Nian pressed his hand against the ground, only to feel a sharp sting.

It was then that he realized that the dungeon was infested with bloodthirsty demonic plants. They clung to the ground, drawing not nutrients from the soil but something far more sinister. Their leaves were as sharp as fangs, tearing fine scratches into his hands.

The ever-delicate young man’s eyes instantly turned red. Large tears gathered in his eyes, yet as he stared into the pitch darkness before him, he had no audience to witness his sorrow—let alone anyone who would offer him anything in return.

How had things come to this?

Shen Nian had no idea where everything had gone wrong. He had fallen from the heights of his life into the depths of despair, and only now did he realize that his hands were utterly empty—he had nothing left.

Something seemed to dawn on him. In a panic, he reached up to touch his face.

His “charm of universal adoration”—Shen Nian was too flustered. It wasn’t until his fingers traced the familiar contours of his face that he realized just how foolish he was being. There was no way for him to verify whether his charm still existed.

Unless he tested it on someone else.

But, but… in this dark dungeon, where could he find anyone else?

Shen Nian refused to entertain the thought that he might lose his golden finger. Anxiously, he recalled the guards who had escorted him here—was there a trace of hesitation in their eyes? Was there still some lingering fondness for him?

He had been too flustered at the time to notice.

He could not afford to lose his golden finger. Shen Nian’s thoughts spiraled chaotically—his admiration, his power, his fame, everything that had come effortlessly to him…

He absolutely could not accept returning to being an ordinary, unremarkable person.

But wishful thinking was useless. The cell door was tightly locked, as if it would never open.

Terror-stricken, Shen Nian stared wide-eyed as he wept. When exhaustion overtook him, he would drift into a dazed sleep, only to be roused again by the cold wall or the damp moss he inadvertently brushed against. His body was covered in scratches, a disheveled mess.

Gu Shishu… He didn’t even dare to think of the Demon Lord.

That last glance before everything went dark—Shen Nian suddenly realized that all the so-called progress he had made in his “strategy” was nothing but an illusion.

The aloofness in that man’s gaze had never been the restrained affection of someone secretly in love; it had been pure, unfeigned indifference and mockery.

The sheer force of the Demon Lord’s oppressive aura was enough to bring everything around him to its knees.

A man so powerful, so terrifying. Shen Nian’s heart pounded with fear—he would never again attempt to complete the mission of “conquering” him.

Once the system returned, no matter how much he had to argue with it, he would demand an escape from Gu Shishu.

Yes, the system’s return—perhaps that would be his way out.

At the very least, it could extract his soul from this body, just as it had done the previous two times.

Finally, he seemed to grasp onto a sliver of hope. His mind, tense yet desperate, clung to the thought: the system could surely do it. It had given him his golden finger; it had mentioned other worlds. Even if he failed to conquer the Demon Lord, he could always go elsewhere.

But the foolish, greedy youth failed to realize one thing.

To the system, he had already lost all value.

The system was not some benevolent force here to rescue him from peril.

It was running away, too.

Where was the system now?

The moment Gu Shishu curled his lips into a scornful smile and uttered the words “Child of Fate?”—it knew things had gone terribly wrong.

All the anomalies from before had finally come full circle. It could only watch in horror as the world’s luck, which had already been within its grasp, dissipated completely. There was no choice but to flee.

The so-called “Villain Redemption System” was nothing like Shen Nian had imagined—it was never some childish game.

The medium through which the system existed in this world was independent of any physical form. It could not directly interfere with the world; it could only achieve its goals through its “strategists.”

Every host it selected was merely a pawn pushed to the forefront.

It was the hidden hand that moved the pieces.

It granted its hosts golden fingers, sending them to “conquer” individuals who possessed immense worldly fortune.

Cautiously, it had chosen villains—after all, in most worlds, villains held abundant fate energy, and they were rarely closely monitored by the heavens.

If a conquest succeeded, the system could siphon away the target’s fate energy through the host. This was why it never allowed its hosts to fake their deaths—if they were perceived as dead, the fate energy would no longer flow continuously from the target to the host.

If a host performed well, they could follow it into another world. But if a host made mistakes, it would wring them dry of their remaining value before abandoning them and making a quick escape.

That was exactly how the previous host before Shen Nian had perished.

And yet, laughably, Shen Nian had never once asked what had become of the others who shared his system.

He had been the system’s ideal candidate—foolish enough, self-important enough, and greedy enough.

If nothing had gone wrong, with his reality-bending “charm of universal adoration,” the plan should have proceeded flawlessly.

But now, everything was on the brink of collapse. The power it had gathered was slipping through its fingers, and only now did it realize that this final “conquest” had been nothing but an elaborate trap set against itself.

If it did not flee now, there would be no escape.

So it ran—leaving behind the soul still bound to “Shen Nian.”

But it had underestimated this world.

Beneath the vast, boundless sky, an unseen will pressed down upon it, utterly suppressing its ability to escape.

Only now, in a sudden jolt of terror, did it realize—it had long been under the watchful gaze of this world’s heavenly laws.

A meticulously laid snare had been waiting all along, coiling tightly around it in this infinite expanse.

And now, it could barely move.

The enormous pupil of the Heavenly Dao flickered before it. The consciousness of the world was in the process of reclaiming all the fate energy the system had accumulated, even attempting to strip away the spoils it had taken from other worlds. The system struggled violently in resistance.

Its power, its fate energy—as long as it could escape, there would still be a chance to rise again.

The voice of the Heavenly Dao rumbled like thunder:

“You shall not escape—”

Dark clouds loomed ominously, and lightning streaked across the sky like gilded threads falling from the heavens. Cultivators of the world gazed upon the celestial disturbance, speculating which mighty expert was undergoing tribulation, unaware that the will of the entire world was locked in battle with a despicable intruder.

It was a grueling fight, and even the Heavenly Dao was uncertain of its victory.

Not only did it need to expel this contamination, but it also had to ensure its complete annihilation.

Shen Nian had lost all sense of time. He could almost believe he had been left to rot in this dungeon, forgotten by the world. His own stench had become unbearable, his eyes were swollen, and his throat had been torn hoarse from relentless cries.

Panic consumed him. He shouted the system’s name over and over, like a madman speaking to himself.

The darkness and silence had utterly shattered his mind.

Until—

A sudden beam of light pierced through the gloom, so bright that it nearly blinded him.

Shen Nian hadn’t even seen who had come before he scrambled to his knees. No matter how much he tried to deceive himself, he knew he was in an utterly dire situation. Whatever it took, whatever was demanded of him—so long as he could leave this place, he would not hesitate.

Tears and snot smeared across his face as he prostrated himself on the ground, a picture of wretchedness, pleading in a pitiful voice:

“Your Excellency, Your Excellency, please spare me! I was wrong, Your Excellency! I love you—I do! I’ll do anything, anything you ask! I can’t stay here any longer, I’m going mad—please, I beg you…”

Unfortunately for Shen Nian, no matter how well he acted, it was always the same performance. Even though his genuine fear lent his pleas a more convincing air, all it did was further expose his desperate struggle to cling to life.

In his hysteria, he even tugged at his robes, as if willing to barter his body in exchange for a chance to escape. He had no bottom line, sobbing in utter despair, unwilling to face the suffocating loneliness of the darkness any longer.

But the moment his tear-blurred vision adjusted to the light, and his trembling lashes no longer obscured his view, he finally saw who was standing before him.

It was not Gu Shishu.

The figure before him stood with an unmistakable presence—a broken sword in hand, his pale complexion like frost and snow. His eyes were devoid of warmth as they gazed down at him, so cold and impassive that Shen Nian instinctively recoiled.

So terrifying…

He didn’t know why this person had come here, but he knew that without protection, he was as insignificant as an insect before him—killing him would be easier than crushing an ant.

Qingcheng Sword Sovereign, Fu Tingxue.

The foremost cultivator of the immortal sects.

Technically, the man who should have been this body’s sect master.

Behind him, the Demon Lord arrived at an unhurried pace. At that moment, Shen Nian saw the frost in the immortal’s gaze shift—melting into something almost soft.

Gu Shishu reached out, his touch lingering as he gently smoothed Fu Tingxue’s hair, fingers twining through the strands as though reluctant to let go.

Shen Nian could not suppress the violent trembling in his body.

And yet, Fu Tingxue did not resist. He merely sighed, as if helpless against such familiarity, allowing the Demon Lord to neaten his hair—then his collar.

The immortal was dressed in pure white robes, the pristine fabric covering nearly every inch of his body, even concealing part of his throat.

Only the most observant would have noticed, in the brief moment his collar was adjusted, a fleeting glimpse of a faint, peach-blossom mark on his skin.

How had that mark been left there?

Gu Shishu finally withdrew his hand, seemingly satisfied, and gave him an effortlessly familiar smile. Then, with a casual gesture, he motioned for Fu Tingxue to continue.

Fu Tingxue turned back to face the wretched figure groveling in the cell.

Shen Nian was even more pitiful than they had imagined.

What could be said? …Was this his true nature?

Without the protection of any golden finger, the so-called universally adored beauty had been stripped bare, revealing his real self.

Fu Tingxue lowered his gaze, his expression unreadable. A chill crept up Shen Nian’s spine.

“I know,” the immortal said calmly, “that you are not Shen Nian, a disciple of Qingcheng Sect.”

Shen Nian’s thoughts spiraled into chaos. He forced himself to speak, to say something, anything—but his mind was blank.

The immortal stood high above, far beyond his reach, and passed judgment upon his fate:

“This matter began because of you. It concerns a disciple of my sect, and thus, it is my responsibility.”

“You will return with me to the sect—to face judgment.”