The Evil Consort could not stand to hear Yan Zhen utter such words. He had the gall to call her “mother-in-law” even after he would soon be twisted into her shameless puppet. It was utterly outrageous!
Still, to prevent him from using his trump card, she swallowed her towering rage. The thought that this brat was about to become her pawn gradually lifted her mood from stormy gloom to clear skies.
She rose from the Skeleton Throne, looming over the handsome youth with a condescending gaze. In a flat voice, she said, “It’s not impossible for This Palace to betroth Jiuyou to you. But first, you must obey This Palace completely and serve me.”
Yan Zhen blinked, putting on his most utterly harmless expression. “If Lady Evil Consort agrees to marry Jiuyou to me, then you’d be my mother-in-law. Of course I’d listen to my elders.”
“Cut the nonsense. You obey first, and only then will This Palace grant you Jiuyou!”
“. . . So what exactly does Lady Evil Consort want me to do? If it’s dealing with the Demon Domain Lord, I’d be more than happy to.”
Though the Evil Consort and the Demon Domain Lord had the title of marriage between them, theirs was merely a partnership of convenience. Each harbored their own schemes: the Demon Domain Lord sought to seize the Evil God’s authority and shatter the shackles preventing ascension to godhood, while the Evil Consort aimed to leverage the Demon Domain’s forces to restore the Evil God Clan’s former glory.
Should the Demon Domain Lord perish, she could rightfully take command of his followers—a golden opportunity she could scarcely believe.
Yan Zhen figured there was room for negotiation, but the Evil Consort showed no appreciation. “What you do is for This Palace to decide. You just need to drink this.”
With a flip of her jade hand, a glob of golden-yellow liquid leaped into her palm. Wrapped in mystic power, it spun and churned before she gently sent it floating toward him, where it hovered right in front of Yan Zhen.
He eyed the liquid curiously but could discern nothing from its appearance. He even sniffed it, yet it carried no scent.
“What’s this?”
The Evil Consort replied coldly, “It’s not poison, and it won’t harm your body. Just drink it.”
—Like hell I believe you, you scheming old maid!
Yan Zhen curled his lip. He had refined five strands of Extreme Flame within him, granting near-immunity to the world’s poisons—but only near. The myriad wonders of the realm abounded, and given her malicious intent, downing this would probably spell game over for him.
—System-chan, the Evil Consort’s out to get me! Hurry and let me transform!
【Ding! Warm system reminder: The current host is not in an irredeemable crisis. Please seek alternative solutions rather than over-relying on your trump card.】
—Fine, you win, System-chan. Our friendship ends here. Don’t call me host anymore—your host is the Evil Consort now. Get lost and go lick her boots!
【Ding! Host, don’t be rash. The system is merely following its master’s rules. Where is the fault in that?】
—All talk and no action. You’re pissing me off! Once I’m dead and no one’s left to save the world, this busted system of yours is done for too!
Yan Zhen itched to punch this inflexible System-chan a couple times. He dropped the fake smile, his expression darkening as he said, “You won’t even say what it is—who’d dare drink it? Look at that yellow tint. What if it’s piss? Totally unsanitary.”
He shot her a look that screamed deviant, his words dripping with implication.
The Evil Consort naturally seethed at this. Seeing his glib attitude, she wasted no more words. Mystic power surged around her, Saint Might radiating outward.
In the space between them, the rift tore wider, and more pitch-black chains descended from above like venomous serpents, coiling around Jiu Youyue’s naked, snow-white body before slowly tightening.
The demoness let out a faint cry of pain, and Yan Zhen’s face tightened.
The Evil Consort said coldly, “Refuse to drink, and This Palace will shred this wench to pieces—then restore her, shred her again, and restore her once more. We’ll keep going until you drink.”
Yan Zhen jumped. “Y-You can’t do that!”
“Then drink, quick!”
“I . . .”
“—Don’t . . . don’t drink it.” Jiu Youyue’s eyes fluttered open. With all her remaining strength, she rasped, “That’s . . . Yellow Springs Water, one of the world’s deadliest poisons. If you drink it, y-you’ll forget everything . . . become an emotionless puppet— Aaaah!”
The chains snapped taut in an instant, biting deep into the demoness’s flesh and grinding against her bones with sickening creaks. She wailed in agony.
“Stop!” Yan Zhen shouted. “I’ll drink it! Just stop torturing Jiuyou and let her down!”
The Evil Consort naturally wouldn’t push too far, lest it backfire. “Drink the Yellow Springs Water, and This Palace will release Jiuyou.”
Left with no choice, Yan Zhen extended both hands to cup the Yellow Springs Water. He glanced at Jiuyou, bound so tightly by the chains, and recalled the scene from their previous life—her crumbling to ash in his arms. At last, he steeled himself.
—No way in hell will I let her suffer like this again.
“It’s just Yellow Springs Water, right? Fine, I’ll drink. Worst case, I respawn!”
Yan Zhen gritted his teeth, lifted the water to his lips, and gulped it all down in one go.
After draining it, he smacked his lips a couple times. No taste at all.
Just as he thought it had no effect, a stabbing pain lanced through his skull. Countless memories flooded his mind, only to shatter one by one and sink into the depths of the Yellow Springs.
Dizziness overwhelmed him. He couldn’t even stand, crashing to his knees before collapsing fully to the ground.
In his fading vision, before blacking out, he saw the Evil Consort step forward in her black high boots. Smug triumph filled her voice: “Forget your past. Embrace rebirth, Flame Emperor.”
The corners of her mouth curved upward as vast, sea-like pure-black mystic power erupted. The entire White Bone Grotto-Heaven trembled.
At her feet, a massive ritual array unfurled with Yan Zhen at its center.
“Evil God Defies Heaven, Yellow Springs Changes Fate!”
The demonic chant pierced his ears. In his dazed haze, Yan Zhen sensed his shattered memories reassembling—but the faces and events were all . . . different.
The torrent of memories battered him until his head felt ready to split. When the final image clicked into place, he could endure no more and plunged into true unconsciousness.
“Sleep now. When you awaken, you’ll belong to This Palace.”
That was the last thing Yan Zhen’s consciousness heard before plunging into darkness.
He felt as if he’d slept for an eternity, lost in a dream without end. Then the dream shattered, and he awoke.
Opening his eyes, he stared at an unfamiliar ceiling. He sat up, letting out a massive yawn, and scanned his surroundings. He found himself in an ancient-styled chamber, vast beyond imagining—nearly a hundred times larger than his old tiny rental. Gazing around, it felt emptier than a room; it was more like a palace hall.
Yan Zhen slid off the bed, his bare feet padding down the steps to a vanity mirror. Staring at his reflection—himself, but several years younger, clad in flowing black ancient robes—he suddenly understood.
“I . . . did I transmigrate?”
