Chapter 17#

The Little Waste Tames the Sinister Demon King (17)

In the past half month, Ling Yan had consumed quite a few spiritual herbs from the demon realm, but none could compare to the vast, surging spiritual energy contained within these two plants before him.

No sooner had the two herbs entered his stomach than Ling Yan felt a wave of biting cold and then scorching heat—two extreme forces interweaving like a tidal surge, nearly tearing him apart.

Fortunately, a thick and powerful demonic aura coiled around his body the entire time, slowly dissolving the agonizing pain and guiding the power of the herbs into his meridians.

After an unknown stretch of time, Ling Yan slowly opened his tea-colored eyes.

He felt his spiritual energy flowing abundantly throughout his body, no longer plagued by the stagnant weakness of before. He lifted his hand slightly and, with a light exertion of force, a bright crimson spiritual light leaped into his palm, gleaming brilliantly.

The cultivation realms of human cultivators were divided by seven colors—red, orange, yellow, green, cyan, blue, and purple—each further split into three grades: initial, mid, and high. Even the exceptionally talented Xiao Wu, after more than a decade of arduous cultivation, had only reached the yellow spirit realm. Yet now, Ling Yan—once regarded as a “waste”—had jumped straight to becoming a red spirit cultivator after merely consuming two spiritual herbs.

Ling Yan examined the dancing red spiritual energy in his palm and raised an eyebrow slightly. “These herbs are truly extraordinary, to be able to generate spiritual power even in someone with my meager constitution.”

Mo Yan toyed with the loose sash of Ling Yan’s robe, let out a low chuckle, and explained, “This herb grows at the intersection of extreme yin and extreme yang—a rare find that appears once in a thousand years. I happened upon it during my travels in the early years. I didn’t expect that after you took it, it would unclog your blocked meridians… I suppose it can be considered a stroke of fortune.”

Ling Yan sat cross-legged on the bed, the corners of his lips curving into a bright smile as he asked.

“So I’m not a little waste anymore?”

Mo Yan’s fingers, which had been playing with Ling Yan’s sash, paused briefly. Then he lifted his eyes and said calmly, “Merely the initial grade of the red spirit. Your meridians have always been naturally blocked. Even if you practice from now on, it will likely be difficult to achieve great success.”

“…”

Oh.

In other words, he was still a waste.

This little bit of progress was nothing more than an accident.

Just as Ling Yan was lost in thought, a cold, slender snake tongue suddenly licked his cheek lightly—a slow, gentle motion that sent a subtle shiver through him.

Then, Mo Yan’s deep voice whispered by his ear.

“Yan Yan, help me through my breeding season.”

Ling Yan lounged lazily among the embroidered bedclothes, the corners of his eyes tilted upward, smiling like a sly cat.

“Then you’ll have to treat me well.”

Mo Yan leaned down and pressed him into the soft bedding, planting dense kisses from his cheek all the way to his ear, his voice hoarse and seductive.

“I’ll make sure you’re satisfied.”

The temperature in the hall quietly rose, the air thick with a damp and ambiguous atmosphere.

While kissing him, Mo Yan reached out and tugged at the gold-embroidered red sash. As his fingers roamed, they suddenly touched a small porcelain bottle.

He paused, picked up the bottle, and held it before his eyes, his voice low and husky as he asked.

“What is this?”

Ling Yan lay among the scattered robes, his lips a vivid red from the kissing, the corners of his eyes tinged with a faint flush. He looked at the porcelain bottle in Mo Yan’s hand and curled his lips slightly. “Red Ember Ashes.”

The moment the words fell, the previously tender and intimate bedchamber turned cold.

Mo Yan suddenly grabbed Ling Yan by the neck and pulled him close. A fierce anger kindled in his golden pupils as he pressed in a low, certain voice, “Were you planning to use it on me?”

“…Yes.”

The hand around his neck hadn’t exerted much force, but upon hearing the answer, it tightened a little.

Mo Yan’s voice grew colder. “Why?”

Ling Yan paid no heed to the hand around his neck. He simply met Mo Yan’s gaze calmly, his tone as light as water. “You are the demon king, and I am human. It’s only natural for a human to want to kill you.”

The bedchamber fell into utter silence, the air seeming to freeze.

“Well said—‘It’s only natural for a human to want to kill you.’” Mo Yan’s hand still gripped Ling Yan’s neck as he stared into his eyes. In the depths of those golden orbs, a barely perceptible trace of pain flickered. “But Yan Yan, have you forgotten—we paid homage to heaven and earth, to the sun and moon, sealed a blood covenant, and are lawfully wedded husband and wife.”

Ling Yan’s tea-colored eyes brightened slightly, as if intrigued by these words. He asked softly in return.

“So what?”

Mo Yan gazed at him, his stare deep as an abyss, and spoke each word with solemn weight. “So, if you truly want my life… you’ll have to die with me.”

Ling Yan’s lips curved upward silently as he uttered a single word.

“Fine.”

Live together.

Die together.

The human and the demon locked eyes, their gazes roiling with a near-obsessive possessiveness and blazing emotions that tangled together, inseparable.

Mo Yan slowly released the hand around Ling Yan’s neck and asked in a low voice, “When did you originally plan to administer the poison?”

Ling Yan, however, let out a light laugh, his tone languid.

“I never planned to poison you.”

“Then this…?”

Mo Yan frowned slightly, lowering his eyes to look at the porcelain bottle in his hand, his gaze full of doubt.

Ling Yan’s tone was calm, as if discussing something trivial. “A gift from my elder brother at home; it was hard for me to refuse. I was just worried about how to dispose of it—might as well leave it to you to handle.”

Mo Yan’s eyes swept over Ling Yan’s face. Seeing his composed demeanor, without the slightest hint of guilt, he shifted his focus back to the porcelain bottle in his hand.

Then he flung his arm and tossed it out of the bed.

The next second, a cluster of blue flame ignited out of thin air, instantly devouring the bottle completely.

Not even a trace of ash remained.

Then he suddenly leaned down, sealed Ling Yan’s lips, and kissed him fiercely. It was less a kiss and more a punishing bite, as if venting all his surging emotions.

Pressing against Ling Yan’s lips, he spoke in a deep, fierce voice.

“Yan Yan, I don’t care if you’re human or demon—since you’ve become my wife, your bones and your blood can only bear my name.”

Ling Yan opened his tea-colored eyes. Instead of retreating, he leaned in to return the kiss, laughing between tangled breaths. “Mo Yan, you’re so annoying.”

The next moment, the black and crimson figures intertwined once more.

Boundless passion, day and night without end.

After an unknown stretch of time, Ling Yan’s mind felt only a hazy blankness, barely able to think. The words he’d said most often during this period were probably “slow down.”

He remembered the bold claims he’d made to Ling Xiaoqi.

I’ll be strong.

Strong was an understatement.

It was like being devoured to the bone, his very soul crushed.

His whole body ached, feeling as if his skeleton was about to fall apart.

If not for all the spiritual herbs he’d consumed these past days, with his original waste of a constitution, he’d have long since collapsed and perished.

Just then, a cool snake tongue slowly licked the side of Ling Yan’s neck again, bringing a subtle, familiar sensation.

Ling Yan couldn’t even be bothered to lift his eyelids; he just rolled his eyes weakly—

Sure enough, this guy was at it again.

And as expected, the next second, Mo Yan’s low voice rang by his ear, carrying an undisguised desire.

“Yan Yan, I still want more.”