Origin Ridge.
The Withered Grass Plains.
Patrol squads were typically composed of seven small demons.
Given their low cultivation levels—roughly equivalent to the fifth or sixth layer of Qi Refinement—most of these demons bore little resemblance to humans.
The mouse demon, for instance, shared only one similarity with humans: it now walked on two legs.
Leading the squad was a weasel demon.
With a pointed snout, a face covered in yellow fur, and narrowed eyes, it couldn’t help but grumble:
"What’s the point of patrolling this damn plain? No one’s launching a surprise attack here. If we run into a Golden Core expert, we’ll be wiped out before we can even make a sound. What’s there to check?"
The moment the captain spoke, the squad quickly erupted into chatter, each member voicing their thoughts.
A small, hunched-over lizard demon, carrying a worn-out broadsword, rasped in a hoarse voice:
"If they don’t send us to die, how else can they flaunt their authority as demon kings?"
The mouse demon sighed. "Before the Demon Nation, our lives weren’t our own. Now that it exists, they still aren’t. Did I come here for nothing? I even had a mouse bride waiting for me back home..."
A sturdy little wild ox demon, sporting a pair of horns, chimed in with a naive tone:
"Don’t say that. If the Demon Nation really stands firm, we won’t have to hide and flee from humans anymore."
As soon as these words left its mouth, four of the seven demons burst into laughter.
The smallest lizard demon slapped the boar demon beside it, guffawing:
"Hey, pig, you buying that?"
The boar demon’s tusks wobbled as it snorted with laughter:
"Like hell I do!"
The ox demon didn’t argue back. It just cast a sidelong glance at the others.
They were all just putting up a tough front.
If they truly didn’t believe, why would they have traveled thousands of miles to this godforsaken wasteland?
Did the sand here taste better or something?
The weasel demon observed its squad.
Complaining together was good—it subtly strengthened morale and camaraderie.
Only when the conversation took a truly negative turn would the weasel step in to steer it back.
It hadn’t joined in the laughter earlier, because deep down, it agreed with the ox demon.
If possible, it never wanted to hide and run again...
It had already lost one wife and three children.
The weasel demon’s claw absently traced the hilt of its battered longsword.
Truth was, they all knew.
Even if the Demon Nation succeeded, frontline grunts like them would probably never live to see it.
If a full-scale war broke out, the aftershocks of a Golden Core battle alone could crush them like ants.
But still...
It wanted to fight for a sliver of hope—no, to fight for their own pride.
Even if its existence was insignificant, it still wanted to contribute.
Maybe, at the core of it all, it was just hatred...
As the squad’s bickering filled the air, the weasel demon’s heart gradually calmed, and a faint smile tugged at its lips.
But soon, that smile vanished, replaced by grim tension.
The wind carried the scent of humans.
The weasel demon’s nose twitched, and its gaze snapped toward a patch of withered grass nearby.
It raised a hand, cutting off the squad’s chatter, and hissed in a low voice: "Tighten up!"
The mouse demon stiffened, its beady eyes darting to where the weasel was looking.
Its claw flew to the crossbow strapped to its back.
On patrol, it always kept a bolt loaded—no time to fumble with reloading in a fight.
At the Qi Refinement stage, demons couldn’t wield spells. Their only weapons were brute strength and whatever gear they could scavenge.
Crossbows were popular among low-level demons.
Not because they could actually kill cultivators—for that, you’d need ritual-enhanced weapons or spellcraft.
Those were far too precious.
If even patrol grunts had access to such things, the Demon Nation would’ve been established long ago.
No, the crossbow’s real purpose was to gauge whether they should fight or flee.
The mouse demon whispered: "Shoot?"
The weasel demon’s eyes narrowed. "Volley!"
The creak of drawn bowstrings followed as two other demons armed with crossbows took aim.
Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh—
Bolts streaked toward the yellowed grass.
As expected, two figures burst from the thicket—a man and a woman, both wielding blades.
With practiced ease, they deflected the incoming bolts, their swords weaving a protective dance infused with faint spiritual energy.
The weasel demon scrutinized them, relief flooding its chest once it confirmed neither was a Foundation Establishment cultivator.
What kind of reckless Qi Refinement fools would ambush them here?
Did they think so little of demons?
It barked orders:
"Ox! Pig! Lizard! Triangle formation—go!"
"On it!" The boar demon’s stubby legs churned as it unsheathed its cleaver and charged.
The ox and lizard demons followed close behind.
The weasel demon didn’t rush in. Instead, its eyes swept the surroundings, nostrils flaring as it scented the air.
Cui Hao’s cultivation: Qi Refinement, fifth layer.
Lin Luoyu’s cultivation: Qi Refinement, ninth layer.
Cui Hao sighed as the snarling demons barreled toward them.
"Told you. Who’d set an ambush here?"
Lin Luoyu raised her sword, her gaze icy.
"Kill first. Talk later."
Cui Hao tightened his grip on his blade. "Fourth Senior Sister, you take the pig and ox. I’ll handle the short lizard."
"Agreed." The moment Lin Luoyu spoke, her figure blurred forward, closing the distance in an instant.
She met the boar demon head-on.
The boar demon roared, muscles bulging as it swung its cleaver in a brutal arc.
In close combat, demons held the advantage—at least, against ordinary Qi Refinement cultivators.
But Lin Luoyu was anything but ordinary.
A wisp of righteous qi could level mountains and rivers.
A glimmer of white spiritual energy flickered along her blade, and the boar demon’s eyes widened—her sword, once clearly visible, now left only afterimages.
"Fall back!"
The ox demon’s desperate shout reached the boar’s ears too late.
A cold sting flashed across its neck.
Then, the world spun.
Its last sight was the ox demon’s grief-stricken face, eyes burning with fury.
Heh...
So this was it.
The boar demon’s final thought faded into darkness.
The weasel demon’s heart lurched as it witnessed Lin Luoyu’s skill. Regret and sorrow surged.
"Trouble! Big trouble!" it howled.
Heart] Chen Yi traversed the cultivation world for eight hundred years, charging his way to the Tribulation Transcendence stage. Just as he was outwitting his 81st Heavenly Tribulation to ascend to immortality, he was suddenly pulled into a chat group called the "Multiverse Transmigrators Support Group." To his surprise, the group was filled with nothing but fresh-faced newbies who had just transmigrated. [Help! I transmigrated into a disgraced concubine in the cold palace, and the tyrant emperor is about to execute me!] [I ended up as a cannon-fodder villain, and the protagonist is still chasing me—WTF!] [I woke up as the protagonist’s father, but I’m about to be sacrificed in a ritual! What do I do? Urgent!!!] Chen Yi stared at the chaotic flood of desperate pleas in the group and fell into deep thought. "Seriously? You drag me into a newbie transmigrator chat group… only after I’m one step away from becoming an immortal?"
u Chenyuan transmigrated into a female-oriented novel about a real and fake heiress, becoming the CEO elder brother of both. Unfortunately, the entire Lu family—including himself, the CEO—were mere cannon fodder in the story. Determined to save himself, Lu Chenyuan took action. The spoiled, attention-seeking fake heiress? Thrown into the harsh realities of the working class to learn humility. The love-struck real heiress? Pushed toward academic excellence, so lofty goals would blind her to trivial romances. As for the betrayed, vengeful arranged marriage wife… the plot hadn’t even begun yet. There was still time—if he couldn’t handle her, he could at least avoid her. "CEO Lu, are you avoiding me?" Mo Qingli fixed her gaze on Lu Chenyuan. For the first time, the shrewd and calculating Lu Chenyuan felt a flicker of unease.
reezy rom-com) Good news: Jiang Liu is quite the ladies' man. Bad news: He’s lost his memory. Lying in a hospital bed, Jiang Liu listens to a parade of goddesses spouting "absurd claims," feeling like the world is one giant game of Werewolf. "Jiang Liu, I’m your first love." "Jiang Liu, you’re my boyfriend—she’s your ex." "Jiang Liu, we’re close friends who’ve shared a bed, remember?" "Jiang Liu, I want to have your baby." The now-lucid Jiang Liu is convinced this must be some elaborate scam... until someone drops the bombshell: "The day before you lost your memory, you confessed your feelings—and got into a relationship." Jiang Liu is utterly baffled. So... who the hell is his actual girlfriend?! ... Before recovering his memories, Jiang Liu must navigate this minefield of lies and sincerity, fighting to protect himself from these women’s schemes. But things spiral even further out of control as more people show up at his doorstep—each with increasingly unhinged antics. On the bright side, the memories he lost due to overwhelming trauma seem to be resurfacing. Great news, right? So why are they all panicking now?
end. Thus one must continue to cultivate, and become a saint or great emperor, in order to prolong one's life. Chen Xia, however, completely reversed this. Since his transmigration, he has gained immortality, and also a system that awards him with attribute points for every year he lives. Thus between the myriad worlds, the legend of an unparalleled senior appeared. "A gentleman takes revenge; it is never too late even after ten thousand years." "When you were at your peak I yielded, now in your old age I shall trample on you." - Chen Xia
