Tyrannical Methods

“Do you understand now?”

Ye Xuan looked down at her from above, his eyes filled with undisguised disgust and coldness.

“This is what you’re like. You’re always claiming that you’re sacrificing yourself, when in reality, you’ve been mercilessly scorning and trampling on my dignity all along.”

“You think you’ve been enduring humiliation for the greater good. You think you deserve to be forgiven—even that I should be grateful to you.”

Ye Xuan drew a deep breath. His voice sounded like a judgment pronounced by the god of death.

“But in my eyes, someone like you—a butcher draped in the cloak of devotion, a woman so consumed by self-righteous sentiment that you feed on my flesh and blood to nourish your twisted desires…”

“You are the most disgusting and unforgivable of them all!”

“As for Xia Lengyue and Zi Yao, perhaps one day I’ll give them a quick death. But you alone, Ye Qingcheng…”

At that moment, Ye Xuan’s gaze became terrifying beyond measure, like the apocalyptic eye of a demon opening within the abyss.

“I will never, ever forgive you!”

“No!”

Upon hearing that absolute verdict, Ye Qingcheng let out the most despairing and anguished scream of her life.

She frantically knocked her head against the solid basalt floor. Her forehead was smashed bloody and pulpy, until even the pale bones of her skull were exposed.

“Husband! I was wrong! I truly know that I was wrong! Please, give me one chance! Even if you make me live like a dog and give me only one mouthful of leftovers a day—as long as I can look at you, as long as you don’t abandon me!”

As she continued to slam her head against the ground, she stretched out her bloodied hands, trying to embrace Ye Xuan’s leg.

Ye Xuan merely let out a grim laugh. A vicious, almost savage cruelty flashed through his eyes.

“Forgive you? It’s too late. Go back to your hell and continue enjoying your glorious self-righteousness.”

The instant his voice fell, Ye Xuan suddenly thrust out his right hand. His five fingers curled into claws, and he seized Ye Qingcheng’s crown from across the air.

Boom!

The Heaven-Swallowing Demonic Art erupted!

A terrifying suction force, ten times more violent than before, instantly enveloped Ye Qingcheng.

“Ah!”

Ye Qingcheng let out a heart-rending scream. The source of her Nine Yin Profound Charm Physique, hidden deep within her True Spirit, was ruthlessly and frenziedly extracted by Ye Xuan.

Her hair turned dry and yellow before falling out in clumps. Her skin, which had once been delicate despite her thin frame, instantly shriveled and sagged, becoming covered in age spots and wrinkles. Her bones cracked under the strain.

In no more than a few breaths, the Saintess of the Hehuan Sect—once peerlessly beautiful and capable of driving countless heavenly prodigies into a frenzy—had become a withered old woman, frail and barely breathing.

Looking at Ye Qingcheng’s miserable state, with her Dao heart utterly shattered and even her soul trembling, Ye Xuan experienced a pleasure unlike anything he had ever known.

For a sick, extremely selfish woman like her, physical torment was merely an appetizer.

What could truly make her wish for death was the complete destruction of the “love” she took pride in—to make her understand that, in his eyes, her laughable sacrifice had been nothing more than a clumsy monkey show.

“Take your time savoring the truth.”

Ye Xuan turned around coldly. With a casual wave of his hand, he formed a complicated and profound seal, reopening the black vortex suspended in midair.

“Since you love making a fool of yourself over nothing, I’ll add a little something to your next reincarnation illusion.”

A hint of extreme cruelty flashed in Ye Xuan’s eyes.

“Continue suffering, my dear wife.”

Ye Xuan threw back his head and laughed. Then he suddenly clenched his fist.

“Reincarnation illusion—open!”

“No! Husband! Kill me! Please, kill me!”

Amid Ye Qingcheng’s utterly despairing, bloodcurdling screams—screams so anguished that it seemed even her soul was weeping blood—the black vortex descended with a thunderous roar and swallowed her shriveled, aged body completely.

The dungeon once again fell into deathly silence.

Ye Xuan dusted off his hands as though brushing away a speck of dirt, then turned and walked out of that freezing hell.

Behind him, the heavy black-ice iron door slowly closed.

And Ye Qingcheng’s nightmare had only just begun…

The rear mountain of the Sword God Palace had originally been a forbidden ground filled with dense spiritual energy, where immortal cranes soared through the skies. Now, however, it had been transformed into a kitchen brimming with the warmth of ordinary life.

The morning sunlight streamed through the window lattice carved from spiritual jade, spilling across the gleaming glaze-covered counter.

A lovely girl in a goose-yellow dress hummed an unknown, cheerful tune as she bustled about among a pile of heavenly treasures radiating astonishing spiritual energy.

With practiced ease, she chopped a ten-thousand-year-old Nine-Leaf Purple Ganoderma—an item that would be enough to unleash a bloodbath in the outside world—into fine pieces. Then she descaled and gutted a ten-thousand-year-old spirit fish with dragon horns, her movements smooth and fluid, as though she were merely preparing an ordinary radish and carp.

As flames condensed from the Netherworld Earthfire danced merrily beneath the clay pot, an incredibly rich and wondrous fragrance gradually filled the kitchen. Even one breath of it would have been enough to make an ordinary person ascend to immortality in broad daylight.

“Mmm… The heat is just right. Husband loves spirit-fish porridge cooked until it’s soft and tender!”

The girl wiped at her forehead, though there was not a trace of sweat upon it. Her large eyes glittered with unconcealed joy and happiness.

She cupped her face in both hands and gazed at the thick soup bubbling inside the pot, the corners of her lips rising uncontrollably. In this world, nothing made her happier than washing her hands and preparing a meal for that man.

This girl was Ying’er.

In a corner of the kitchen, Shen Qingshuang stood holding a white jade plate meant for serving the spirit pastries. Yet her entire body was frozen in place like a statue.

Her usually cool and beautiful eyes were filled with indescribable shock, confusion, and a trace of profound awe.

As Shen Qingshuang looked at Ying’er—who wore an apron and resembled an ordinary mortal newlywed as she cooked porridge for Ye Xuan—she could not help recalling the scene that had taken place outside the Sword God Palace’s mountain gate several days earlier.

Ye Jiuhuang, whom Shen Qingshuang regarded as invincible under heaven and revered like a deity, had actually been sent flying with a single slap by the little girl before her.

And yet this invincible young woman, who possessed such terrifying strength, was now willingly nestled in this tiny kitchen, cheering simply because she had prepared a pot of porridge for Ye Xuan. She was even prouder than a child begging for praise after receiving a piece of candy.

“How much longer are you going to stand there spacing out? Bring the jade plate over quickly—the porridge is ready!”

Ying’er’s clear, sweet voice jolted Shen Qingshuang out of her thoughts.

Shen Qingshuang’s entire body trembled. She hastily suppressed the turmoil in her heart, lowered her head, and hurried forward like the humblest of servants, offering the white jade plate with both hands.

“Miss Ying’er… the plate.”

Her voice carried a faint, almost imperceptible tremor.

Ying’er took the plate and neatly arranged several spirit cakes glowing with seven-colored radiance upon it.

When she finished, she did not turn around at once. Instead, she picked up a pristine white towel and carefully wiped each of her fingers.

The atmosphere in the kitchen suddenly grew strangely quiet.

“Sister Qingshuang.”

Ying’er suddenly spoke. She did not turn around, and although her voice remained sweet, it had lost some of its earlier girlish innocence.

“These past few days, you’ve been serving my husband. I must say, you’ve been quite attentive.”

“This… this is merely this servant’s duty.” Shen Qingshuang’s heart tightened as she hurriedly replied with her eyes lowered and her manner submissive.

Ying’er turned around. Her large eyes, clear as black gemstones, narrowed slightly.

“I know that when you first took the initiative to climb into my husband’s bed, even going so far as to set aside your lofty dignity as the Palace Mistress, it was all to get revenge on Ye Jiuhuang.”

At those words, the color drained from Shen Qingshuang’s face.

She suddenly raised her head, her lips trembling as she tried to explain herself. Yet beneath Ying’er’s penetrating gaze, she realized that she had nowhere to hide.

Ying’er took a step forward and extended a fair, delicate finger, gently lifting Shen Qingshuang’s chin.

She was clearly a petite, adorable young girl, but the invisible pressure radiating from her at that moment left Shen Qingshuang, a cultivator at the Mahayana stage, too terrified to even breathe heavily.

“Actually, for a woman like you, someone who approached my husband with ulterior motives, I would have slapped you into a mist of blood long ago. My husband has no room by his side for anyone who isn’t completely sincere—even the slightest impurity is unacceptable.”

The corners of Ying’er’s lips curved into a smile that appeared gentle, yet sent chills down the spine.

“However, since my husband accepted you, and since he has enjoyed your body, I’ll hold my nose and acknowledge you as one of my sisters.”