If you enjoy Bloodhound: The Demon Emperor's Bride , please support your author with Power Stones, comments, reviews, Golden Tickets, and gifts. Your encouragement means the world to me!"
Zhǐlán bowed her head slightly. "Your Highness, the demon realm is not so different from other realms. We have our own cultivation ranks, just as the witches and the devils have theirs…"
"From what I've heard from the other maidservants, cultivation in the Demon Realm is divided into seven great stages," Zhǐlán explained carefully. "Each stage has an early, middle, and late phase. The stages are—Shadow Vein, Dark Core, Night Flame, Moonshade, Blood Moon, Abyss Sovereign, and finally, the Eternal Night Stage."
She paused, then added in a low voice, "It has been more than five thousand years since anyone last reached the Eternal Night Stage… and that person, along with his lover, perished shortly after."
Feng Ling's brows arched slightly. So even the strongest were not untouchable. "What about Mo Tian? Which stage is he in?" she asked, feigning casual curiosity.
Zhǐlán froze. The question sent a shiver of unease down her spine, but she could only answer honestly. "No one knows His Majesty's exact stage. Each realm grants its own unique powers, yet those who advance never lose the abilities of the stages they've already passed.
His Majesty has never revealed the full extent of his strength,so no one can say for certain the true depth of His Majesty's cultivation.
But… people have seen him summon black flame weapons and armor. That alone suggests he should be in the early or middle phase of the Night Flame Stage. Beyond that—no one dares to guess."
Night Flame? Feng Ling's eyes narrowed. If he is concealing his true rank, then he might be far stronger than anyone realizes. That cunning bastard… how is she supposed to find anything useful to trade with that man if Mo Tian keeps everything hidden? Her gaze darkened as the thought burned in her heart.
Zhǐlán, noticing the shift in her mistress's expression, hesitated. "Your Highness, is something wrong?"
"Nothing." Feng Ling waved her off, her tone curt. Then, with a sharp glint in her eyes, she pressed, "Tell me instead about the palace… and those concubines of his."
Zhǐlán's gaze flickered. So Her Highness is still more curious about His Majesty than she lets on… she thought, but she kept her head bowed and began explaining the palace and the Demon Realm.
"So, you're telling me that some of Mo Tian's concubines weren't chosen by him at all, but given as part of treaties from lesser kingdoms and villages?" Feng Ling asked, her tone laced with faint disdain.
"Yes, Your Highness," Zhǐlán replied cautiously.
"And their powers?"
"Two are demons, another a witch, one from the devil race, and another from the beast clan," Zhǐlán listed. "But the two most favored are Yu Wei of the beast clan and Qing Yao of the devil race."
"I see." Feng Ling's lips curved into a cold, indifferent smile. Outwardly, she appeared calm, yet beneath that composure her mind was already scheming.
She suspected that Mo Tian might trust those two concubines enough to reveal secrets to them—and through them, she could find a way to extract the information she needed.
To her, they were insignificant, and as long as none of them dared cross her bottom line, she would regard them as nothing more than shadows within the palace.
Yet a shadow lingered in her thoughts. Strange… Mo Tian did not favor his own race, but instead placed greater value on those of other realms. Was it mere preference—or ambition? Perhaps he was using them for his own ends.
Perhaps his true desire was not only to rule the Demon Realm, but to extend his grasp over all the realms. And the Witch Queen… why had she remained silent? Why had she not defended their people?
Feng Ling's fingers curled into a trembling fist. If the Witch Queen had stood up to Mo Tian back then, perhaps she would not have been sent here… perhaps her family would still be alive, instead of slaughtered by that monster. Hatred burned deep within her chest, yet her face remained an unshaken mask of composure.
Meanwhile, the very man she loathed was enduring torment of his own. Behind the sealed doors of the hot spring bathing chamber, Mo Tian's body writhed in silent agony.
The searing pain was so fierce it felt as if death itself was clawing at his bones.Outside the steaming chamber, twenty guards stood motionless, their eyes sharp as they scanned every shadow, ready to cut down any bold trespasser.Yet the true turmoil was not beyond the doors but within them. Inside the hot spring, chaos churned beneath the surface.
Mo Tian sat in the steaming hot spring, cross-legged, his body trembling as violent waves of demonic qi surged within him, threatening to rip him apart from the inside. The once-crystal water hissed and bubbled, dark streaks of energy bleeding into it, staining the spring like ink spreading through glass.
At the edge of the hot spring, Yin Zhi and an older man pressed their palms forward, weaving their spiritual power together to form a stabilizing seal. Beads of sweat poured down their foreheads, their faces pale from the strain.
The demonic qi resisted their efforts, lashing out like a beast in chains. Yin Zhi staggered, nearly collapsing, and the older man caught him, forcing his power to hold steady until at last, with a shuddering breath, the violent surge began to calm.
Finally, the two men staggered back, collapsing to the ground, drenched in sweat.
Mo Tian's eyes remained closed, his long lashes casting shadows over his sharp features. He was deathly still, except for the faint tremor in his fingers as he forced the raging demonic qi deeper into his demonic core, suppressing it inch by inch. Minutes stretched into an hour, and no one dared to disturb him.
After what felt like an eternity, his eyes snapped open—crimson irises glowing faintly through the mist. He rose from the hot spring water with slow, deliberate grace.
The once-clear hot spring water was now a pool of midnight, the water tainted black by expelled demonic Qi. One look at it, and no one would believe this place had ever been a sacred source of spiritual energy.
Mo Tian raised a hand. A flicker of black flame ignited at his fingertips—cold, hungry, yet majestic. In a single sweep, the flame devoured the wetness of his robes, leaving them bone-dry.
He stepped out of the spring with calm indifference, his presence heavier, sharper—as though the suppression had only made his demonic power more terrifying.
Behind him, the corrupted spring shuddered. The blackened water sank into the stone as if swallowed by an unseen force, leaving behind crystal-clear waters once more, brimming faintly with spiritual energy.
Yin Zhi and the old physician looked up from where they sat, pale and drained, clutching their teacups with trembling hands.