This Emperor's Whole Life Has Been Entirely for the Family

Ye Wuyou, sprawled in the cauldron, was momentarily dazed. Staring blankly at the towering figure before him and listening to the stern words, his thoughts inexplicably drifted back to his childhood.

He had been raised in Mount Wuyou since birth, with his father as its former master. In his youth, his father often admonished him in this very manner.

"Wuyou, who told you to stop?! Keep cultivating! In this ruthless world, strength is the only law. If you pause, others won’t. If you refuse to train, I’d rather kill you myself than watch you die at the hands of our enemies!"

"Ye Wuyou, you worthless waste! I have no son like you—someone too cowardly to even kill! Why do you even live?!"

"You must slaughter every last member of this sect. Miss one, and I’ll chop off a finger. Miss ten or more, and I’ll sever your limbs!"

Later, Ye Wuyou achieved mastery in his cultivation. Unable to bear witnessing his father’s endless toil and worries, he relieved him of his burdens—permanently.

From then on, no one forced him to cultivate again.

Fate was always so ironic. When he once loathed cultivation, a doting father pushed him relentlessly. Yet when he finally met his father’s expectations and trained diligently of his own will, his father was no longer there.

For years after his father’s death, Ye Wuyou had never again heard anyone demand he cultivate—until today, when Gu Qingfeng’s words dredged up long-buried memories.

His gaze fixed on Gu Qingfeng’s imposing figure, which gradually overlapped with the shadow of his father in his heart. Then, an overwhelming surge of murderous intent rose within him, as if he were facing the two people he hated most in this life.

Thud!

Ye Wuyou kicked his stubby legs and clambered back to his feet in the cauldron, his face twisted with fury—though on an infant’s visage, it only looked adorable.

"A nobleman prefers death to humiliation! Are you mocking me?! I’ll fight you to the death!"

With that, Ye Wuyou lunged at Gu Qingfeng, convinced the man couldn’t possibly have good intentions.

Train until I’m strong enough to kill him? What kind of madness is that?

The only explanation was that Gu Qingfeng was toying with him.

Slap!

A resounding smack sent Ye Wuyou tumbling back into the blood-filled cauldron.

"To hell with you! What status do I hold, and what status do you? Do I have time to humiliate a brat like you?! Train when I say train! If you dare stop, I’ll kill you myself!"

Gu Qingfeng had no patience for nonsense. With a swift motion, he wove hand seals, summoning boundless mana that coiled around his fingertips before materializing into a luminous lid etched with cryptic Dao patterns. He slammed it onto the cauldron, sealing Ye Wuyou inside.

"Let me out! Now!" Ye Wuyou roared madly from within, but his struggles were futile.

Gu Qingfeng rapped the cauldron and barked, "Shut your mouth! You’ll stay in there until you master the Demonic Infant form. Fail, and you’ll rot in there forever."

Silence fell over Ye Wuyou. For the first time, it dawned on him that Gu Qingfeng genuinely wanted him to cultivate the Demonic Infant.

But why?

Doesn’t he fear I’ll kill him once I succeed?

And why does his tone carry that same exasperated, expectant edge—like a father berating his disappointing son?

It was a tone Ye Wuyou had only ever heard from his now-eternally-"carefree" father.

Puzzled but resolute, Ye Wuyou began cultivating. Strength was his only way out.

While Ye Wuyou trained, Gu Qingfeng busied himself ransacking Mount Wuyou. Though a dominant force in the mid-tier realms, the mountain housed only one Celestial Immortal—Ye Wuyou—while the rest were mere stragglers, no match for Gu Qingfeng.

Summoning the Grip of the Netherworld, Gu Qingfeng strode forward with the Gates of the Underworld looming above him, devouring everything in his path. Wherever he passed, the land was stripped bare, and not a soul was spared.

"Who are you?! How dare you invade Mount Wu—agh!"

"Help me!"

"Spare me, plea—"

"Fight this demon—ahhh!"

Panic-stricken assassins fled or fought back, but all resistance was meaningless.

"Kekeke... Against absolute power, struggle is futile. Become my nourishment! When I reach the pinnacle, I’ll remember your contributions!"

Countless ghastly hands surged from the Gates of the Underworld behind Gu Qingfeng, hungrily consuming every living being in sight.

His wake left no survivors—not even a blade of grass.

After slaughtering every assassin and looting every treasure vault, Gu Qingfeng still wasn’t satisfied. Surveying the mountain, he deemed Mount Wuyou a worthy prize—a celestial peak veiled in immortal mist, threaded with thirty-six immortal veins. A true paradise.

So, he pocketed the entire mountain into his palm-dimension.

All that remained of the once-majestic Mount Wuyou was barren earth and a blood-filled cauldron.

Next, Gu Qingfeng turned his attention to the Prison Demon Sword, using Mount Wuyou’s corruptive toxins and cursed artifacts to corrode its seals and free his "family."

Even he had to marvel at his own devotion.

How good am I to my family?

He could swear on his conscience: "In this lifetime, I’ve done nothing for myself—only for my family."

Daily prayers for the Star Extreme Immortal King were just the start. He’d traversed countless miles, expended vast resources to liberate his family from the Prison Demon Sword, and now he was even helping Ye Wuyou cultivate.

Such a busy life.

Yet after exhausting Mount Wuyou’s methods, Gu Qingfeng realized the Prison Demon Sword’s seals hadn’t weakened in the slightest. It was like performing a lively dance for a blind man—utterly pointless.

---

Half a day later, Ye Wuyou reached a critical juncture in his cultivation. So focused was he that he failed to notice the immortal blood in the cauldron dwindling rapidly.

Normally, his subordinates would replenish it, but now they were all dead.

When the last drop of blood vanished, Ye Wuyou jolted awake mid-cultivation, horror dawning on him.

"No more blood?!"

His body convulsed as violent energy backlash wracked him, shaking the entire cauldron.

"Aaaagh!"

Blood seeped from every pore, drenching him in crimson as his flesh teetered on collapse.

Just as he braced for death, a torrent of immortal blood suddenly flooded the cauldron—enough to form a river.

Seizing this lifeline, Ye Wuyou stabilized his condition and resumed cultivation.

But a question nagged at him:

Where did this blood come from? And why is its purity so high?

Outside, there was only that scoundrel alone—could he truly be kind enough to send so much blood for my sake?

Of course, Gu Qingfeng was being "kind." After all, it was all the blood of the Wuyou Mountain assassins—a perfect opportunity to make a gift of what belonged to someone else.

Another half-day passed in tedious waiting before Gu Qingfeng finally sensed it.

At that moment, he felt it clearly—a terrifying force gathering within the cauldron, overwhelmingly sinister, as if some forbidden abomination was about to be born.

At the same time, the sky suddenly darkened with a spreading crimson hue. The blood-red mist thickened until it formed a vast river in the air, coalescing into a monstrous vortex ten thousand feet high.

With a resonant hum of the Great Dao, the colossal blood-red whirlpool twisted like a tornado, violently surging into the cauldron.