She Dominates the Immortal Realm with Her HP Bar

"Because of your illumination of my sincere heart, it lessens a night of sorrow for this grieving soul."

The act of kneeling and expressing gratitude by the Lord of Chiyu City was nothing short of earth-shattering, instantly stunning everyone present.

Yan Luoyue reacted swiftly, avoiding being knelt to directly. Fortunately, during her first year of life, she had accumulated ample experience with dramatic falls, allowing her to recognize the signs of an impending full prostration.

Even so, the close call left her heart racing. For the first time, she experienced firsthand what it felt like to have someone suddenly drop to their knees before her.

No wonder Sang Ji still couldn’t let go of that incident from three or four years ago.

The Lord of Chiyu City had merely made himself half a head shorter than Yan Luoyue in front of a crowd, yet even that was enough to startle him, his expression shifting beneath his cloak.

Back then, Yan Luoyue had gone all out—she had fully flattened herself on the ground in front of her classmates.

"...Please rise, my lord."

Beneath the black robe, the cultivator’s posture was slightly stiff.

After Meng Zhun personally defused the hostile tension, the artificer’s attitude softened from its initial sharpness.

Zhen Zhuo’er did not leave Master Yan to face the situation alone. She stepped forward and, together with Master Yan, helped the Lord of Chiyu City to his feet from either side.

Meanwhile, the others were not idle.

Zhen Zhuo’er and Meng Zhun’s subordinates tactfully averted their eyes, refusing to witness the lord’s moment of pleading.

They worked together to subdue the captured cultivator who had been crying innocence, binding him tightly and securing him to the side.

As for the two crane brothers invited to document the event, their notebooks were flipping so fast they became a blur, constantly revising and expanding their records.

Once the situation had somewhat settled, both sides dismissed their subordinates and invited the historian brothers to step aside for a private discussion.

The Lord of Chiyu City reseated himself in the grand chair, showing no trace of his earlier vulnerability beyond the redness in his eyes.

The middle-aged man sighed softly as he recounted the truth of the matter to Yan Luoyue and Zhen Zhuo’er.

"Shamefully, though I bear the title of city lord, I failed to notice any signs before this outbreak of the Thousand-Faced Demon Calamity..."

Some time had already passed since the incident.

Though Meng Zhun’s expression still carried traces of grief and indignation, he maintained a steady tone as he explained the sequence of events.

From Meng Zhun’s perspective, this was likely a tragic news report.

Zhen Zhuo’er listened attentively throughout, nodding occasionally as if taking the story as a cautionary tale—a wake-up call for herself.

As for Yan Luoyue...

Damn it, to her, this story was straight-up horror.

The incident traced back to the demonic seals.

Due to its geographical location, Yunning Great Marsh bordered the demon realm in spatial terms.

After the passage between the human world and the demon realm was sealed, remnants of old "tunnels" dug by both sides remained. These tunnels were later discovered and patched up one by one, forming what was known as the demonic seals.

Near Chiyu City, there was one such seal.

Periodically, disturbances in the demon realm would cause some demons to leak through the seal—a phenomenon referred to as the Demon Calamity.

Local forces would organize teams, recruit cultivators, and dispatch them to exterminate the demons, ensuring none escaped.

For centuries, this had been the standard practice, and Chiyu City was no exception.

Meng Zhun clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. "Two months ago, another minor Demon Calamity broke out near the demonic seal. As usual, I sent people to suppress it, and the follow-up reports were all smooth..."

This Demon Calamity was relatively small, releasing only low-tier demons like Mud Burrowers and Green Mane Demons—creatures even novice Qi-refining cultivators could handle.

The demon-hunting cultivators returned triumphant.

Following local custom, they packed weaker demons like Mud Burrowers and Phlegm Suckers into carts, intending to transport them back to the city for on-demand slaughter, ensuring the freshest materials.

The city held its usual ceremony to welcome the brave cultivators.

Crowds lined the streets, tossing sachets, flowers, and ribbons at the returning victors.

Amid the drumbeats, laughter, and rumbling cart wheels, no one noticed the seemingly feeble demons in their cages, their greedy eyes fixed on the joyous faces.

Their gazes were laden with calculation, as if memorizing every face that passed by.

That night, the demon containment bureau reported that four Mud Burrowers had gone missing.

The person in charge found it baffling.

How could such weak demons escape under the watchful eyes of the guards?

Even if they were adept at burrowing through mud, could they really turn themselves into sludge and slip through the iron bars?

The supervisor hoped to minimize the impact of the incident on himself, so he didn’t report it to his superiors immediately. Instead, he worked with his subordinates to track down the Mud Burrowers.

An hour later, one of the subordinates returned.

Fresh, damp bloodstains still marked the fabric of his chest, but that was unimportant.

Because in his hands, he held several demon hides of the Mud Burrowers.

The subordinate grinned and said, "These little things tried to struggle—slippery as eels, they were. So I just stabbed them all. Boss, you never said we had to take them alive, right?"

Seeing that the subordinate had retrieved the demons overnight, the supervisor immediately felt relieved.

As for the fact that the subordinate had killed them, he couldn’t afford to be picky.

In his relief, the supervisor didn’t even bother mocking how the subordinate still hadn’t fixed his accent, pronouncing "stab" as "stab" instead.

The supervisor waved a hand dismissively. "Killed is fine. Tomorrow morning, mix their hides in with the other pelts and sell them off. The quality should still be fresh enough. Even if the refiners notice, they won’t make a fuss over a few Mud Burrower hides..."

When the supervisor reached out to take the hides, the subordinate suddenly pulled his hand back.

"Ah, those refiners are picky—no need to risk it. Boss, I’ll cover the cost myself, out of my own pocket."

This subordinate was being unusually accommodating, nothing like his usual stingy self.

The supervisor couldn’t help but think that people really could change beyond recognition in just a short time.

So he accepted the money pouch, chatting and laughing with the subordinate as they disappeared into the dark night.

That night passed peacefully.

No reports of dead cultivators or servants, no rumors of escaped demons.

Only a single cut on the subordinate’s arm.

Fortunately, a kind passerby—who looked exactly like the subordinate—had coincidentally arrived just in time to help stabilize the situation.

To repay the favor, the subordinate and the supervisor treated the stranger to a late-night meal.

Chomp chomp, slurp slurp, munch munch.

Learning from past mistakes, the supervisor made sure to have two trusted subordinates standing behind him whenever he summoned others for private reprimands.

One of them was that suddenly enlightened fellow from the previous night.

No one knew exactly what the supervisor said to each of them.

But outsiders could tell—everyone seemed very satisfied with the discussions in the end.

Days passed, and the large iron cages holding the low-level demons gradually emptied.

At one point, a low-ranking guard, for reasons unknown, reported to his superior: "Someone’s secretly selling live demons—not killing them first, violating the principle of eradicating all demons."

Before the report could reach higher authorities, it was intercepted by the guard’s direct superior.

A short while later, a cultivator—who usually got along well with the guard—came by for a chat.

Oddly, the cultivator’s waistline seemed unusually bulky.

It was as if he’d layered on thick winter pants despite it being early autumn, or as if someone had mischievously stuffed a large, soft, flexible, and self-shaping tail beneath his robes.

Another short while later, the two returned, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, grinning from ear to ear.

The cultivator’s robes now lay smooth and flat.

The guard, meanwhile, sucked thoughtfully on his fingertips before retracting his earlier report.

After that, no more fools dared to question the "secret demon trade" or the dwindling numbers in the cages.

During this time, invitations from the Demon Control Bureau frequently reached high-ranking officials, masters, and local dignitaries, who graciously accepted and visited.

These guests always left in high spirits, clearly having enjoyed the most meticulous hospitality.

—And how could anyone doubt their satisfaction?

Just look at the strange smiles on their faces, or the way they often cradled a beauty—though she never showed her face, her cascading black hair was unmistakable.

Hearing this, if not for the fact that she was still disguised as "Yan Luoyue," she might have shuddered and rubbed her arms to soothe the rising goosebumps.

The black-robed refiner shook his head ruefully, sighing in a hoarse voice:

"If the Thousand-Faced Demon can take human form, it can take other forms too... We’ve been blind to this all along."

If humans were the only prey on the Thousand-Faced Demon’s menu, it wouldn’t have survived in the demon realm.

Other demons must also be part of its diet.

In other words, the Thousand-Faced Demon could mimic not just humans, but other demons as well.

"Indeed," the City Lord of Chiyu murmured in agreement.

Meng Zhun’s expression darkened. He closed his eyes briefly before continuing the tale.

Life might have carried on in blissful ignorance—until the day the truth could no longer be concealed.

One day, Meng Zhun, the lord of Chiyu City, suddenly noticed that his loyal old servant was becoming forgetful.

This old servant had been devoted to their family for generations. He had served Meng Zhun’s father and raised Meng Zhun himself, earning deep respect from the city lord.

At first, Meng Zhun assumed it was simply due to old age—Uncle Qing’s cultivation had stagnated for years, and his lifespan was nearing its end. Out of concern, Meng Zhun arranged for him to rest and recuperate.

But this well-intentioned decision soon led to unexpected trouble.

After much internal struggle, another loyal subordinate secretly informed Meng Zhun: he had witnessed Uncle Qing meeting privately with a rival faction in the city.

Having served the Meng family faithfully for over a century, such an accusation seemed baseless—almost like a smear campaign from their enemies. Amused, Meng Zhun dismissed the report without a second thought.

Yet soon after, he saw it with his own eyes.

Recounting the incident, Meng Zhun let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. "I have a bad habit—wandering around at night. Because of it, I’ve stumbled upon countless things I shouldn’t have seen."

Petty thefts, improper affairs, shady dealings…

But this time, that very habit saved his life.

Furious, Meng Zhun immediately apprehended Uncle Qing and the cultivator he had been meeting with, imprisoning them separately. He interrogated the outsider first, hoping to uncover the truth behind the betrayal.

During the questioning, Meng Zhun noticed something odd—the man’s answers were disjointed, as if forcing mismatched pieces together.

Before he could extract a confession, another cultivator attempted a jailbreak to rescue the prisoner.

Faced with such a reckless, one-after-another rescue attempt, Meng Zhun naturally took full advantage.

With another captive in hand, the first became expendable. To make an example, Meng Zhun executed one in front of the other, ordering guards to drag the body away.

In ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‍such cases, corpses were either returned intact to their faction or unceremoniously dumped in mass graves.

Unsure of Meng Zhun’s intentions, the guards covered the body with a straw mat and left it in a corner of the courtyard.

This seemingly insignificant act unraveled a shocking truth—two hours later, a gust of wind lifted the mat, revealing the corpse’s true form.

The "enemy cultivator" was actually a Thousand-Faced Demon!

Panicked, the guard scrambled to report this discovery to Meng Zhun.

The long night was far from over.

Meng Zhun lit a lamp and executed the would-be rescuer with a single strike.

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Under the dim candlelight, he stared unblinking at the corpse for an hour and a half.

As dawn’s first light crept over the horizon, the body—under his unwavering watch, impossible to switch—gradually morphed into the visage of a Thousand-Faced Demon.

"……"

The truth was undeniable.

There could only be one explanation for why the ever-loyal Uncle Qing had secretly liaised with the "rival faction."

Even now, nearly half a month later, recalling the event left Meng Zhun’s face as pale as freshly whitewashed plaster, tinged with a lifeless indigo hue.

Zhen Zhuo’er understood without needing further explanation. "Thousand-Faced Demons… Unless an expert at the Nascent Soul stage or above uses divine sense to inspect them, their true forms can only be revealed in death."

Meng Zhun stared blankly at his own hands, letting out a hollow laugh.

"Uncle Qing kept begging me. He recounted stories from my childhood, dredging up memory after memory to sway my heart. He—he—"

For over a century, Uncle Qing had been by his side—longer than Meng Zhun had spent with his own parents.

Though nominally master and servant, in reality, Meng Zhun had always regarded him as family.

Uncle Qing’s descendants were like brothers and nephews to him.

Even though Meng Zhun knew with certainty that the real Uncle Qing would never grovel so desperately for mercy…

No one with a heart could remain unmoved by the sight before him.

—What if? What if the old man’s mind was failing, and he had grown terrified of death?

—Perhaps Uncle Qing had been coerced into disgraceful acts but hadn’t been replaced at all.

—Most crucially, historical records stated that Thousand-Faced Demons could mimic appearances but never memories or thoughts.

The Uncle Qing before him recalled every detail of raising him, answering Meng Zhun’s questions flawlessly.

How could this weeping old man clutching his legs possibly be an imposter?

No one knew what truly transpired in the city lord’s study that day.

But in the end, Meng Zhun swung the blade.

In the moment he swung his blade, it no longer mattered whether he was killing the Thousand-Faced Demon, Uncle Qing, or some other monstrous creature.

Even as the withered corpse of the old man on the ground immediately transformed into the form of a Thousand-Faced Demon, Meng Zhun couldn’t bring himself to believe this was vengeance for Uncle Qing.

Because from the instant he decided to strike, the real Uncle Qing and the childhood version of Little Zhun were both ruthlessly cleaved apart by the icy edge of his blade.

All that remained was Meng Zhun, the lord of Chiyu City, standing rigidly by the corpse, awaiting judgment from fate.

Every warm memory from his childhood had now congealed into barbed thorns that tore at his flesh—each touch brought an agonizing sting.

Meng Zhun said hoarsely, "That corpse... was a Thousand-Faced Demon."

The lord of Chiyu City clearly carried a heavy burden in his heart, though he didn’t elaborate on his inner struggle.

Yet the torment and conflict were evident enough that others could easily imagine it without needing further explanation.

Beneath his black robes, the artificer’s expression shifted in horror. "Lord Meng, do the Thousand-Faced Demons in your city now possess the ability to consume their prey’s memories?"

"To my knowledge, only a fraction of them can achieve this, and even then, they can’t devour an entire lifetime’s worth of memories."

At this point, Meng Zhun—a man standing eight feet tall—nearly choked on his words.

"They can only feed on the most profound, the most cherished memories of their victims..."

Just like the Thousand-Faced Demon that had impersonated Uncle Qing.

It couldn’t defend itself with recent official matters, but it could dredge up old memories, piercing Meng Zhun’s heart until it was a bloody mess.

Because those memories—of raising Little Zhun, watching him grow from a child into a tall, handsome young man—were also the very memories Uncle Qing had treasured most.

If the Thousand-Faced Demon could only mimic appearances, then with vigilance and careful questioning, its disguise could eventually be unraveled.

But what if it wielded the memories of your loved ones, forcing you to either trust it or condemn it to death?

Truly, such demons were unbearably cruel and cunning.

By taking the form of someone’s dearest kin, they seized their victim’s weakest point.

To expose their true nature, one had to prove it with the "death" of a loved one.

Faced with such a choice, how many could steel themselves to make that decision? Who could coldly send their own kin to the grave?

And even more terrifying—if this practice spread, would people start using "It’s a Thousand-Faced Demon" as an excuse to openly eliminate rivals? Even if someone was murdered in broad daylight, would onlookers dare to intervene?

Meng Zhun murmured dazedly, "I immediately recognized the severity of the situation and dispatched my subordinates to investigate."

He also reached out to the city’s major clans, urging them to set aside past grievances and unite against this crisis.

After deliberation, they agreed to keep the matter secret for now, resolving it within their control with minimal collateral damage.

After all, these memory-devouring Thousand-Faced Demons were unlike any before. If word got out, panic would spread like wildfire. Suspicion alone could spark countless tragedies.

And if malevolent opportunists seized the chance to stir chaos in the city...

Even without divination, it was clear the entire city would descend into madness.

But what followed was a surreal twist so absurd it bordered on the fantastical—

Meng Zhun spent two days in his study, receiving a steady stream of visitors.

By the second night, his old habit resurfaced, and he sneaked out to wander the streets incognito.

This little stroll was effectively an undercover inspection.

And what Meng Zhun discovered chilled him to the bone—his orders might not have even left the city lord's mansion.

This meant an unknown number of Thousand-Faced Demons had already infiltrated his most trusted inner circle.

If they could slip into the city lord's residence, they could just as easily infiltrate the other great clans of the city.

Hearing this, even the unflappable Zhen Zhuo’er couldn’t suppress a shudder.

Yan Luoyue, though not as emotionally invested as the other two, still felt a cold dread creep up her spine.

"Agh..."

To her, the invasion of the Thousand-Faced Demons felt eerily similar to a game of Werewolf.

When Werewolf was just a tabletop game, players could laugh and debate, handing out "golden water" and rallying votes.

But when it became reality—when lives were truly at stake?

Night falls, dawn breaks, the werewolves have seized control, and there are no witches or seers in this round.

Countless villagers died last night. Beware, for they have all turned into werewolves.

The black-robed artificer pressed, "Have any of the major clans in the city finished purging their ranks?"

Once a clan cleansed itself, they could spare resources to restore order in the city. Tackle one problem at a time, and eventually, they’d succeed, right?

Meng Zhun let out a cold laugh.

At the mention of this, the man’s sunken, weary eyes flared with the fury and authority of a city lord.

"One clan was fortunate—none of their elders had been replaced by Thousand-Faced Demons."

And so, under cover of night, they packed their valuables and sealed their gates.

Led by the clan leader himself, the elders and the more capable cultivators of the clan decisively fled!

Perhaps feeling guilty about their actions, the clan leader left a letter for Meng Zhun.

The gist of it was: "The city has been thoroughly infiltrated, and you, as the city lord, must already know the state of your own residence.

A wise man knows when to yield. You should gather your valuables and leave with your family—though this isn’t fleeing, but rather seeking reinforcements."

How shameless. How utterly disgraceful.

Even repeating these words made Meng Zhun feel as though his mouth had been dirtied.

Their escape quickly spawned countless rumors.

Coupled with the bloodstains and mutilated corpses occasionally found in the alleys in recent days…

Exaggerated tales spread like wildfire, and fear descended like a shroud, enveloping the hearts of everyone in the city overnight.

With disaster looming over the city, Meng Zhun would never flee.

As the lord of Chiyu City, not only could he not run, but he was also determined to make his stance clear: he would live or die with the city.

Meng Zhun sat in his study for an entire night.

By the next morning, when he emerged, even his once jet-black temples had begun to show traces of silver.

That day, disregarding the objections of other clan leaders, Meng Zhun decisively announced to the entire city the infiltration of the Thousand-Faced Demons.

At the same time, he issued three new decrees:

First, a curfew was imposed—no one was allowed to leave their homes at night. The city gates were locked, and no entry or exit was permitted without the city lord’s written order.

Second, every five neighboring households were grouped together, merging their living arrangements. Whether eating, sleeping, or keeping watch, at least four people had to remain together at all times.

Third, any suspicious activity was to be reported immediately, and all private conflicts were forbidden. If anyone accused another of being a Thousand-Faced Demon and provoked a dispute, the entire group would be punished.

Beyond these measures, Meng Zhun took three additional actions.

First, he donated half of his family’s wealth to address the crisis.

Second, he invited the entire city to oversee his family—until the matter was resolved, his wife, children, and elders would not step foot outside the Meng residence, let alone flee the city with their valuables.

Third, he personally visited nearby mid-sized sects to secure external aid.

Sparing no expense, he recruited a group of elite disciples from these sects to patrol the city, enforce order, and maintain discipline.

These disciples were beyond suspicion of being disguised Thousand-Faced Demons and were untainted by the city’s tangled web of interests, making them ideal enforcers.

Thanks to Meng Zhun’s efforts, the city’s chaotic state was temporarily stabilized.

Seizing this opportunity, he traced the origins of the Thousand-Faced Demon calamity.

Yet, decrees and external aid were not long-term solutions. Meng Zhun needed a way to eradicate the problem at its root.

Theoretically, the fastest method would be to enlist the help of a Divine Transformation cultivator.

Such a cultivator could sweep the city with their divine sense and instantly distinguish between demons and ordinary cultivators.

But border cities like Ruyi City and Chiyu City were small and remote—even their lords were only at the Golden Core stage.

Forget whether a Divine Transformation cultivator would even agree to help.

Just getting the request through layers of intermediaries to reach their ears would take who knows how long.

With Divine Transformation cultivators out of reach, Meng Zhun shifted his approach.

He sought to commission artifact forgers to craft a device capable of identifying Thousand-Faced Demons.

As an artifact forger himself, Meng Zhun had extensive connections in this field and could reach out to several masters.

But with Chiyu City on the brink of disaster, he pressed for urgency. Given the gravity of the situation—an entire city’s lives at stake—several masters actually recoiled in fear upon hearing his request!

These were esteemed figures in their craft, with countless disciples under them and reputations to uphold.

The matter of Chiyu City was simply too risky to meddle in.

This wasn’t about money—artifact forgers of their stature had no lack of wealth.

If they took on the task but failed to produce a working device, leading to the city’s ruin, their good intentions would only bring them disgrace.

Though self-preservation was only natural, witnessing this firsthand left the exhausted Meng Zhun bitterly disillusioned.

One friendly forger quietly advised him: the Hundred Refinements Assembly was about to begin—why not post his request there as a bounty?

Meng Zhun could only respond with a bitter laugh.

The Hundred Refinements Assembly wouldn’t commence for another two months.

Yet the city’s fragile order relied heavily on the people’s trust in him.

Each day the lockdown continued, tensions in the city grew.

After just half a month, whispers had already spread: "City Lord Meng Zhun has been possessed by a great demon and plans to sacrifice the entire city…"

If this dragged on for two more months, Meng Zhun dreaded to imagine what would become of Chiyu City.

He closed his eyes and leaned back into his armchair.

Though still in his prime, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes bore the marks of premature aging.

"Then, another friend gave me a tip—a master artifact smith had emerged in Ruyi City. It was said that this Master Yan was a once-in-a-generation genius. Not only did he hail from a prestigious sect, but his ways were also shrouded in mystery. Apart from Fellow Cultivator Zhen from Ruyi City, he had no personal connections with outsiders."

The rest of the story needed no further explanation—both Yan Luoyue and Zhen Zhuo'er had already pieced it together.

Having learned from past mistakes, Meng Zhun dared not personally request the master to forge artifacts, fearing he might block this last remaining path.

He could only pray silently in his heart: what could not be obtained through reason or wealth might perhaps be summoned through anger and provocation.

And so, Meng Zhun employed a rather clumsy taunt.

First, he provoked Acting City Lord Zhen Zhuo'er, then staked a hefty sum as a wager, framing it as a "smithing contest" to lure either Master Yan or Yan Luoyue's master into action.

This so-called contest between two cities was nothing but a pretense.

Meng Zhun had come seeking aid, not to make enemies, and thus had no intention of spreading word of this matter far and wide.

This was why Yan Luoyue had heard no whispers of it in the city.

Though the artifact-smithing competition was divided into three rounds, only the first test held any meaning for Meng Zhun.

If Yan Luoyue failed to forge an artifact capable of identifying the Thousand-Faced Demons, Meng Zhun would have no heart to continue the remaining rounds.

He would likely do as he did now—lay bare the city's plight, apologize, and concede defeat.

As for that cultivator Yan Luoyue had ensnared on the spot...

Meng Zhun let out a bitter laugh. "These subordinates were already the most trusted aides I had painstakingly selected, yet even among them, a Thousand-Faced Demon had slipped in."

"Truthfully, during our journey, we had noticed something amiss with Little Lu. Thanks to Master Yan's divine craftsmanship, this demon was exposed."

Though Meng Zhun smiled and expressed his gratitude with utmost respect, the exhaustion and sorrow etched across his face made it impossible for Yan Luoyue to utter even a single word of polite deflection.

The black-robed artifact master sighed deeply.

"City Lord Meng, your noble spirit in turning the tide at this critical hour commands my deepest admiration."

"Before sunset today, I shall forge a hundred Tracking Nets for you—though these artifacts can only function within a range of two zhang, I offer them with humility."

Before the words had fully left her lips, Meng Zhun's eyes reddened. His body swayed as if he might kneel once more.

"Master Yan, you have bestowed upon Chiyu City and its surrounding people a grace akin to rebirth!"

After being firmly steadied by Zhen Zhuo'er and the black-robed artifact master, Meng Zhun bowed deeply, his sleeves brushing the ground, and remained bent for a long, long time.

Today, Meng Zhun alone bowed low.

Tomorrow, the revitalized lifeblood of Chiyu City would return.

This best-of-three artifact-smithing competition, having barely concluded its first round, ended inconclusively with Meng Zhun forfeiting.

As for the stakes pledged before the match, Meng Zhun accepted his loss without complaint.

He was willing to offer them as payment to secure Master Yan and Zhen Zhuo'er's assistance.

With utter sincerity, Meng Zhun confessed, "Spirit stones, land deeds, materials, and treasures—all these can be accumulated over time. But my duty as city lord and the trust placed in me by my people cannot be measured in wealth."

"Well said, City Lord Meng. Your words ring profoundly true." Zhen Zhuo'er smiled warmly. "And so, Fellow Daoist Meng, the goodwill of Master Yan and myself need not be purchased with spirit stones."

At this very moment, Chiyu City stood at the brink of calamity.

Zhen Zhuo'er and Meng Zhun had been old acquaintances, and she admired his heroic resolve. How could she possibly exploit his desperation and kick a man while he was down?

Sincerity could move even metal and stone.

Meng Zhun's pure-hearted devotion had already paid the price to Zhen Zhuo'er and Yan Luoyue on his behalf.

...

Zhen Zhuo'er, with her vast resources, had prepared ten times the materials listed in Yan Luoyue's previous message.

As the saying goes, "unexpected fortune sprouts from random acts"—this serendipitous surplus proved perfect for forging the Tracking Nets.

After taking stock of the available materials, Yan Luoyue sent another message to Yin Wangyou, requesting Zhen Zhuo'er to dispatch someone to fetch her.

Among the materials required for the Tracking Nets, everything else was easily obtainable—except for the "sinews of a Thousand-Faced Demon," which served as the indispensable finishing touch for the artifacts.

The demon sinews Yan Luoyue had brought with her fell far short of what was needed to forge a hundred nets.

Thus, Yin Wangyou had to be summoned to extract the sinews on-site and provide the necessary materials.

...

To ensure City Lord Meng departed with an adequate number of nets, Zhen Zhuo'er immediately issued orders.

In no time, teams were mobilized—some to gather materials, others to fetch Yin Wangyou, and one even beheaded the freshly captured Thousand-Faced Demon on the spot, preparing to harvest its sinews right then and there. The entire operation spun into motion without pause.

Yan Luoyue even personally invited City Lord Meng to her side.

The shadow of her hood concealed the youthful face of the artifact master.

Yet her raspy voice, when it reached Meng Zhun's ears, sounded like divine wisdom itself.

He listened as Yan Luoyue said, "I have five key insights regarding the forging of these nets. If City Lord Meng is interested, I would gladly share them."

This way, even if the number of nets fell short, Meng Zhun could continue forging them himself upon returning to Chiyu City.

What? Such a precious, exclusive technique—and Master Yan was willing to impart it openly?

Upon hearing these words, Meng Zhun shuddered from head to toe.

Known for his carefree nature and wide social circle, he had always prided himself on being a heroic figure.

Yet lately, Meng Zhun had tasted the fickleness of human relationships. Just when he thought he’d reached a dead end, he received unexpected aid from two righteous souls—Yan Luoyue and Zhen Zhuo'er.

This black-robed artificer, rumored to be eccentric and aloof, turned out to possess a warmth and generosity unmatched by others.

Meng Zhun couldn’t help but sigh inwardly: What kind of hero am I, really?

A true hero stands firm between heaven and earth, unswayed by fame or wealth. When faced with the world’s calamities, they willingly share even their most prized techniques—just like Master Yan!

On the spot, Meng Zhun raised his hand to the heavens and swore a solemn oath.

After receiving the method from Master Yan, he vowed never to disclose it. He would use it solely to lift the siege of Chiyu City, never exploiting this knowledge for personal gain or competition.

Beneath the black cloak, the young artificer fell silent for a moment before speaking hoarsely, "It’s just a minor trick. You flatter me, City Lord."

Yan Luoyue thought to herself, It really is just a minor trick.

Her inspiration for crafting the tracking nets came from a skill book titled Advanced Artificing: Eighteen Methods—Have You Mastered Them Yet?

The book was sold in the Convergence of Ten Thousand Realms game store for a mere hundred mid-grade spirit stones.

If one saved up enough, even a swordsman could buy it to pad their sword case—let alone an artificer.

As for why such a moderately advanced technique remained unknown even to artificers of Chiyu City Lord’s caliber…

Don’t ask Yan Luoyue. She had no idea either!

The scene appeared utterly ordinary, even heartwarming in its display of solidarity among artificers. But to Zhen Zhuo'er, it sent shockwaves through her heart.

Zhen Zhuo'er mused silently: Though Master Yan makes it seem effortless, City Lord Meng’s overwhelming gratitude suggests this technique is far from trivial.

If it were a secret of her sect, it couldn’t be shared with outsiders without permission.

Could it be… that Master Yan invented this technique herself?

To establish her own school of thought at such a young age…

In the shadows where no one could see, Zhen Zhuo'er quietly drew a sharp breath.

She suddenly realized that, in their past interactions, she might have underestimated Master Yan’s capabilities.

……

Without pause, Yan Luoyue crafted a hundred tracking nets in one go.

Fortunately, she had now reached the Foundation Establishment stage, granting her a more abundant reserve of spiritual energy.

Otherwise, such intensive crafting might have been beyond her endurance.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, she packed the hundred nets into a crate and handed them to the effusively grateful City Lord of Chiyu.

Accompanying the city lord was the young maiden Yin Wangyou.

After dissecting her second Thousand-Faced Demon corpse, she’d grown rather addicted.

Hearing that Chiyu City was currently plagued by a Thousand-Faced Demon outbreak, Yin Wangyou decided to join Meng Zhun, eager to continue her research.

Bathed in the awed gazes of onlookers, the noble and aloof black-robed artificer stood with hands clasped behind her back.

Her slender figure cut through the twilight like a blade, sharply dividing dusk from night.

Crimson sunset light spilled across her back as the artificer tilted her chin slightly beneath her hood, defiantly meeting the encroaching darkness.

From a certain angle, the artificer and the Chiyu City Lord stood together like twin pillars, holding back the tide of night.

Meng Zhun stared at Master Yan’s silhouette, his heart swelling with inexpressible gratitude.

In turbulent waters, a hero’s true nature is revealed. When the tide recedes, a noble soul emerges.

Clutching Master Yan’s sleeve, Meng Zhun lingered reluctantly.

"Master Yan’s integrity is beyond reproach. You’ve gifted me artifacts and shared your techniques, yet refuse any reward. I’m utterly ashamed."

Like a textbook sufferer of persecution complex, Yan Luoyue tugged her sleeve free and replied coolly:

"City Lord Meng needn’t stand on ceremony. You are a good city lord."

—As if I’d take the money!

Hidden beneath her cloak, Yan Luoyue secretly pursed her lips.

In her past life, donating these tracking nets would’ve been equivalent to disaster relief donations.

If Meng Zhun didn’t charge her, that was already generous—yet here he was trying to pay her instead.

Taking even a single spirit pearl from him would weigh on her conscience.

Meng Zhun shook his head ruefully. "I only act after the damage is done—hardly worthy of being called a good city lord. But you, Master, are a true hero who carries the world in your heart."

"When the Hundred Refinements Assembly convenes soon, please honor Chiyu City with a visit."

With that, he pressed a small box into Yan Luoyue’s hands.

"I know offering spirit stones or deeds is far too vulgar. Fortunately, I too am an artificer—else I’d have no way to express my gratitude."

"This item… I believe only someone of your virtue is fit to possess it."

Before Yan Luoyue could refuse, Meng Zhun boarded his transport—a massive black iron flying sphere.

Three days prior, during a birthday banquet, this very sphere had crashed through Zhen Zhuo'er’s roof. Thankfully, she hadn’t pursued the matter further.

Meng Zhun set off with his retinue, the rising hopes of the entire city tucked at his waist.

He steered his round, buoyant orb, rolling all the way into the distant glow of the sunset.

As she watched the lord of Chiyu City depart, Yan Luoyue heard the faint rustling of a brush behind her.

Turning around, she saw Ling Shuying, the elder of the crane brothers, engrossed in recording something.

Though the brothers had been gently ushered out of the room by Zhen Zhuo'er at the critical moment, missing Meng Zhun's full account, others had still briefed them on the events of Chiyu City to clear any misunderstandings.

Now, Ling Shuying bent over a bamboo scroll, his brush flying across the surface with swift, elegant strokes. When Yan Luoyue glanced over, she happened to catch him penning the final line.

The ink gleamed fresh upon the scroll—

"For your light upon my earnest heart, one night’s sorrow slips away."