Chapter Thirteen: The Demon King

The remaining demon wolves, hearing the thunderous roar, all raised their heads and howled at the sky in unison before swiftly turning and vanishing into the distance.

Zhou Yu thrust his greatsword into the ground and knelt on one knee, gasping for breath. The standoff with the gaunt wolf had drained every ounce of his strength.

His tightly shut eyes snapped open, his face blank, letting the sweat drip freely. A glint of resolve flickered in his gaze before he slowly closed his eyes again, steadying his breath.

At the edge of the snow-capped summit, where a precipice plunged down a thousand fathoms, Duniang stood at the brink. Beneath her stretched an abyss of endless darkness in which not a single spark of light could be glimpsed.

Starlight rained down upon her, and her childlike face was taut with gravity. Her once illusory pupils had turned pitch-black and deepened, while the world below the cliff remained shrouded in gloom. Yet Duniang’s gaze was fixed straight down the mountainside, as though she were beholding some wondrous vista.

Her form gradually solidified, the luminous veil about her withdrawing completely, and her skirt ribbons danced in the wind. She seemed almost real, more like a living girl than a wraith. After standing at the edge for a long while, Duniang finally spoke, her voice quiet, “What is the world below the mountain like?”

A mighty roar startled her from her reverie. Duniang turned to look back the way she’d come, her expression clouded and uncertain. Another roar echoed; she bit her lip, transformed into a streak of green light, and flew back the way she’d come.

“You’re back?” Zhou Yu sat cross-legged in the snow, watching as the green light flashed toward him.

The light paused and resolved into Duniang, her innocent, childlike face as pure as ever. “I accidentally wandered too far.”

“I’m fine,” Zhou Yu replied, closing his eyes again, though his right hand, which had been lying flat, trembled almost imperceptibly.

Duniang approached him slowly and halted before him. “Thank you,” she said softly. “You’ve let me see the world beyond the mountain.”

Zhou Yu opened his eyes and fixed her with a look. “I thought you’d say you were sorry.”

He picked up his greatsword and stood, walking toward the newly dug snow cave. “But still, thank you for thanking me.”

Duniang was momentarily taken aback, then turned into a green shimmer that sank into the wristwatch on Zhou Yu’s arm.

The night passed swiftly. Barely two hours later, the eastern sky was already tinged with dawn’s first light. The roar that had shattered the night sounded three times in all, but never drew closer to Zhou Yu and the old man.

White breath steamed from Zhou Yu’s lips as he trained bare-chested in the snow, practicing sword forms with empty hands. Oddly enough, ever since the snow had started the previous night, the snowfall atop the mountain only grew heavier. Snow here was supposedly rare, yet on his very first night, Zhou Yu had been met with a snowstorm.

Duniang was roasting goose meat. Her expression was no longer mechanical and vacant as before, but seemed tinged with liveliness and humanity, even a sparkle of vitality lighting her eyes.

The goose meat, once frozen, was now warming, turning golden, its dripping fat releasing an irresistible aroma.

The old man, savoring the scent, took a slow sip of fiery liquor. The spirit burned a straight path from his throat to his belly. Watching Zhou Yu, who was already drenched in sweat, he remarked, “Eagerness won’t win you good goose meat. Youth is a treasure, but don’t exhaust your life too recklessly.”

“I have no time,” Zhou Yu replied, sheathing his breath after a fluid stroke, his hand serving as his sword.

He tore a strip of roasted goose, chewing it slowly and thoroughly. Only once every shred was ground to paste did he swallow, mixing it with saliva. He ate deliberately, ensuring every morsel would be converted into energy, consuming his meal both finely and in large quantity.

Feeling a pleasant fullness, Zhou Yu scooped up a handful of pure snow, shaped it into a ball, and gnawed at it as one might a sticky rice dumpling.

Having taken half a dose of the Snow Fox Demon Core, Zhou Yu no longer feared the cold. The snowball was like ice cream, only without sweetness; though bland and flavorless, it replenished his water. He ate three in succession. He must survive! The thought echoed in his mind without cease.

After his meal, Zhou Yu sat cross-legged and began cultivating the art Duniang had taught him. The technique was extraordinary: once he found the rhythm, he could actually absorb the energy of heaven and earth, which then suffused every corner of his body, strengthening each cell.

The only flaw was a persistent dizziness and irritability after practice—a restlessness that summoned unhappy memories and faces, deepening his malaise.

Heaven and earth’s vital force streamed into his body, and Zhou Yu tried to guide it, not letting it flow wherever it pleased. At this, his formidable will and tenacious spirit, honed by years of hardship, became crucial. Most of the energy surged into his hands.

Those years of adversity had gifted him this unyielding resolve.

Not until the sun was high did Zhou Yu finally open his eyes. They were calm, free of the agitation that usually followed cultivation. For the first time since last night, he’d tried to direct the energy as he wished—and now, his hands brimmed with power.

At that moment, a skein of wild geese flew overhead, forming the shape of a great “V”.

Zhou Yu glanced at the old man, but he seemed oblivious to the flock of delicacies above, content with his drink.

The old man’s one-armed grip on his wine flask suddenly tightened, veins standing out as tension flickered in his eyes, shattering his calm façade.

A towering figure appeared beyond the snowy rise.

Over ten meters tall, a massive black bear whose very fur bristled like steel needles loomed near Zhou Yu and the old man. Its eyes glowed green as lanterns, each the size of a bucket, shining with a menacing light even in broad daylight. Its fifty-centimeter claws were sheathed, only the razor-sharp tips exposed, while fragments of flesh and blood still clung to its snow-white fangs. Each breath emerged as a cloud of white, drifting up before turning black as it rose.

The giant bear resembled a mobile fortress of iron, standing atop the snowdrift and staring at them from afar.

So immense was its form that it had drawn close before Zhou Yu and the old man even noticed. Zhou Yu stared at that indestructible bulk and two words flashed through his mind: Demon King?

He glanced at the old man, his eyes questioning.

The old man nodded. “That must be it. Even if it’s not the Demon King, it’s close enough.”

Suddenly, Zhou Yu felt a thread of goose meat stuck between his teeth. He picked it out and flicked it away, then asked, “Will you go, or shall I?”

At that moment, over a dozen black shadows darted out beside the giant bear—the demon wolves from the night before.

The wolves lined up beside the bear, eyes fixed hungrily on Zhou Yu and the old man, with the bear at their head.

Zhou Yu hefted his greatsword onto his shoulder, ignoring the pain as the blade pressed into his raw flesh. He sniffed the air and cursed, “Damn it! Wolves and bears in league!”

He spat viciously onto the ground, venting his outrage, then turned to the old man with the utmost seriousness and asked again, “Will you run first, or shall I?”