Shu Mingye didn't stop riding for three days straight. No naps. No snacks. No complaining. Just him, his horse, his forty guards and a growing sense that something was going very wrong in Shulin.
Low level demons were not a problem. Any late-stage cultivator could slice through them. The real problem was High-level demons. And worse, high-level cultivators who were attacking the soldiers instead of helping. Assassins. Again.
Demons were classified pretty simply. Below level five was Low-level. Mostly beast-like creatures, big teeth, scary growls, but dumb as rocks. Soldiers handled them regularly.
Above level five was High-level. That's where things got weird. These demons weren't just beasts anymore. They looked more human than animal, but twisted, mutated human. Long limbs. Too many joints. Too many eyes.
And worse, they had spiritual energy.
And not just any kind. Human spiritual energy.
That was not normal.
The land outside the wall was basically a wasteland. The air was heavy, thick, and no spiritual energy flowed through it. The farther out you went, the worse it got. Just breathing it made cultivators feel like they hadn't meditated in a month. Normally, demons that wandered in were weak and slow, easy to kill. But these high-level ones? Not only did they have spiritual energy—they can wield it just like human cultivator. Sword-like claws. Fire from their limbs and all kinds of very unfriendly tricks.
They hunted cultivators on purpose.
They could sense spiritual energy in humans. And absorb it. Which meant they didn't cultivate like humans did—from nature, with patience and tea breaks. They cultivated by sucking spiritual energy from people with high cultivation levels.
Like gourmet monsters.
It made them extremely dangerous. Especially since they seemed to learn. Probably from each other. Possibly from books. Maybe even from watching people train.
Which brought up another scary thought.
According to old scrolls and military guides, demons were documented carefully: by level, type, body shape, number of legs (some had way too many), all of it. The highest level ever recorded was Level Ten. According to the scrolls, a level ten could shapeshift into a human form.
Shu Mingye had never seen one. Not even in the north. But now that he thought about it… if a Level Ten demon did disguise itself as a human…
Well, he probably wouldn't know until it was too late.
If they really looked human, how would he even know?
By the time he arrived at the second wall, the air already smelled like trouble, technically blood. Soldiers were still fighting tooth and nail, swinging swords, and yelling at each other to hold the line. Demons poured in. The ground was covered in bodies—some were soldiers, others were strangers in black clothes with black cloth masks. Definitely not local. Definitely not friendly.
Shu Mingye didn't pause to ask questions. The soldiers had been fighting for days with barely enough time to breathe, let alone complain. And among the mess, about twenty masked figures were still attacking. They were at least Late-stage cultivators, from the feel of their energy.
He could ask questions later.
Or never.
"Just kill them all," Shu Mingye thought cheerfully.
With a flick of his wrist, spiritual energy sparked in his palm. His sword appeared with a shimmer of black light—long, thin, deadly, and just dramatic enough to make sure everyone noticed. Its edges glowed with a deep crimson. Thin veins of fire writhed beneath the surface. Every movement of his wrist sent embers spiraling off the edge, twirling into the air before dissipating. He held it lazily in his hand.
Shu Mingye took a moment to observe the battlefield with mild disinterest.
To the left, Shanjun was locked in a flashy battle with a wind cultivator who was spinning around like a leaf in a hurricane. Late stage, fourth level. Too many spins. Probably needed a snack. Shanjun was thriving, he loved dramatic duels. Probably enjoying himself a little too much.
Closer to the center, a group of tired soldiers were slashing at low-level demons. It was messy, a little embarrassing, but mostly manageable.
His gaze shifted north. A high-level demon stood there, radiating earth spiritual energy. Level six. Big, hulking thing, with arms like tree trunks. Around it, three masked cultivators in black were slicing through soldiers. The soldiers were barely holding on.
Shu Mingye let out a slow breath and adjusted his grip on his sword.
This was going to be very messy.
With one clean motion, he moved—fast and silent. A blur of black and crimson. His sword glinted faintly, pulsing with red light.
As he charged, one clear thought went through his mind—not fear, not strategy—just an annoyed sigh from the depths of his overworked soul:
Why is it always me cleaning up the mess?
…..
The weather was suspiciously nice. Cool breeze. Clear skies. It felt almost illegal.
Linyue sat comfortably on the horse. She had dressed sensibly—black comfortable clothes and her hair tied in a high ponytail. Practical. Simple. Nap-ready, if needed.
As the horse trotted along the winding path, Linyue enjoyed the moment. Birds chirped. Trees swayed. The sun smiled politely. Nothing was on fire yet. A rare win.
Shen Zhenyu held the reins, steady and calm. His arm rested loosely around her waist, secure but not clingy. Linyue could tell, by the small furrow between his brows, that he was already deep in Thinking Mode—a dangerous state where snacks went uneaten, tea grew cold and basic human functions (like blinking or remembering his own name) were temporarily suspended.
"Should we show our faces or use a disguise?" he finally asked, keeping his eyes on the road.
Linyue tilted her head. "Hmm... Well, they think I'm a princess. And you're my personal guard."
"Yeah," Shen Zhenyu sighed. "And it might be a tiny problem if word spreads that the elegant Second Princess is out here dropkicking demons."
Linyue grinned. "Should we use jade dust powder, then?"
"As long as it doesn't rain," he muttered. With their luck, a dramatic thunderstorm would show up just to ruin everything and reveal Linyue's earth-shattering beauty mid-battle. That would really confuse the demons.
"Should we wear masks?" Linyue asked, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "But what if we get mistaken for assassins too?"
"Let's stop at the next town to buy some low-key masks," Shen Zhenyu said. "Something that says mysterious hero, not suspicious murderer."
"Alright," Linyue nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe something in white or bright colors."
They arrived at the small town just past noon and immediately went on their important, totally serious mission: find masks. Something low-key. Mysterious. Cool. Definitely not evil-looking.
After wandering through half the market, asking around and getting strange looks, they found… a festival shop. Not exactly what they were hoping for. But the sun was moving, time was ticking, and no other options had magically appeared. So they stepped inside.
It was an explosion of color.
Not exactly a tactical disguise warehouse.
This was the opposite of stealth. Every inch of the shop was covered in masks—bright, cheerful, absurd masks. They hung from the ceiling, crowded the walls, and overflowed from baskets. Rows of animal faces smiled down at them.
There were no "noble warrior" masks. No "cool but mysterious stranger" options. Just an army of cute chubby rabbits, grinning dragons, sleepy cows, and one very suspicious-looking duck.
Song Meiyu lit up immediately. Her entire face changed.
"Oh yes," she breathed, eyes sparkling.
Without hesitation, she grabbed a round, pink-cheeked rabbit mask and hugged it tightly. Then, she began handing out masks to the others.
To Linyue, Song Meiyu handed a cheeky white fox mask, with a mischievous grin and slanted eyes like it knew all your secrets.
To Shen Zhenyu, she handed a grumpy panda mask. The painted eyes had deep bags, and the droopy brows looked like it hadn't slept in a hundred years and wanted you to know it.
To He Yuying, she presented a smug-looking monkey mask—its mouth curled in a sly, almost punchable smirk.
Everyone stared at their assigned identities.
Song Meiyu was already tying hers on, swaying side to side in front of a mirror, admiring herself. "This is so cute. I look adorable," she nodded, nodding at her own reflection. "I'm definitely keeping this."
Linyue blinked at her fox mask. She held it up, studying the grin. "This does feel spiritually accurate," she admitted. Calm. Honest. Slightly disappointed in herself.
He Yuying opened his mouth, probably to object then closed it again, sighing in defeat. He did act like a monkey sometimes.
Shen Zhenyu held the panda mask at arm's length. He stared. The panda stared back. Both looked equally tired.
"… I hate this," he said flatly.
Song Meiyu beamed. "Perfect! That means it's working."
With that, the group paid the shopkeeper who looked vaguely confused but amused and walked back out, armed with festival masks and mildly bruised dignity.
Next stop: Shulin.
With a rabbit, a fox, a monkey, and one very unhappy panda.