When Destiny Brings the Demon

Sima Jiao had never been one for pleasant expressions, perpetually plagued by pain and irritation. His volatile moods stemmed from an inherited bloodline affliction, the agony from the spirit fire constantly searing within his body, and his ferocity from the greed and malice others projected onto him.

At times, even he couldn’t control his emotions—nor did he bother to restrain them.

As they drew closer to Hundred Phoenix Mountain, Sima Jiao’s expression grew increasingly dark and grim. By the time they passed through the first barrier at the mountain’s base, the unrestrained aura of Hundred Phoenix Mountain made his eyes nearly turn blood-red.

To Yan Laoye, Hundred Phoenix Mountain was merely a towering spiritual mountain—like most in this world, rich in spiritual energy, brimming with vitality, even exuding an air of sanctity. But to Sima Jiao, this so-called sacred mountain was akin to purgatory. Crimson flames, thick with resentment, shrouded its slopes, and ghostly wails threatened to pierce the heavens, stabbing into his mind with unbearable pain.

"Leave us here," the Nascent Soul cultivator said, stopping at the foot of the mountain to wait for someone to collect the infant.

They arrived swiftly—two cultivators, a man and a woman, dressed in robes embroidered with flame motifs, their expressions carrying an air of lofty arrogance. They clearly held Yan Laoye in contempt. Their task was to take the child and test its bloodline. If the bloodline was potent, Yan Laoye would be handsomely rewarded. If not, the child would be returned to him.

"Wait here. You know the rules—no wandering or gawking," the female cultivator said, eyeing Sima Jiao with particular displeasure at his expression.

The middle-aged male cultivator who had escorted Yan Laoye bowed respectfully to the pair before turning to scold Sima Jiao. "Ignorant fool! Do not disrespect the spiritual mountain!"

"Spiritual mountain?" Sima Jiao suddenly sneered, reaching out and seizing the man. Scarlet flames instantly engulfed him.

The others were stunned by the sudden violence. Yan Laoye gaped in terror, scrambling away on hands and knees before curling into a trembling ball. The two cultivators holding the infant reacted quickly, preparing to alert the mountain’s guards—but Sima Jiao gave them no chance. Before they could make a sound, they froze in place, unable to move.

After burning one man to ashes, Sima Jiao casually incinerated the other male cultivator as well. Killing a Nascent Soul cultivator seemed as effortless to him as plucking a flower would be to a mortal, leaving the female cultivator utterly terrified.

When he turned his gaze to her, the woman holding the child had gone deathly pale, her eyes brimming with fear. Her cultivation was not weak—she was a minor overseer, accustomed to a life of ease. Today was the first time she had faced such overwhelming pressure. None of her spells, spiritual power, or artifacts could be summoned; she was completely suppressed.

Worse, she couldn’t even muster the will to resist. Only boundless terror invaded her Soul Abode. A voice echoed in her mind, commanding her to obey this man.

Sima Jiao’s spiritual might was immense. After dominating the woman’s mind, he shapeshifted into the form of the male cultivator he had just killed and ordered, "Take me inside."The female cultivator, utterly powerless to resist, carried the child and led him deeper into Hundred Phoenix Mountain. The mountain was hidden, protected by numerous barriers. Ordinary cultivators outside the outermost barrier couldn’t even sense the secrets within. Even after passing the first barrier and reaching the foot of the mountain, one would still only be at the periphery. Only those with recognized status could enter the inner two barriers.

With Sima Jiao’s abilities, he could certainly break through these barriers and wreak havoc here. But that would alert their enemies, waste precious time, and likely allow some "vermin" to escape. There might even be those who could rush in to stop him.

Now, as he followed the female cultivator into the heart of Hundred Phoenix Mountain, no one obstructed him. All its secrets lay bare before him.

The red in Sima Jiao’s eyes grew increasingly dense, like thick blood dissolving within his gaze.

Countless palaces had been carved into the mountain’s core, housing many people—men and women alike—all bearing faint traces of flame qi similar to that of Yan Gongzi. These weak auras gathered together, resonating faintly with the spirit fire within Sima Jiao’s body.

These people were all descendants of the Fengshan Clan, though their bloodlines were diluted.

The Fengshan Clan had long advocated for pure-blooded reproduction, but over the years, some inevitably defied their elders’ wishes and left descendants with outsiders. These so-called "impure" bloodlines, once rejected by the Fengshan Clan, had scattered across the land. Generations later, they were gathered here by those with ulterior motives, forming this place.

From the outer to the inner regions, the female cultivator leading the way wasn’t of high rank and couldn’t access the deepest areas. But Sima Jiao had seen enough.

Within the mountain’s core, he could sense the presence of kindred auras—growing stronger the deeper one went. Those living on the outskirts had the weakest bloodline power. This place was like a tightly controlled prison.

Men and women mingled freely, their moans of pleasure rising intermittently. Everyone here had likely grown up in this environment, devoid of any sense of shame, their naked bodies everywhere. In a more spacious and secluded area, many pregnant women lived together. Some were even giving birth in one corner, the cries of newborns mingling with the scent of blood, carried by the wind to Sima Jiao.

The overseers here wore similar attire. Those handling menial tasks on the outskirts were mostly at the Qi Refining or Foundation Establishment stages. Mid-level managers were mostly at the Nascent Soul or Soul Formation stages. Sima Jiao could sense even stronger cultivators—Void Refining and beyond—guarding the depths. Yet, all those with Fengshan bloodlines, regardless of purity, were mere mortals without a shred of cultivation.

If these people were viewed as livestock, then this was nothing more than a breeding farm—humans raising animals in much the same way.

"I—I can only take you this far…" the female cultivator stammered, stopping in her tracks.

Sima Jiao reached out, gripped her neck, and reduced her to ashes with a flick of his wrist. Brushing away the dust, he strode deeper into the mountain’s core.

...

At the foot of Hundred Phoenix Mountain, Yan Laoye didn’t dare flee. Like a frightened mushroom, he crouched in place, nervously staring at the mountain. With poor aptitude, low cultivation, and a life of comfort, he was now stranded—the cultivator who had brought him here was dead, leaving him no way back. Despairing, he could only sit and wait.Suddenly, he felt the earth shake violently. Flames erupted out of nowhere on the serene and sacred Hundred Phoenix Mountain, engulfing the entire peak in a raging inferno that turned everything crimson.

Mountains crumbled, thunder roared, and fire spread like an ocean. Yan Laoye turned and fled in terror, his eyes filled with horror. He had never witnessed such a terrifying scene—the lush forests turned into scorched, cracked earth in the blink of an eye, even the rocks and soil melting under the flames. He could hear countless agonized screams, as if the sacred mountain had been suppressing countless vengeful spirits beneath it, and now they had broken free, surging into the sea of fire.

Was this... the fiery torment of hell? Yan Laoye's legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground, unable to move.

......

Liao Tingyan, an otter, lounged on the intricately carved beam above the stage in the Yan family mansion, cracking melon seeds while listening to the storyteller below.

"That demon cultivator, the Centipede, slaughtered three great cities in the southeast, devouring hundreds of thousands of common folk. Pitiful was the southeastern region, lacking any powerful immortal sects. Even when disciples from minor sects went to help, not only did they fail to save anyone, but they also lost their own lives. Back then, that Centipede wreaked havoc, becoming a scourge of the southeast, stirring such wrath that even the heavens and earth resented him. Even the nearby major sects couldn’t deal with him, needlessly sacrificing many disciples. Finally, someone sought help from the Gengchen Immortal Mansion. The then-leader, Taoist Lord Yongyou, righteous and benevolent, immediately agreed for the sake of the people and set off to exterminate the demon cultivator."

"That battle was fought so fiercely that even the ancient clashes of immortals and gods paled in comparison. The entire region was reduced to a thousand miles of scorched earth, and the once-rolling hills and towering mountains were flattened into open plains. Do you know why? They were literally beaten flat by the force of their battle!" The storyteller swayed his head animatedly, while the gathered women of the Yan household listened with rapt attention.

"Are immortals truly that powerful? We have quite a few cultivators in our mansion, but they don’t seem all that impressive," a young woman remarked skeptically.

"That’s not a fair comparison. How could they possibly measure up to the leader of our Gengchen Immortal Mansion? Even an inner disciple of the mansion could rival the sect leaders and elders of other sects. That’s why we’re known as the number one immortal mansion," another woman interjected proudly, her face glowing as if the Gengchen Immortal Mansion were her own family’s.

These were the women of the Yan household’s inner quarters—dozens of them, along with a horde of children who were now noisily playing in the garden outside. The clamor was overwhelming. Liao Tingyan, bored and unable to sleep, had stumbled upon this place while wandering and now lounged on the beam, listening to the tales.

The Yan family was exceedingly wealthy, keeping many entertainers and performers to pass the time. Today, the storyteller was recounting the deeds of the renowned figures from the Gengchen Immortal Mansion. The earlier tale of Taoist Lord Yongyou, the previous leader, was particularly well-regarded in the World of Cultivation.

Liao Tingyan knew little of these matters, but after lying here and listening for most of the day, she had gained some insight.

The chatter below quieted briefly before someone suddenly spoke up, "Hey, have you heard? They say the ancestor from our Gengchen Immortal Mansion has emerged from seclusion."

"...You mean Taoist Lord Cizang?"

"Of course, him. The last descendant of the Sima bloodline. Why haven’t we heard much about his deeds?"

"I haven’t either. Why don’t we ask the storyteller to tell us about him?"Upon hearing about Cizang Daojun, Liao Tingyan silently cracked another melon seed. She thought to herself, if these people knew this ancestor had previously lived in this mansion, they’d probably be scared to death.

The storyteller below continued, "This revered master, though of high seniority, isn’t very old in age and has been in seclusion for many years. There aren’t any particularly remarkable deeds to speak of. However, there are some minor rumors I can share with you ladies."

No matter where, the power of gossip is formidable. A group of women eagerly urged him to hurry up and tell.

The storyteller then said, "It is said that this Cizang Daojun was raised by Daojun Youyou, yet he didn’t turn out to be as upright and kind-hearted as his mentor. His temperament, it’s said, is extremely bad—how bad, you ask? Back then, a senior monk from the reclusive Buddhist kingdom of Upper Cloud Buddhist Temple was invited by Daojun Youyou to help Cizang Daojun suppress his inner demons. The name ‘Cizang’ was actually given by that very monk..."

What an eye-opener. Liao Tingyan couldn’t help but clap. Truly, masters hide among the common folk. This storyteller knew quite a lot—many things even the inner disciples of Gengchen Immortal Mansion weren’t aware of, yet he recounted them with such fluency.

After a day of listening to gossip, Liao Tingyan packed up the remaining melon seeds, cushions, and drinks, then flew back to her residence from the theater’s beam.

This residence was arranged by Yan Laoye—a very secluded courtyard with an extravagantly refined style. Liao Tingyan flew in through the window and flopped onto the cloud-patterned divan by the bed. No sooner had she settled in than the door was pushed open.

Sima Jiao had returned.

He was dripping blood everywhere—from his hair, his clothes, leaving trails of deep crimson. His eyes were a terrifying red, though his face remained as pale as ever. The moment he stepped inside, the heavy stench of blood instantly filled the entire room.

He sat down on a chair, tilted his head back, placed his hands on the armrests, and let out a long, exhausted breath. Suddenly, he coughed up a mouthful of blood, looking utterly spent—so much so that he couldn’t even be bothered to wipe it away. His gaze landed on Liao Tingyan, and then he said flatly, "I’m about to die."

Liao Tingyan: "?" What kind of joke is this?

She studied Sima Jiao carefully and noticed the faintly bulging veins on his cold, pale neck and the back of his exposed hands.

"Since the day I was born, many have wanted to kill me. They want my life, but I refuse to give it," Sima Jiao said darkly. "Whoever wants my life, I’ll take theirs instead."

Then, abruptly shifting his tone, he locked eyes with her and said, "But if you want my life right now, I’ll give it to you. Do you want it?"