Good Thing C2

Chapter 2 — Kneel

Wu Lingchan could not understand the strange, birdlike sounds they were making. Startled, he raised his hand and drew a stroke through the air.

“Mobao!”

The wound on his shoulder blade—pierced through by a Divine Transformation¹ stage artifact—had not yet healed. The pain made his hand tremble, and the brush slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor and transforming into a beautiful golden hairpin.

Mobao…

Xuanxiang gave no response.

In an instant, the scene before his collapse flashed vividly through his mind. The pain made Wu Lingchan’s entire body tremble; he stumbled, collapsing to his knees upon the couch.

Meng Ping, the Taiping Bow…

and Xuanxiang, whose spirit had been shattered before his very eyes.

Wu Lingchan was far too young to understand why his senior brother—who had grown up with him since childhood, always gentle and caring—had betrayed him at such a crucial moment.

He could not think of anything he had done wrong, nor could he fathom Meng Ping’s intentions. All he knew was that a burning heat seethed violently in his chest.

Wu Lingchan, lively by nature, had never before felt hatred so fierce.

The spirit of his life-bound weapon had been destroyed. The inkstone at his wrist now bore a layer of dull grey—that was Xuanxiang’s spirit, trying desperately to repair itself.

But Wu Lingchan was gravely injured; his cultivation had fallen all the way to the Qi Refining² stage, leaving him without even a trace of spiritual energy to sustain Xuanxiang’s reconstruction.

He stroked the cold surface of the inkstone, eyes growing red and wet.

A group of demon cultivators scurried out, soon returning with a man dressed in bone-white robes.

This newcomer’s features were fine and even—beside the grotesque, grinning demons, he looked almost celestial.

The “celestial” man’s eyes turned red when he saw Wu Lingchan alive. At once he gathered his robe and knelt.

“May the Demon God bless the young lord’s safe return.”

The other demons dropped to their knees as well, shouting a jumble of praises in that same incomprehensible language.

…They didn’t seem very intelligent.

Wu Lingchan still had tear-streaks on his face. Dazed, he lifted his head and saw a crowd of ferocious demons baring their fangs at him—and burst into tears again.

This time, from fear.

The Third Elder startled and quickly stepped forward, his tone gentle.

“Is the young lord’s shoulder wound still unhealed?—Fetch a cask of millennia-aged Spirit Nectar!”

Wu Lingchan could not understand their chattering speech, but as the wound at his neck began to burn, sealed fragments of memory seemed to stir and awaken.

As the man babbled on, Wu Lingchan realized with a start that he could now faintly understand a few words.

Young lord?

Healing?

Meng Ping’s Taiping Bow had been bestowed by the Sect Master of Xiaoyaofeng, containing three Divine Transformation stage arrows. A single shot could peel the skin from even the mightiest cultivator.

He could still feel the ache in his shoulder and neck, but miraculously—no limbs were missing.

Soon, several demons as broad as hills carried in a massive barrel, the rich scent of spirit nectar wafting through the room.

Wu Lingchan was stunned.

Spirit nectar was a sacred healing elixir—rumor said that a single drop could raise the dead. Even the mighty Xiaoyaofeng had only three drops in its centuries-long history.

And here it was—by the barrel?

What kind of outrageous place was this?

The Third Elder, unconcerned, gestured politely.

“Young lord, please.”

Wu Lingchan: “…”

That enormous barrel—did they mean for him to bathe in the millennia-aged spirit nectar?

Wu Lingchan hesitated. His fear subsided somewhat as he cautiously asked, “You call… me… what?”

The words were halting, like a child learning to speak.

The man’s eyes brightened further as he replied with a long string of sounds.

Wu Lingchan listened until his head spun, gesturing and guessing until he finally understood.

This was Kunfu Ruins³.

It bordered a forbidden region of the Three Realms known as Wangliao Tombs, and thus bore another infamous name—

The Demon Wastes.

For three thousand years, demonic energy had blanketed Kunfu Ruins. Its nine dominions and seventeen territories were all steeped in demonic cultivation; every native was a demon cultivator, and war was constant.

Rumor held that the previous Demon Lord had ruled Kunfu Ruins for nearly five centuries, until he was gravely wounded ten years ago and entered seclusion. His youngest son went missing, and his eldest, Chen She, temporarily took control.

The Third Elder, Jiang Zhengliu, spoke softly:

“When the young lord was five, a horde from Wangliao Tombs attacked the main city of Kunfu Ruins. Amid the chaos, you vanished, and your life-lamp went dark. The Lord believed you perished and has mourned ever since… If you doubt me, the true bloodline of the Demon Realm bears a golden seal—upon the neck.”

Wu Lingchan instinctively raised his hand to his neck.

That was where the Taiping Bow had grazed him. The wound still burned faintly—and beneath his fingers, he could feel a pattern spreading there.

—A single character: “Wu (乌).”

“Wu—that was your mother’s surname,” Jiang Zhengliu explained. “She died protecting you, leaving her name to you. I could never mistake that mark.”

At the word mother, Wu Lingchan froze.

All his life, though gifted in cultivation, he had never been liked. Many whispered behind his back, calling him a bastard without father or mother.

Wu Lingchan had never felt hurt; he thought it was simply the truth, not an insult.

Now, stroking the burning mark at his neck, he thought in a daze—

So I have a mother too.

The title young lord began to feel a little more real. He asked, “Then… my father?”

At that, Jiang Zhengliu’s face darkened.

“Chen She usurped the throne and confined the Lord within Tonglan Palace. Outwardly, he claims the Lord is still gravely injured. A wolf’s heart—truly despicable.”

Wu Lingchan’s understanding of the demonic tongue was about that of a five-year-old; he caught only fragments and thought the new ruler’s name had four syllables. He repeated after him:

“Chen She Na…”

“Good child, don’t repeat that,” Jiang Zhengliu stopped him. “Your return is most timely. Lord Chen—no, that man—has ruled Kunfu Ruins for years. He is soon to ascend officially, and the clans are in uproar. Your presence now could make all the difference.”

Wu Lingchan half-understood.

His elder brother was to become ruler—what did that have to do with him?

Seeing he still didn’t grasp it, Jiang Zhengliu pressed on.

“In the Demon Wastes, strength reigns supreme—but bloodline is indispensable. Chen She may be powerful, but his blood is not true. The next ruler ought to bear the rightful lineage.”

The phrasing was strange and difficult; Wu Lingchan thought hard and extracted a few key words.

Strength, best, something bloodline…

He nodded.

“Then my brother—what is his cultivation level?”

“Refining Spirit and Returning to Void⁴.”

Wu Lingchan, still stuck in Qi Refining, was thunderstruck.

Even the Grand Elder of the Celestial Alliance was only at Divine Transformation, yet Chen She was two realms above that?

If Chen She became the new ruler, then as the young lord, Wu Lingchan might regain his cultivation—and Xuanxiang could finally re-form its spirit.

He nodded heavily.

“I understand.”

Jiang Zhengliu smiled with relief, dipping a cloth into the spirit nectar and gently wiping the still-unhealed wound on his shoulder.

Just then, a commotion sounded outside.

“Stop!”

“Hey! You can’t enter here!”

“Lord Xun, halt!”

Jiang Zhengliu’s brow furrowed in annoyance.

A loud crash—the door was kicked open, and a half-laughing voice rang out.

“Elder Jiang, I heard the young lord has awakened. Lord Chen sent me to escort him to the Ice-Severing Terrace.”

Jiang Zhengliu calmly dressed Wu Lingchan, not even lifting his head.

“The young lord is still injured. He cannot rise.”

Wu Lingchan looked up curiously.

Cold wind and snow howled through the doorway. The newcomer was tall and broad-shouldered, his dark armor dusted with snow. He leaned idly against the doorframe, smiling lazily.

“If even a whole barrel of thousand-year spirit nectar can’t heal him, such a precious young lord ought all the more to be examined by the healers at Ice-Severing Terrace.”

Jiang Zhengliu sneered.

“That will not be necessary, Lord Xun.”

Xun Ye laughed, twisting his armored wrist with a metallic screech. From the swirling storm, he drew a gleaming blade.

“In that case, I’ll just personally invite the young lord.”

Jiang Zhengliu’s face darkened.

Before he could rebuke him, Wu Lingchan, sharp enough to catch the word invite, spoke up curiously.

“Invite me? Shouldn’t you kneel and beg politely if you wish to invite me? Why draw your blade?”

Was that how demons invited people?

Xun Ye: “?”

He lifted his eyelids impatiently—and froze.

Inside the sparse chamber, Wu Lingchan had risen from the couch. He wore a red robe embroidered with faint gold maple leaves, black hair tumbling loosely over his shoulders, his frame so frail that a gust might knock him over.

—It was a beauty the whole of Kunfu Ruins had never seen before: exquisite, and utterly fragile.

For a heartbeat, Xun Ye was stunned by that face. Then he sneered.

“According to the young lord, how should I invite you?”

Wu Lingchan tilted his chin.

“Kneel.”

Xun Ye: “?”

Jiang Zhengliu’s expression turned grim; even he was dumbstruck.

Xun Ye had followed Chen She since childhood, a man of high rank who had survived the beast tides of Wangliao Tombs unscathed. Never in his life had anyone dared to insult him so. For a long moment, he simply laughed in fury.

He hissed, voice sharp as his blade.

“Does the young lord even know what he’s saying?”

“I do.”

As the mark on his neck grew hotter, Wu Lingchan’s eyes slowly flushed red.

“You kneel, invite me, and I’ll go.”

Xun Ye: “…”

Even Jiang Zhengliu was terrified now. He hurried to Wu Lingchan’s side, lest Xun Ye, in his rage, cleave the boy in two.

“Young lord, he is Lord Chen’s second-in-command. His temper is odd—best not provoke him.”

Wu Lingchan blinked in confusion.

How did I provoke him?

Xun Ye let out a chilling laugh and lifted his blade—ready to kill this ignorant, foolish boy—

—but then a red light flickered at his neck.

Someone had sent him a voice transmission.

Xun Ye’s face twisted. After a long moment, he actually bent one knee, laid his sword across it, and bowed his head.

—A full gesture of submission.

“Forgive me, young lord. I humbly invite you to Ice-Severing Terrace.”

Jiang Zhengliu drew a quiet breath.

Wu Lingchan, oblivious to his own recklessness, was thoroughly satisfied.

“Now that’s how one invites. You may rise.”

Every demon in the room fell silent.

The mark of “Wu,” proof of the purest demonic bloodline, indeed placed the young lord second only to the Demon Lord himself.

Yet with the previous Lord in seclusion and all authority in Chen She’s hands, this “young lord” title was but an empty shell.

In such a precarious position, he had dared to make Chen She’s subordinate kneel before him.

…Was he not afraid of death?

Jiang Zhengliu recovered at last, unable to suppress a smile.

Freshly returned to the Demon Wastes, and already the young lord had used Xun Ye to deliver Chen She a fine slap to the face.

This little prince was not to be underestimated.

Perhaps fearing that Chen She might indeed kill Wu Lingchan on sight, Jiang Zhengliu had chosen the most remote path to Ice-Severing Terrace—half a day’s flight, even by wind-riding.

Wu Lingchan, still weak and pale from blood loss, sat atop the giant kite-beast. His wide sleeves fluttered in the wind as he gazed downward.

The main city of Kunfu Ruins was lined entirely with crimson maples.

Groups of demon cultivators patrolled below, each radiating an intimidating aura—at least Nascent Soul⁵ level—and every one of them bore strange markings on their skin.

Wu Lingchan tilted his head to look, then turned to Xun Ye.

“Those marks on your neck—what do they say?”

Xun Ye rolled his eyes. Does he not even recognize words, this idiot?

“We serve Lord Chen. These are not words—they’re the ‘Chen’ seal.”

Wu Lingchan’s eyes lit with understanding.

“Then if someone serves me, will they draw the ‘Wu’ seal on their faces too?”

If he gathered followers, could he not lead them to take revenge upon Xiaoyaofeng?

Jiang Zhengliu’s eyelids twitched.

Only the Demon Lord could grant such seals.

Truly, this young lord’s ambitions were vast—barely returned, and already thinking of reclaiming the throne.

Xun Ye gave a soft laugh, suddenly amused.

For a man awaiting death, Lord Xun was remarkably tolerant. He even smiled.

“Of course, young lord. You are indeed most clever.”

Wu Lingchan, who loved praise, answered modestly,

“Yes.”

Xun Ye’s smile froze, then turned cold.

Chen She had always despised fools.

And this one was such a spectacular fool—once he met Chen She, he’d probably be dead within two sentences.

Just wait for it.

Footnotes:

1. Divine Transformation (化神境) — A high cultivation stage in xianxia, where one’s spirit separates from the body and gains independent power.

2. Qi Refining (炼气期) — The earliest stage of cultivation; a beginner realm where spiritual energy is first refined.

3. Kunfu Ruins (昆拂墟) — A region of the Demon Realm, also called Demon Wastes (魔墟), notorious for demonic energy and endless wars.

4. Refining Spirit and Returning to Void (炼神还虚) — A level far beyond Divine Transformation; cultivators here transcend the limits of flesh, nearing immortality.

5. Nascent Soul (元婴期) — A powerful stage below Divine Transformation, where the cultivator’s soul forms its own spiritual body.