The cultivation techniques practiced by demons were not merely overbearing—they thrived on slaughter itself.
Demons pursued strength without restraint. If ten thousand lives stood between them and power, ten thousand corpses would pave their path forward.
Li Fei possessed neither an exceptional physique nor remarkable talent.
Had he walked the orthodox path and cultivated Immortal Arts, his ceiling would have been dismally low, his potential drained long before he ever glimpsed true power.
A Demon Art, then, became the only logical choice.
It defied heavenly principles, yes—but it granted him strength. More critically, it granted him strength quickly.
As long as he concealed what he practiced, no one could touch him.
Accusations without evidence were merely noise, and his position as Second Prince—bastard-born though he was—still carried considerable weight in the imperial court.
He simply needed discretion—revealing his powers only to those who would either become allies or end up as corpses.
Despite cultivating the Bloodlust Demon Art, Li Fei had retained his sanity.
He never struck first, never killed without provocation. The technique had not consumed him, had not transformed him into the mindless beast that claimed most demon cultivators.
Perhaps I'm special, he often thought, a flicker of gratitude warming his chest.
Otherwise, why would the Art spare me?
His cultivation had already pierced into the Holy Induction Realm, placing him on equal footing with his imperial brother.
His rise, however, had been explosive compared to First Prince Li Xun's methodical climb—and that acceleration stemmed from a single, terrible treasure obtained from the Great Demon's inheritance.
Puppets.
One thousand of them, each possessed of Marquis Realm strength. A force that could, when properly arrayed in formation, challenge even Pseudo-God Realm experts.
But the true horror lay in their commander: a Puppet Leader whose power had already reached the Pseudo-God Realm.
With the formation's blessing channeling the strength of all one thousand subordinates through him, this leader could rival even a Void God.
Such overwhelming force, completely subservient to a prince barely into adulthood, represented a threat the court could not ignore.
Most officials of the Heavenly Dragon Dynasty cultivated to the Marquis, King, or Pseudo-God Realms—respectable, but not exceptional.
Many looked at Li Fei's terrifying retinue and drew an inevitable conclusion: some hidden power supported him from the shadows, some ancient faction making its move through a prince who served as their instrument.
Neutral officials began tilting toward Li Fei's camp like grass bending before an oncoming storm.
The dynasty's true powerhouses—generals who had reached the True Immortal, Quasi-Saint, and Saint Realms—remained conspicuously uninvolved in the succession struggle.
Their loyalty belonged to the current Emperor alone. Until the situation grew dire, they would not choose sides.
The Bloodlust Demon Art, naturally, demanded blood. Cultivator blood, specifically—rich with spiritual energy, thick with power.
Li Fei satisfied these cravings periodically, discreetly ordering death row inmates delivered to his private quarters.
Everything occurred in absolute secrecy. No one questioned what became of condemned criminals already scheduled for execution.
After all, they were dead men already. What did it matter when the blade fell?
...
Meanwhile, at the Ye Family estate, Yun Yao gripped Yun Xi's hand with deceptive gentleness as they walked, her words flowing like silk over a hidden blade.
"Yun Xi, you've seen Qian'er now—what do you think?
Isn't he far more handsome than you remembered?
He's grown into such a fine man without us even realizing it."
Her voice softened further, taking on the warm texture of maternal affection—though her eyes remained calculating, sharp as polished steel.
"Don't underestimate him just because of what happened.
How many cultivators suffer Qi Deviation and wake again, not merely intact but stronger?
Qian'er accomplished exactly that.
His cultivation didn't fall—it soared directly to the Holy Induction Realm."
Pride saturated every syllable now, genuine and undisguised.
"My Qian'er is the greatest prodigy the Immortal Realm has ever produced.
Mark my words—he'll surpass even the Ye Clan Founder someday."
Ye Qian had indeed informed his family of his breakthrough, though he'd wisely omitted certain key details.
His parents had showered him with gifts and affection. His maids had offered congratulations. Yue Ming's awkward, flustered reaction had been particularly amusing.
Yun Xi turned her head, glancing back toward Ye Qian, who followed several paces behind. Her beautiful eyes gleamed with curiosity.
How can someone completely undo the effects of Qi Deviation?
How does someone transform catastrophe into fortune, curse into blessing?
Such miracles were vanishingly rare.
Yun Yao caught that glance immediately. The smile on her lips widened, sharpened—a predator scenting blood.
"Yun Xi, you know I have only this one son. And you... you're like half my daughter already.
So I hope—truly hope—you can become my daughter in full."
The implication landed with perfect clarity.
Yun Xi's fair cheeks flushed crimson.
"This… Aunt, perhaps we should take things a little more slowly?
I've only just arrived, and I think this deserves some careful consideration."
She didn't refuse. She didn't agree either.
Her impression of Ye Qian was favorable—very favorable—but propriety demanded a certain reserve.
She was a young woman of good family, not some lovesick fool who'd abandon dignity at the first opportunity.
Yun Yao, who had orchestrated far more ruthless schemes than mere marriage arrangements, understood perfectly. The girl wasn't ready yet, but she wasn't refusing.
Good enough.
She nodded repeatedly, masking her satisfaction behind a beaming smile.
"Of course, of course… but at least stay close to him for this visit.
The more time you spend with Qian'er, the better you'll understand just how remarkable he is.
Besides, your father mentioned this arrangement to me years ago; you were simply too young then to understand."
Yun Xi's embarrassment intensified. She hadn't known. How could she have known what her father planned when she was still a child?
…
Night descended gradually, moonlight silvering the estate's elegant architecture.
Ye Qian's palace blazed with lamplight and activity.
Yun Xi ought to have been assigned to the guest quarters—but Yun Yao had ensured otherwise, charmingly insisting that Ye Qian personally escort the girl to his own residence and 'properly welcome' her.
Her tone had brooked absolutely no refusal when it came to securing advantages for her beloved son.
Yun Xi attempted to decline, but her aunt's pressure proved insurmountable.
She acquiesced reluctantly.
Li Luo, meanwhile, no longer entertained any ambitious thoughts regarding Yun Xi. He retreated obediently to the guest quarters without protest.
Previously, he might have pursued her relentlessly despite obstacles.
Now? He lacked the courage entirely.
Yun Yao had laid her trap with chilling clarity. Unless Li Luo was a complete fool—which he wasn't—he could see exactly what she'd orchestrated, and the consequences awaiting anyone who dared interfere.
If he persisted in courting Yun Xi, serious repercussions would follow. Guaranteed.
Moreover, he needed Ye Qian's backing. How could he possibly risk that alliance over a woman, however beautiful?
Yun Xi truly was breathtaking, yes. She made his heart pound, made his thoughts scatter like startled birds.
But compared to imperial ambition? Compared to the Dragon Throne itself?
She was nothing.
Once he seized that throne, he could have any woman in the realm. Thousands of beauties would line up for his favor.
Losing his greatest supporter for the sake of one girl—no matter how lovely—would be the height of idiocy.