The gloomy sky seemed ready to rain at any moment.
Drip—
Yet what fell first, shattering into crystalline droplets upon the ground, was not rain but pale golden blood, along with tattered strips of cloth fluttering down.
Jiang Yu, his face marred, gripped Jiang Chulong by the neck, his double-pupiled eyes reflecting her ash-gray irises, now exposed as the cloth strips fell away.
No trace of tearful grievance or disbelief remained in them.
In his memories, Jiang Chulong had always been a timid and fragile girl.
Even when bullied by palace maids—who swapped the royal winter charcoal for smoky, inferior coal—she would still whisper a meek "thank you."
Later, it was he who shielded her for years, disgusted by the greedy siblings who clung to him for profit.
Jiang Chulong was different. She could treasure a discarded doll from Yu Yang like a priceless treasure, her joy lasting for ages.
Yet he had always wondered why she lived in the cold palace.
Eventually, his mother’s personal maid revealed the truth: it was all the Empress’s doing.
Every hardship Jiang Chulong endured was orchestrated by his mother, while he, the pride of the Empress, had deluded himself into playing the savior.
Of course, had it ended there, the two might have merely grown distant.
But then he discovered the reason behind his once-godlike father’s gradual decline.
"The one who ascends the throne cannot attain immortality."
His father had never been the crown prince. A wanderer at heart, he roamed the martial world with pride, befriending heroes and earning renown as the reincarnation of the Martial Emperor. When the crown prince died suddenly, his father took the throne—only to weaken over the long years.
At first, Jiang Yu brimmed with confidence. If his father faltered, he would not. He would surpass him.
Then, during ancestral rites, he found his father’s lingering will from youth.
Ten battles. Ten defeats.
His father, too, had been in his early twenties.
Yet despite his double pupils, Jiang Yu lost again and again, crushed so utterly he could barely lift his head. By the end, he felt no pain—only an all-encompassing numbness.
Had his father been hiding his true strength all these years?
Burning with questions, he went to the Dragon-Keeping Pavilion.
There, he saw not the Great Yu Emperor—revered, mighty, and wise—but...
A tormented failure. A beast caged by fate.
That night, he staggered through the palace’s labyrinthine walls, long and shadowed.
Then, at the end of the gloom, a door opened.
"Big Brother Crown Prince... you came to see me again?"
The girl leaning against the doorframe smiled—hopeful, yet cautious.
The despair festering in his heart birthed a mad impulse, a thorned vine.
Instinctively, he seized it.
Climb.
Leave everything behind...
Even if the path led only to deeper darkness.
"Double pupils—the path of the invincible... ha."
Jiang Yu snapped back to reality, his dual gaze turning icy.
He raised his sword, ready to carve open Jiang Chulong’s chest and uncover the divine relic resonating with her sword bone.
But then—
A searing pain tore through his own chest.
Within his manifested divine will, the sacred sword clenched in the golden dragon’s jaws thrashed violently, slicing the beast’s maw bloody.
Thud—
His chest split first.
The bloodied, sword-shaped bone erupted with noble silver radiance, its aura piercing through all laws, and struck the Imperial Dragon Sword—shattering it midair.
"The sword bone... mine!"
Jiang Yu abandoned Jiang Chulong, snatching desperately for the Imperial Sword Bone.
His divine will convulsed. Golden dragons roared. The imperial domain trembled, shaking heaven and earth. He stood one step from the Inner Realm—yet this upheaval far surpassed it.
"What’s happening?"
Bystanders stared in confusion. Why had Jiang Yu’s divine will erupted so violently?
To the clueless commoners and martial artists, it was pure chaos.
"The Imperial Sword Bone wants to return to Chulong," Ying Bing murmured.
"Chulong, get back here!"
Li Mo shouted toward the stage.
A new sword bone had already formed within Chulong. Their goal was achieved.
If they waited for Jiang Yu to recover, escape might be impossible.
The little princess, ever obedient to her "Big Brother Li," scurried back, clutching her rabbit for comfort. After a few frantic pats, she whispered:
"Big Brother Li... the Green Leaf Sword is broken..."
"You’ve done enough. It’s just a sword. I’ll forge you ten more if needed."
Li Mo’s gaze shifted to the stage.
A figure materialized beside Jiang Yu—an austere, middle-aged man in a plain black robe and tall hat, his face expressionless.
Yet his presence alone made the surrounding Sky Patrol guards bow deeply.
He represented the Great Yu imperial clan.
With one hand, the black-robed man slammed Jiang Yu’s shoulder. With the other, he wrenched the sword bone free—then brutally hammered it back into Jiang Yu’s chest.
His voice, devoid of emotion, echoed across the capital through the Rivers and Mountains Scroll:
"Jiang Chulong has fallen from the stage. Jiang Yu wins."
His gaze lingered on Jiang Chulong, Li Mo, and Ying Bing before he vanished in a sweep of his sleeve.
"The tournament continues."
The violet-robed eunuch on the judges’ platform announced loudly.
The disturbance ended as abruptly as it began, leaving the crowd bewildered.
Yet one thought nagged at them all:
Jiang Yu was declared the winner... so why did it feel like he lost?
---
Among the nobles:
"Eldest Brother Crown Prince, are you unharmed?"
Princess Yu Yang offered a vial of healing balm, subtly studying Jiang Yu’s expression.
Strangely, his complexion was robust, his aura steady.
"I’m fine."
Jiang Yu ignored the stares. Though he hadn’t discerned what lay within Jiang Chulong, there was a silver lining:
The resisting force within the Imperial Sword Bone had weakened after its outburst.
Assimilating it would now be easier.
He looked up at the Rivers and Mountains Scroll.
This victory meant advancing to the next round—where his opponent...
Would be either Li Mo or Ning Que.
Why "either"?
Because the other stages had long been decided.
Ning Que had only just defeated Huang Donglai and now prepared to face Li Mo.
On the stage:
Ning Que gasped for air, lowering the jade flute he’d played for half an hour.
"Done running? You could’ve surrendered earlier. No need to exhaust yourself."
"That just means you’re out of shape."
Huang Donglai shook his head.
"You try playing for half an hour and see how you feel!"
Ning Que snapped, whacking Huang Donglai off the stage with his flute.
pression Bureau] Transported to a fantasy world overrun by demons and monsters, Gu Qingfeng becomes a jailer in the Demon Suppression Prison of the Great Yan Dynasty's Demon Suppression Bureau. From this point on, bizarre cases frequently occur in the Demon Suppression Prison, once known as hell on earth and infamous for its gloomy, terrifying atmosphere! Why do the demons and monsters in the prison wail miserably every night? Why has the corpse demon, capable of transforming into various beauties, donned black stockings and switched careers to become a foot massage therapist? Why has the eye demon, expert in soul-snatching and illusions, turned into a VR headset? Why is the fox spirit performing otaku dances? Are all these occurrences a twisted expression of demonic nature, or a descent into moral depravity? After peeling away layer upon layer of mystery, all clues ultimately point to a jailer named Gu Qingfeng. Gu Qingfeng: "Hehehe... My dear demons and monsters, whose card shall we flip today?"
lities. One day, Qi Yuan was buying groceries when he unfortunately came face-to-face with a monster. Just when he thought he was going to die on the spot, he suddenly heard the monster's thoughts... "This aura, he's definitely not an ordinary master!" "So terrifying, so terrifying." "A fight with my back against the wall, I can't take it anymore." Qi Yuan: Ah, no one told me that my awakened ability isn't telepathy, but rather the stronger my enemies imagine me to be, the stronger I truly become. PS: Zhou Hai in the first chapter is not the protagonist.
transmigrates into the world as the sect master of the Heavenly Yan Sect, which is on the verge of being wiped out. He binds a system that grants him cultivation power based on the number of disciples he has: for each disciple, he automatically gains a year's worth of cultivation every single day! Take one disciple: every day he gains 1 year of cultivation power. While others struggle through a year of bitter training, he gets the same just by sleeping through a single night. Take ten disciples: every day he gains 10 years of cultivation power. Foundation Establishment, Core Formation, Nascent Soul—he breezes through all bottlenecks without lifting a finger. Take one hundred disciples: every day he gains 100 years of cultivation power. Even a Soul Transformation Venerable before him can’t survive a single blow. Take ten thousand disciples: every day he gains 10,000 years of cultivation power! With a wave of his hand, he topples empires. With a single step, he crushes the sacred grounds of the universe. ... While others fight tooth and nail for secret techniques, Lin Yan casually hands out Nascent Soul-level cultivation manuals as beginner textbooks. While others strain to find talented recruits, Lin Yan opens his doors to anyone—so long as they’re human. In just three short years, the Heavenly Yan Sect went from a backwater sect made up of three crumbling huts to a sacred land that every cultivator under heaven would kill to enter. ... One day, otherworldly demon gods invade, with a million demon soldiers pressing down upon the realm. Lin Yan, yawning, rises from his lounge chair and glances at the system panel: [Current Disciples: 1.28 million] [Daily Cultivation Increase: 1.28 million years] He waves his hand casually, and the countless demon soldiers are reduced to ashes in an instant. “So noisy… interrupting my fishing.”
ing gift was a patch of barren land, and disciples were all picked up along the way. He spent fifty years diligently building three "ramshackle little sects," thinking he could finally live a carefree life relying on his disciples. But right at the fifty-year mark, he was suddenly swept away by a spatial rift and exiled to the Chaos Desolation, the Disorderly Ruins. There was no spiritual energy there, only slaughter. Relying on the cultivation feedback from his disciples, Gu Changyuan hacked his way through a sea of blood for eleven hundred years. When the system finally fished him back out, he discovered the ramshackle little sects he'd built back then had developed a rather... unusual style. Hold on... I vanished for a thousand years, so how did my ramshackle little sects become holy lands?!
