Master 010

The battle lasted the entire night.

The remnant soul of the Demon Lord never expected that this woman's heart could be so twisted—she was practically the perfect vessel for him, capable of unleashing his full power.

Shen Wanwan tossed aside the barely breathing Ren Xuan and let out a disdainful sneer.

"You call yourselves cultivators?"

The sect master trembled with fear. His once-loyal disciple had gone mad—she had slaughtered several Nascent Soul-stage elders with demonic arts! If he stepped forward now... Elder Zhong, severely injured himself, gasped out, "Sect Master, quick—call Qingxu back!"

The sect master suddenly remembered. "You fiend! Aren’t you afraid of the real Qingxu? If he returns and sees this carnage, do you think you can escape the wrath of a Deity Transformation-stage expert?"

Shen Wanwan laughed. At this moment, she felt invincible, brimming with power.

"What can Qingxu do? You just reminded me." She pointed at the sect master. "Bring Shen Xiaoxiao to me, and I’ll spare your life."

Inside her, the Demon Lord hesitated. Deity Transformation? Since when did the Xuantian Sect have a Deity Transformation powerhouse? Impossible.

"Stop pushing!"

"Make some room!"

"It’s really her—that one who got slapped, what’s her name again?"

Shen Wanwan roared, "Who dares?!" Just hearing those words sent fury surging through her.

As the first person lost their balance, seven or eight others tumbled out from behind a pillar, a chorus of "Ow!" and "Oof!" filling the air.

"I thought the sect had relocated. Turns out, it’s not a move—it’s a massacre." Fang Zhiyi strolled out leisurely, eyeing Shen Wanwan hovering mid-air. He was curious—why did she still look the same?

"Qingxu! Hurry! She’s possessed by the Demon Lord! Act now!" The sect master rejoiced.

But Fang Zhiyi merely crossed his arms. "No rush."

"How can you say that?!" The sect master was frantic.

Fang Zhiyi turned and clapped his hands. "Listen up. This is a rare opportunity—time to test your combat skills."

The disciples were nervous, curious, but not afraid.

"Yes, Master."

"You’re sending these weaklings against me? Qingxu, have you lost your mind?" Shen Wanwan spotted Shen Xiaoxiao. "You—come here!"

But she forgot—she wasn’t facing Shen Xiaoxiao alone, but over a dozen people.

The battle began, a chaotic melee.

Fang Zhiyi sidestepped the heavily wounded Elder Zhong with distaste and slung an arm over the sect master’s shoulder. "So many dead, and you’re just standing here?"

"Me?" The sect master flustered. "I—I must oversee the situation."

"Spare me the excuses. Here’s your chance—step down gracefully."

"What?" The sect master gaped at him, but Fang Zhiyi wasn’t even looking, his eyes fixed on his disciples.

"The Xuantian Sect is doomed under your leadership. Take the offer while it’s still polite. Don’t make me slap sense into you."

With that, he floated upward.

Just as Jiang Leng and Shen Xiaoxiao were sent flying back, he caught them effortlessly.

"So that’s how it is."

In the original plot, Shen Xiaoxiao had turned dark but retained some goodness, never gaining overwhelming power. But Shen Wanwan was different—her negativity perfectly aligned with the Demon Lord’s remnant soul. What she didn’t realize was that her temporary strength came at the cost of her own soul.

The only mystery was why her appearance hadn’t decayed.

At this rate, he could just walk away. Once she burned out, it’d be over.

Just as Fang Zhiyi thought this, a blood-red slash shot toward Shen Xiaoxiao.

His brow furrowed. He caught it mid-air and crushed it in his grip.

Shen Wanwan froze. Even the Demon Lord inside her was stunned.

"I let you spar with my disciples, and you try to kill them?" Fang Zhiyi tilted his head, and an overwhelming surge of spiritual energy erupted.

"Qingxu—no, Fang Zhiyi! Don’t think I fear you! A mere Deity Transformation!" Shen Wanwan shrieked, her mind consumed by madness.

But the next moment, she felt something leave her body.

"What the—you might not fear him, but I do!" The Demon Lord’s remnant soul tried to flee. He never imagined the Xuantian Sect had produced a Deity Transformation expert during his slumber. "Live to fight another day!"

Yet he found himself immobilized, then yanked backward by an invisible force. Fang Zhiyi pinched the writhing mass between his fingers, grimacing.

Deprived of the Demon Lord’s power, Shen Wanwan collapsed, her skin cracking like parched earth. In seconds, she withered into a wrinkled crone.

"Handle her as you see fit—but prioritize your junior sister’s opinion." Fang Zhiyi waved dismissively and flew off.

Once out of sight, Little Hei eagerly snatched the Demon Lord’s remnant soul and gobbled it up.

Watching it chew with relish, Fang Zhiyi wrinkled his nose. "How can that taste good?"

"You wouldn’t understand. It’s like stinky tofu—acquired taste."

Shen Xiaoxiao remained herself. She didn’t kill Shen Wanwan—instead, she sent her back to the Shen family. Fang Zhiyi figured that was worse than death.

News of the Xuantian Sect’s upheaval spread. Other sects came sniffing for advantage, but seeing Fang Zhiyi unharmed and seated calmly, they swallowed their greed and resorted to flattery.

The former sect master retired. Fang Zhiyi assigned him a peak to live out his days with the crippled Elder Zhong.

He knew—the old man would never achieve greatness.

Soon, the Xuantian Sect was reborn, its rules rewritten.

Jiang Leng became the new sect master, albeit reluctantly. No one dared object—Fang Zhiyi wasn’t the leader, but he was very much alive. The last sect that mouthed off had its mountain gate obliterated by a single slap, followed by an extorted pile of spirit stones.

The Xuantian Sect abolished the hierarchy of inner and outer disciples. They welcomed all, regardless of spiritual roots, so long as their character was sound. Other sects mocked them.

But centuries later, they realized their mistake—Xuantian disciples thrived in every field, from cultivation to trade and craftsmanship. The sect unlocked their fullest potential.

Jiang Leng couldn’t admit this was all his master’s doing, so he bore the credit silently.

To Fang Zhiyi, this was second nature—effortless as breathing.