Anyway, It's All What She Deserves

Ying’er lifted her chin slightly, an air of disdainful arrogance—as though she looked down upon the heavens and all creation—bursting from her petite frame.

“If it were me, even if every immortal artifact in the world and every great-dao attainment across the myriad realms were placed before me, none of them would be worth exchanging for my husband’s dignity.”

“If something would make my husband unhappy, I would rather give up everything.”

Ying’er looked at Ye Qingcheng and spoke each word distinctly. “Immortality or cultivation—whatever it may be, if it has to be built upon my husband’s pain and humiliation, then I would rather destroy it with my own hands!”

She suddenly took a step forward, and an overwhelming pressure, like a violent storm, poured down upon Ye Qingcheng.

“That is why I am standing here, while you are the one being tortured.”

The pressure nearly suffocated Ye Qingcheng. In the face of Ying’er’s utterly pure declaration, cracks began to appear in her Dao heart—cracks that could never be repaired.

Yet she continued to hold on desperately. Blood and tears filled her eyes as she gritted her teeth and brought out her final shield.

“A gentleman is judged by his actions, not his thoughts! I have never betrayed my husband—not with my body or my mind! I have never let another man touch me, so how can you say that I don’t love him?”

“How laughable.”

Ying’er shook her head coldly, ruthlessly tearing away the last layer of Ye Qingcheng’s modesty.

“Keeping your body pure does not mean that you truly love my husband.”

“The person you love most is yourself. In your eyes, your cultivation is more important than my husband’s dignity.”

“The reason you preserved your chastity wasn’t because you loved my husband all that deeply. It was because you couldn’t accept becoming a woman ridden by thousands of men! You merely treated my husband as a moral fig leaf that allowed you to absorb other people’s primordial yang and pursue immortality without guilt!”

“No! I didn’t! I didn’t!”

Ye Qingcheng shook her head frantically. Her withered white hair whipped wildly through the air as she covered her ears, refusing to admit it.

Seeing her collapse and desperately try to escape reality, Ying’er’s expression turned utterly indifferent. She inhaled deeply, then uttered her final words like a death sentence:

“My husband choosing to die so tragically in that lifetime is the best explanation of all.”

Those words were like a world-destroying hammer weighing hundreds of thousands of jun crashing down upon Ye Qingcheng’s crown!

The memories of that lifetime flooded violently back into Ye Qingcheng’s mind like a breached dam.

He would rather die—even let his soul scatter completely—than continue enduring that sickening humiliation under the guise of being protected!

“Ah!”

In that instant, Ye Qingcheng’s psychological defenses collapsed completely.

She let out a heart-wrenching, bloodcurdling shriek that no longer sounded human.

She broke down entirely, weeping in agony as she clawed desperately at her scalp, tearing out what little white hair remained—along with strips of flesh.

At last, she understood. The sacrifice she had always believed to be so noble had been, in Ye Xuan’s eyes, the most poisonous torment imaginable.

It was she who had personally driven to his death the only man in the world who had ever loved her.

Ying’er’s eyes remained utterly unmoved as she watched Ye Qingcheng wail on the ground like a puddle of filth, writhing in unbearable anguish.

In Ying’er’s dictionary, anyone who had harmed Ye Xuan had committed an unforgivable sin simply by continuing to breathe.

She slowly stepped forward, the corners of her lips curling once more into a chilling smile.

“Although you’re not worthy of becoming Master’s concubine—not even a servant girl who shares his bed…”

At some point, a thick chain had appeared in Ying’er’s hand. It gleamed with a ghostly, icy-black light and was covered in countless soul-suppressing runes.

“But there is one position that suits you perfectly.”

Clack!

The cold chain, like a venomous snake, snapped tightly around Ye Qingcheng’s shriveled neck.

In the main hall.

The storm had only just subsided.

The air was saturated with a decadent fragrance, a heady mixture of musk and spiritual energy.

Shen Qingshuang lay limp like a pool of water in the corner of the Nine-Dragon Frost-ice Throne. Tear stains still clung to her exquisite face, while her eyes were hazy and satisfied.

At the peak of the Mahayana realm, her cultivation had seemed utterly powerless before this man. Yet in her heart, she felt a sense of security and belonging unlike anything she had ever experienced.

Ye Xuan leaned lazily against the throne, his black-and-gold robe hanging half open.

His eyes were closed as he enjoyed this rare moment of post-indulgence tranquility, allowing the pure yin energy he had just extracted to surge violently through his meridians before refining it.

Just as Ye Xuan was resting—

Clatter… clatter…

An extremely grating, heavy metallic sound echoed slowly in from outside the hall, breaking the silence of the sleeping chamber.

Ye Xuan frowned slightly and slowly opened his deep, cold eyes.

The hall doors were gently pushed open by an invisible force.

Ying’er entered wearing a bright yellow dress, a sweet and adorable smile on her face. She bounced inside like a little girl eager to show off a treasured gift.

In her hand, however, she dragged a thick black-gold chain. At the other end of it was Ye Qingcheng, being dragged inside like a dead dog.

At that moment, a chain like a collar was fastened around Ye Qingcheng’s neck.

Her broken, aged body scraped across the ornate jade floor, leaving behind a long trail of blood.

Her eyes had long since become vacant, filled only with endless terror and despair. Once the lofty Saintess of the Hehuan Sect and a mighty Mahayana cultivator, she was now being led around like livestock by an iron chain.

A trace of surprise flashed through Ye Xuan’s eyes as his brows lifted slightly.

He smiled faintly, his voice carrying a hint of lazy curiosity. “What are you doing?”

Ying’er gave the chain a hard tug, yanking Ye Qingcheng forcefully to the steps beneath the throne.

Then she released it and fluttered to Ye Xuan’s side like a cheerful little bird, leaning against his thigh.

Ying’er raised her delicate, fair face toward Ye Xuan and smiled.

“I know you’ve been in a bad mood lately, my husband. You’ve been carrying a great deal of pent-up anger and need to let it out properly.”

Her soft, boneless hand gently stroked Ye Xuan’s broad chest. Her voice turned coquettish, even carrying a hint of seduction.

“But I’m your little sweetheart. You cherish me too much to use those brutal methods on me.”

With that, Ying’er turned her head and glanced at Ye Qingcheng on the floor as though she were looking at a piece of trash. She giggled.

“So Ye Qingcheng can take my place.”

At those words, Ye Qingcheng’s entire body began to tremble violently.

She struggled to raise her head. Her old face, covered in blood and wrinkles, was filled with terror.

Kneeling on the ground, she looked uneasily at the man seated upon the throne, gazing down at her like a god.

She knew what awaited her. The fear of the unknown left her even more desperate than the mountains of blades and seas of fire within the reincarnation illusion.

She even wanted to beg for mercy, but no sound could escape her throat. All she could do was tremble like an old dog awaiting slaughter.

However, Ye Xuan merely glanced at Ye Qingcheng. There was no fury in his eyes, no killing intent—only an unfathomably deep indifference, as though he were looking at a puddle of filth.

His expression was filled with utter contempt. He coldly spat out three words:

“She’s not worthy.”

Those three words wounded more deeply than any cruel punishment in the world.

For a yandere—a madwoman who regarded Ye Xuan as the entirety of her obsession—the greatest punishment was not torture, but being completely ignored and stripped even of the right to serve as an outlet for his anger.

Ye Qingcheng’s eyes instantly dimmed to their darkest depths.

Ying’er, however, had no intention of letting her off so easily.

She extended both arms and wrapped them around Ye Xuan’s neck like vines, smiling as she said, “She’d still make a decent outlet.”

She leaned close to Ye Xuan’s ear. Her large eyes glittered with an excitement so chilling and frenzied that even a demonic cultivator would pale before it.

In a voice brimming with seduction, like a demon whispering into his ear, she said excitedly:

“Master, unleash your most brutal, most insane, most savage thoughts upon her.”

Ying’er’s gaze passed over Ye Xuan’s shoulder and fixed itself on Ye Qingcheng. The smile curling across her lips was utterly merciless.

“After all, this is what she deserves.”