Those images.
Those insane, unbearable, maddening images—
They all flooded in, one scene after another.
Over and over.
Day after day.
Until he became what he is now.
Chao’er’s face instantly turned pale.
As pale as a corpse.
“No…”
She murmured, shaking her head.
“No… this isn’t me… this isn’t me…”
She finally understood. The Demoness had taken the twisted, corrupted love buried deep in her own heart—the kind she never dared to voice—and amplified it infinitely, granting it the terrifying power to be acted upon.
The images kept coming.
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”
Chao’er collapsed onto her knees in the mud, her hands clutching her hair, nails digging deep into her scalp.
Only this self-inflicted pain could slightly offset the heart-rending remorse gnawing at her like ten thousand ants.
The scenes from her memory replayed in her mind like a revolving lantern—
When she first arrived at Jiaoyue Peak and cried secretly at night from homesickness, Master’s Husband had carried a solitary lantern, gently pushed open her door, told her amusing stories from the foot of the mountain, and with a warm palm, awkwardly yet tenderly patted her back.
When she failed her first attempt at drawing Qi into her body and was so discouraged she refused to eat, it was Master’s Husband who specially went to the kitchen to make her favorite Spirit Rice Cakes, patiently explaining the key points again and again.
One year during the Lantern Festival, Master’s Husband had lifted her onto his shoulders to see the lanterns, holding the half-eaten candied hawthorn she had bitten, smiling and saying, “Hold on tight, Chao’er.”
That time she was injured during sword practice, Master’s Husband had stayed by her bedside late into the night, applying medicine while tears fell, saying, “If it hurts, cry. I’m here.”
It was Master’s Husband who, on the eve of the Mystic Realm Trial, placed that Storage Bag filled with all his hard work and care into her hands.
The Master’s Husband in those memories was light, was warmth, was the only anchor in her dim life, a treasure she carefully cherished, feeling even touching it was a desecration.
He was the moon she secretly gazed upon in the deepest part of her heart, a feeling she didn’t even dare to easily acknowledge herself.
But what had she done?
‘I turned the person who treated me like a precious pearl into this broken state.’
“It was the Demonic Thoughts… it was the Demoness…” Chao’er trembled as she raised her hand, looking at the lines on her palm.
Large teardrops fell onto the back of her hand. “It was the desires hidden in my heart that dragged Master’s Husband into hell…”
Sobbing, she untied her life-bound sword, Frost Moon, from her waist. Holding it with both hands, she raised it high above her head, the hilt pointing towards Shen Mo.
This was the heaviest ritual in the cultivation world—Offering the Sword.
It meant the owner voluntarily surrendered their life, allowing the other party to decide their fate.
“Master’s Husband…” Chao’er stopped about an arm’s length away from him, slowly knelt down, and kowtowed heavily.
Her forehead struck the gravel. Blood mixed with mud smeared across her face, but she didn’t dare wipe it.
“This disciple knows her sins are immense, that death ten thousand times over cannot atone. This sword was given to me by you. I return it to you now.”
“You can use it to kill me. Pierce my heart, or cut me into a thousand pieces. This disciple will harbor no resentment.”
“Just please… don’t look at me with that gaze as if I were already dead…”
“I beg you… Master’s Husband… even if you scold me once… or hit me…”
Shen Mo looked at the girl kneeling before him, covered in blood and grime, wagging her tail and begging for mercy like a dog.
If it were before, he would have held her in his arms, heart aching, applied medicine for her, and softly coaxed her not to be afraid.
But now…
“I know… saying ‘I’m sorry’ ten thousand times cannot make up for even one ten-thousandth of the harm I’ve caused you… I know anything I do now probably seems hypocritical and disgusting in your eyes… I know you may never want to see me again, may even hate me to the bone…”
“But… I beg you… let me finish…” Her tears fell in large drops onto the rock, spreading into dark, wet stains.
“It was me… my fault. It was the improper delusions I harbored in my heart long ago. It was my failure to guard my Dao Heart. It was me who let the demonic influence enter my body, letting that filthy thing amplify those vile thoughts, and then… then committed those beastly acts against you…”
“I dare not ask for your forgiveness… I don’t even dare to think of it…” She choked on her sobs, barely able to form words. “I only beg you… give me a chance… a chance… to atone.”
The clarity in Chao’er’s eyes lasted only for a brief moment before being extinguished like a candle flame by a gale.
The next second, her entire body was once again silently enveloped by Demonic Qi.
It rapidly twined and condensed around her slender neck, finally forming a pitch-black collar adorned with barbs.
Click.
The collar tightened. The barbs pierced her delicate skin. Blood trickled down along her collarbone, staining her clothes red.
But she didn’t even frown. Instead, she trembled with excitement from the pain.
From the front of the collar extended a black chain, similarly condensed from Demonic Qi, as if forged from the sinews of some Demonic Beast.
“Since Master’s Husband doesn’t want to kill me, or scold me…”
Chao’er crawled forward on her knees for two steps, as if presenting the most precious tribute, and pressed the chain into Shen Mo’s hand.
Her movements were forceful, yet carried a twisted gentleness.
“Then lock me up, Master’s Husband.”
“As long as I can be with Master’s Husband, this disciple can be your dog too! You can lead me, whip me, even lock me in a cage… Just please don’t drive me away.”
“Master’s Husband… is this apology… acceptable?”
“See, the collar is on, the chain is here… Master’s Husband, will you lead me? If you tell me to go east, I will never go west. If you tell me to die, I will die immediately… Just… don’t abandon me.”
Her eyes were filled with the thrill of self-objectification.
As if offering up control could exchange for a sense of security—of “being owned,” “being confirmed.”
As if it could forcibly twist the bloody, deformed, hurtful relationship between them into a stable connection of master and possession.
A chill ran down Shen Mo’s spine, wave after wave.
He looked at that dog chain, at Chao’er kneeling before him wearing the collar. His mind went blank.
What was this?
What was happening?
Had she gone mad?
Or—
Seeing he didn’t take it, Chao’er tilted her head.
The gesture was cute, exactly like when she was little.
But now, paired with the collar, the dog chain, and the darkness in her eyes, it was indescribably eerie.
“Master’s Husband?” she called him. “You don’t want to?”
‘Refuse her.’
‘Throw this damned chain in her face.’
‘If you don’t refuse, you’ll be entangled with this lunatic for the rest of your life.’
‘She’s not that innocent, lively little girl anymore. She’s the one who demanded so fiercely ten days ago, the one who pinned him down, bit him, refused to stop no matter how he pleaded.’
‘She’s a lunatic.’
‘A lunatic who loves him to madness.’
But… if he refused…
His gaze swept over the flicker of crimson in her eyes, ready to erupt again at any moment.
He knew Chao’er too well.
Or rather, he knew this monster whose desires had been amplified by Demonic Thoughts too well.
If he threw the chain back now and said “Get lost,” this lunatic would absolutely erupt immediately!
In the next moment, this very chain would likely be around his neck, the roles instantly reversed.
She might break his legs, truly turn him into a dog that could only crawl, then lock him away in a place devoid of light, making him wish for death but unable to die.
In her demonized state, she didn’t care about who was dominant. She only cared about the “connection” itself.
She only cared about binding the two of them together in an extreme way.
Whether under the guise of master and servant, teacher and disciple, or “tormentor and tormented.”
By comparison, holding this chain meant, on the surface at least, he was the master.
It could give her a morbid sense of satisfaction, make her temporarily… more docile.
He could also get a moment to catch his breath.
And so, under Chao’er’s gaze—so intense it felt almost solid, filled with madness and anticipation—Shen Mo’s hand, covered in bite marks, moved extremely slowly, with immense difficulty, and closed around the handle of the chain.
…
Outside the valley—
As far as the eye could see, it was a scene of devastation.