Revenge Has Begun

Ye Qingcheng felt a thunderous roar explode inside her mind. The scene before her eyes shattered and twisted in an instant.

When she opened her eyes again, she found herself in a dark-red hell of endless torment. Foul-smelling blood rained from the sky, while beneath her feet, roiling lava churned alongside wailing vengeful spirits.

As for Ye Qingcheng herself, she was bound tightly to a crimson-copper execution pillar that stretched straight into the heavens by several thick, red-hot iron chains.

To her horror, Ye Qingcheng discovered that her cultivation at the Tribulation Transcendence Stage had vanished without a trace. Every meridian in her body was shattered, her dantian was completely drained, and she had been reduced to an ordinary mortal who found even the slightest movement unbearably difficult.

“SSSS!”

Before she could react, terrifying heat suddenly erupted from the crimson-copper execution pillar, instantly scalding the skin from her back and leaving it charred and mangled.

“Ah!”

Ye Qingcheng let out a heart-rending scream.

At that moment, the void twisted, and several hellish ghost soldiers appeared out of thin air. They wore black robes and had no facial features. In their hands, they carried all kinds of horrifying torture implements that gleamed with cold light—barbed whips, bone-scraping knives, iron pincers for ripping out tongues, and more.

“What are you doing? Get away from me! I’m the Grand Elder of the Hehuan Sect!” Ye Qingcheng screamed in terror.

The ghost soldiers possessed none of the emotions of human beings, nor did they make a sound. They merely advanced mechanically. One of them raised the bone-scraping knife in its hand and pressed it against Ye Qingcheng’s arm. Like a craftsman shaving thin slices from wood, it carved away a piece of flesh as thin as a cicada’s wing.

“The torture of a thousand cuts begins.”

A vast, emotionless voice echoed throughout hell.

“Ugh—ahhh! My flesh! No, stop!”

One cut. Two cuts. Three cuts…

Every slash perfectly avoided her vital organs, while each stroke amplified her nerves’ perception of pain ten thousandfold. Ye Qingcheng could only watch helplessly as strips of flesh were peeled from her body, exposing gleaming white bones. Her shrill screams rang across the entire hell.

Whenever the pain brought her to the verge of unconsciousness, a strange green radiance would descend, instantly healing her wounds. Her flesh would grow back, and then the torture would begin again—the bones scraped away, layer by layer.

“Husband! Husband, save me! Ye Xuan!” In the midst of her utter breakdown, Ye Qingcheng screamed the name in anguish.

“BOOM!”

A bolt of thunder tore through the blood-red sky.

Amid the surging hellfire and blood rain, Ye Xuan approached through the air in a black-and-gold robe, his hands clasped behind his back.

He simply stood in the void, coldly watching Ye Qingcheng being carved apart on the execution pillar.

“Husband! Save me! I’m Qingcheng!” As though she had seized the last strand of hope, Ye Qingcheng raised her head and wept bitterly. “Look, no one has touched me! Even in hell, my body is still pure! I love you!”

Ye Xuan, however, looked at her as though she were nothing more than a pile of disgusting scraps of flesh. There was no anger in his eyes—only bone-chilling coldness.

Ye Xuan slowly spoke, his voice like ten-thousand-year-old ice, every word cutting straight into her heart.

“Pure and untouched? Don’t make me laugh. The moment you ignored my suffering, you forfeited the right to call yourself pure.”

“The humiliation and despair you inflicted upon me will be repaid today through every form of torture in this hell without end.” Ye Xuan’s voice echoed between heaven and earth. “There’s no need to rush. Time flows differently within this reincarnation illusion. One day in the outside world is a thousand years here.”

Ye Xuan coldly snapped his fingers.

The ghost soldiers around them instantly multiplied tenfold. Cauldrons of boiling oil, scorpion pits, formations of ten thousand swords piercing the heart, netherworld poisonous fire… Countless horrifying instruments of torture materialized at once.

“Over the course of this long thousand years, your tongue will be torn out, your tendons extracted, your skin flayed, your body boiled in oil, and your soul burned by hellfire…”

“The eighteen thousand most vicious tortures in existence will be inflicted upon you in rotation every single day, without end. You will be unable to live and unable to die.”

“And I will watch you the entire time.”

“No!”

Ye Qingcheng released the most miserable and desperate wail of her life. She finally realized that this time, no excuse could save her. She would pay the price for her selfishness and cruelty amid pure, endless agony.

Countless torture implements descended, completely drowning her consciousness in a hell of flying flesh and blood.

Back in the dungeon.

Ye Xuan looked at Ye Qingcheng as she rolled her eyes upward, her entire body convulsing violently, saliva and blood continuously spilling from her mouth. His gaze was cold to the extreme.

In the real world, only the time it took an incense stick to burn had passed. Within the illusion, however, Ye Qingcheng had already endured more than a century of having her tongue torn out and her flesh carved away.

Ye Xuan felt no pity whatsoever.

He abruptly raised his hand, his five fingers clamping onto Ye Qingcheng’s crown like the talons of an eagle.

“Heaven-Devouring Demonic Art!”

A domineering force capable of devouring all things across the myriad worlds erupted from Ye Xuan’s palm.

The origin within Ye Qingcheng’s body transformed into the purest yin and yang energies before being mercilessly torn away and continuously drawn into Ye Xuan’s dantian.

Ye Qingcheng’s once beautiful and alluring body withered at a visible speed. She became like a flower rapidly wilting, her vitality and cultivation constantly drained away.

Ye Xuan casually flung Ye Qingcheng—now reduced to a cripple—to the ground like a piece of garbage before turning toward the other two cells.

Over the next few days, the dungeon of the Sword God Palace became a cultivation farm where Ye Xuan harvested power.

Facing Xia Lengyue’s proud, icy face, Ye Xuan did not waste even a single word.

As the Heaven-Devouring Demonic Art circulated, the several thousand years of frigid spiritual power within Xia Lengyue was forcibly drained away. She could only watch as she transformed from an unparalleled immortal beauty into a white-haired, wrinkled old crone, letting out a despairing wail amid the overwhelming terror of losing her power.

As for the former Demon Empress Zi Yao, she was drained until only a skin-and-bones husk remained.

The incomparably pure demonic essence within her became nothing more than nourishment for Ye Xuan. She knelt on the ground and frantically kowtowed, begging for mercy, but all she received in return was Ye Xuan’s cold mockery.

Three days later.

Sword God Palace, the Tai’e Main Hall.

This majestic palace, once a symbol of the supreme authority of the First Sword Emperor, had now welcomed its true master.

Hundreds of coiling-dragon golden pillars stood silently throughout the hall. Below them, the hundreds of powerful elders of the Sword God Palace, the peak masters, and the core disciples all stood trembling in two orderly rows. Every one of them kept their head lowered, not daring even to breathe too loudly.

At the very top of nine tiers of white-jade steps, Ye Xuan sat upon the Nine-Dragon Frost Throne. Clad in black and gold, he leaned lazily against one side with one hand propping up his chin, his eyes half-closed. The terrifying pressure radiating from his body caused the void throughout the entire hall to ripple and distort.

Beside the throne, a scene that sent shudders through the souls of every elder was unfolding.

Ye Jiuhuang, once an aloof and peerless figure whose sword light had chilled the lands beneath the nineteen heavens, had removed her dignified white-and-gold sword robes and changed into an extremely soft and graceful fitted palace dress.

With her knees pressed together, she knelt at Ye Xuan’s feet in utter humility and submission.

Her flawless, icy beauty held not the slightest hint of arrogance. Instead, it was filled with heartfelt ingratiation and gentleness. With the slender jade hands that had once wielded a sword to cleave the stars, she carefully held out a white jade wine cup, her beautiful eyes gazing at the man seated upon the throne with utter infatuation.

“Husband,” Ye Jiuhuang said in a voice so soft it seemed sweet enough to melt. “This Jade Dew Nectar was brewed especially for you. At dawn, I gathered the first snow from Spirit Mountain and spent three days and three nights making it by hand. Please, give it a taste and see if it suits you.”

Ye Xuan slowly opened his eyes and cast her a cool, indifferent glance.

He leaned forward slightly and took a light sip of the immortal brew from the cup in Ye Jiuhuang’s hands. Then, he nodded casually. “Acceptable.”

“Thank you for your praise, husband!”

As though granted a reprieve, Ye Jiuhuang’s exquisite face instantly bloomed with a delighted, flattered smile.

She hurriedly set down the wine cup, then obediently extended both hands and began gently kneading Ye Xuan’s legs. Her movements were practiced and natural, as though she had been born solely to serve this man.