Chapter 103: Heavenly Demon Tomb

No matter how many times you saw it—hell, even just watching it—the sight of the Heavenly Demon continuously moonwalking backward while meticulously tracing a perfect circle remained endlessly fascinating.

The circle itself was flawless, without the slightest distortion. Every single movement was identical, lacking even a millimeter of error, devoid of any trace of humanity.

But setting aside the bizarre spectacle, as time ticked by, the question of what exactly was going on loomed larger and larger in the minds of the onlookers.

How could the rank-and-file Demon Cult members possibly grasp the internal situation? That their god, despite possessing two consciousnesses, currently had neither one fully in control of the external body? That the body was simply executing a repetitive 'dance' command, an unintended expression of the internal conflict?

Ji Seungju, felt intensely awkward under the increasingly disrespectful gazes landing on him. Eyes that dared to look away from the Heavenly Demon Supreme, seeking answers from him. But as the Demonic Brain, he knew nothing either

He had no choice but to studiously ignore the pointed looks practically screaming at him to say something, anything.

The Heavenly Demon had millennia of experience, having swapped bodies dozens of times and suppressed an equal number of minds in the process.

When it came to spiritual or mental conflict, he was the undisputed, unparalleled authority in the entire known world—not just the Central Plains, but all the 'barbarian' lands beyond its borders.

(Because, naturally, to the people of the Central Plains, everywhere else was just barbarian borderlands).

Compared to that ancient power, Qing’s mental fortitude was laughably rudimentary—like someone who’d set up a tiny studio apartment just to make fried chicken.

Utterly ordinary. Nothing special. Even the previous hosts of the Heavenly Demon had managed this level of resistance.

Losing control of one's body often triggered an instinctive defense mechanism: projecting the mind into its most familiar space as a sanctuary.

Therefore, the Heavenly Demon simply couldn’t understand.

Where did the bizarre, undying resilience of Qing’s spirit form come from?

His best guess was that the unfamiliarity of Qing’s projected world—the strange apartment—meant she hailed from some incredibly remote, uncharted territory beyond the fringes of the known world. Perhaps those outer barbarians had developed unique spiritual arts he hadn't encountered before.

“When someone is speaking, you should at least pretend to listen.”

Pow. Thud. (Another mental Qing-corpse hit the floor).

“Aish! Seriously, just let me run my mouth a little, will ya?”

Pow. Thud.

“Aren’t you getting tired of this yet? By now you should know it’s usele—”

“Honestly. Your ability to learn is nonexistent.”

“Oooooh, big talk from the loser!”

“As they say, a stupid head makes the body suffer.”

Thud, thud, thud.

Countless headless copies of Qing now littered the mental landscape.

“Geez,” Qing’s disembodied voice echoed, laced with mock exasperation. “Didn’t I tell you already? If something doesn’t work no matter how many times you try, you need to change your method! Like… this!”

This time, Qing’s visible form didn’t reappear.

The Heavenly Demon figure looked around, eyes narrowed with nervous irritation, searching for the source of the invisible Hellmouth.

“Come to think of it,” Qing’s voice continued, dripping with malicious insinuation, “isn’t that whole Divine Bloodline of yours just passed down through your own descendants? Which means… you’re both the father and the child, right? So, doesn’t that make your wife effectively your mother? When you get bored planning your next war, do you ever get nostalgic, call mommy dearest over, and screw her brains out for old times’ sake?”

“Where—Where are you spouting such filth from!” the Heavenly Demon roared, clearly rattled.

“And what goes through your head when you look at your little descendants?” Qing pressed on relentlessly. “Do you think, ‘Ah, this is a body I’ll take over eventually, better handle it with care’? Must make things convenient, not having to bother with pesky things like character education. After all, why get attached to kids who are just gonna die by your hand anyway, right?”

Qing was employing the lowest of tactics—hiding amongst the sea of her own corpses and just running her mouth. A disembodied voice spitting venom while pretending to be just another piece of bloody debris.

But with the mental landscape carpeted in identical bodies wearing the same clothes, finding the one consciousness still attached to a head was like playing Spot-The-Difference on Inferno difficulty.

The Heavenly Demon, who had likely never encountered a puzzle more complex than deciding which subordinate to execute next, let alone a children's game, finally lost his composure entirely.

“You wench!” he bellowed, voice cracking with frustrated rage. “What do you possibly know?! Those despicable Central Plains bastards! Look at their descendants! Can’t they see that everything they enjoy—their wealth, their comfort, their lives—is built entirely upon the mountain of their ancestors’ evil deeds!”

“So you want them to pay for their ancestors’ sins?” Qing’s voice sounded thoughtful, less mocking now. “That seems… kinda much.”

“Isn’t it only natural?!” the Heavenly Demon raged. “They happily inherit their parents’ fortunes and connections, treating it all as their rightful due! But they conveniently demand absolution from the ugly history of exploitation and sin that procured it all! How dare they!”

“Eh…?”

Qing hesitated.

Wait… does he actually have a point there?

“Look at their precious ‘prestigious’ Orthodox sects!” the Heavenly Demon continued, his voice dripping with contempt. “Born privileged, their energy pathways opened at birth, fed priceless elixirs from infancy, trained in secret, powerful martial arts! Even the most talentless idiot among them can reach the Transcendent Realm before they die! Their endless wealth and glory, all squeezed from the suffering of others, have created eternal dynasties of rulers! And still they claim innocence?!”

“Well… they probably do have sin, yeah?”

Qing conceded, unable to fully deny it.

Certain island nations and continental powers from her own world immediately sprang to mind.

Of course, that didn’t mean she was out of arguments.

“Okay, okay, even if that’s true,” her voice cut back in, sharp again, “that doesn’t exactly give you the right to play judge, jury, and executioner, does it?”

“NO! If there is one person in this entire world who holds that right, IT IS I!” the Heavenly Demon roared, conviction blazing. “I, who witnessed those past sins with my own eyes! I, who lost everything to their atrocities! I have the right!”

“Weird flex, but okay,” Qing retorted, unimpressed. “Isn’t that kind of a strange claim coming from some loser ghost who specializes in body-snatching—a professional failure who’s literally never won a single invasion? Seriously asking here, because I genuinely don’t get it.”

“What mere human could possibly transcend death itself?!” the Heavenly Demon countered, falling back on divine justification. “This power was granted to me by the will of the Heavenly God Ahura Mazda himself, to correct this deeply flawed world! This is Heaven’s Will!”

Qing practically snorted.

Seriously? Heaven’s Will conveniently involves creating some immortal superman to punish bad guys instead of handling it directly?

Why not just claim Ahura Mazda whispers sweet nothings in your ear while you’re at it?

“Huh? So Heaven outsourced divine punishment to you? Couldn’t handle it themselves? Wow. Seriously, the sheer audacity—”

—I really can’t listen to this bullshit anymore.

Suddenly, Qing’s own voice boomed, not from the corpses below, but from the sky above. It resonated like thunder, filling the entire mental world.

The Heavenly Demon figure looked up, startled.

High above, a colossal, square frame materialized—

a window looking into a higher dimension.

And looking down through that window was a face of impossible scale—Qing’s face—gazing down at the tiny figure below with undisguised, pitying disdain.

“Wh-What is this…” the Heavenly Demon stammered.

—What does it look like? Giant Qing’s voice echoed. —It means you’re in the palm of the Buddha’s hand, asshole.

The entire mental world shattered like glass, collapsing into sharp fragments.

The countless corpses, the rivers of blood—all vanished. The ground beneath the Heavenly Demon’s feet revealed its true form: the smooth, white, fleshy landscape of a gigantic palm.

Qing, now a god-like entity in her own mental space, looked down at the minuscule Heavenly Demon figure standing there.

The Heavenly Demon shrieked, voice thin with disbelief and fury.

“Impossible! How can the consciousness of a mere thing like you be vaster than mine?! You—you’re only at the pitiful Peak Realm!”

—Beats me, Giant Qing replied with a faint, cosmic smile. —Been kinda like this ever since I died that one time.

She leaned closer.

—So, run that by me again? Something about Heaven’s…?

The Heavenly Demon gritted his teeth, refusing to yield.

“If not Heaven, then who else can revive the dead?! It is I! I received the Mandate of Heaven!”

Qing laughed, the sound shaking the very fabric of the mental space.

—Okay, okay. If you say so, champ. You go ahead and be Heaven’s Will. But, uh, quick question: where exactly is Heaven’s Will right now?

“That Will resides within ME! I AM HEAVEN’S WILL!” the Heavenly Demon defiantly proclaimed.

And that self-proclaimed Will of Heaven was currently standing in the palm of Qing’s hand.

Pillars of flesh, like miniature mountain ranges, surged up from the surface of the palm, surrounding the tiny figure.

It was Qing, clenching her fist.

Just a bug trapped in her hand.

Easily crushed. Obliterated, leaving behind only a few insignificant droplets of blood that didn’t even spill.

Finally, truly alone in her mental space, Qing let out a dark chuckle.

“Too bad. Guess Heaven’s Will ends here. Honestly? Heaven wasn’t all that impressive.”

At the same moment, she noticed the transparent system window again.

The one that had been annoyingly hovering in her peripheral vision ever since she’d absorbed the Heavenly Demon Soul.

The word ‘Yes’ flashed several times, and the status window faded away.

Huh, Qing thought.

So the game must have had a hidden ‘bad end’ route where you actually get possessed.

Why could I deactivate it, though? She didn’t know.

Maybe it was just a pity option, giving players a choice instead of slapping them with an instant Game Over?

Or maybe she’d unknowingly met some specific condition that enabled immediate cancellation?

Could it be the Heavenly Slaughtering Star trait? Or maybe her weird Blood Poison Body counted as being ‘poisoned’ in a way that interfered?

Or perhaps it was thanks to one of the martial arts she’d learned?

Did the Great Tranquil Zen Art establish a strong enough sense of 'Self' based on Buddhist principles?

Or maybe the Yue Maiden Heart Sutra—connected to the Nine Heaven Xuannü who governs boundaries—played a part?

Ah, whatever. Qing didn’t know the reason.

And frankly, she didn’t particularly care.

Ximen Surin might have thought differently.

She might have connected the Fire Worship Cult’s reverence for fire—Ahura Mazda, the Sun God—

with the fact that Angra Mainyu represents darkness, the primal fear of night.

The sun inherently dispels darkness; Angra Mainyu is intrinsically inferior.

And wasn't the Nourishing True Soul Sutra derived from the imagery of the Yan Emperor, another Sun God? Perhaps the outcome was predetermined by these conflicting divine affinities…

But Qing lacked that kind of scholarly depth.

All that mattered was knowing it was possible, knowing she could do it. That was enough.

Back in the tomb chamber, the body—previously showcasing dance moves decades ahead of its time—finally stopped moving and stood still.

Then, it began to walk, step by deliberate step, until it once again stood before the old man, Choi Leeong.

Choi Leeong’s dazed eyes drifted down towards her feet, still uncomprehending.

It was then that the body moved again, suddenly.

A foot lashed out—not at Choi, but aimed squarely at the lower abdomen of the Supreme, still pinned helplessly to the ground by the old warlord.

THWACK!!!

“AAAAARGH!”

The blinding agony of a shattered energy center instantly shocked the Supreme’s mind back to full, screaming consciousness.

This, Qing thought with grim satisfaction, was the true essence of medicine: physical therapy so potent it could even revive the nearly dead (spiritually speaking).

“You motherfucker.” Qing’s own voice, rough and familiar, finally issued from her lips again. “Didn’t I tell you I wouldn’t let you off easy? Hm? Or wait, did I forget to say that part out loud?”

A vicious grin spread across her face.

“What was that about the Natural Realm this, conquering your mind that? Now that your energy center’s completely busted, how does it feel being downgraded from ‘Natural Realm’ to just a plain old ‘natural human’, you worthless piece of shit?”

The shockwave, it seemed, worked on observers too. Choi Leeong, startled by the voice and the sudden violence, also snapped back to his senses.

Physical therapy: remarkably effective, even for bystanders and potential future patients!

“Child? Qing? Is that… you, Qing?” he stammered, looking up at her.

“Hm? Gramps?” Qing glanced down. “You back with us finally? Good. Now stop getting confused about who is or isn’t your daughter, okay? Seriously, why you gotta keep messing with other people’s family trees? Hmm.” Her stomach rumbled. “Man, now I really want some jokbal and bossam.” [^Jokbal: Korean braised pig trotters. Bossam: Korean boiled pork belly wraps.]

Damn it, should have ordered some back when I was playing god in that illusion.

Why do I never think of the important stuff at the right time?

The regret was real, but fleeting.

Because, unlike some other foods from home, jokbal and bossam actually existed here in the Central Plains!

Okay, maybe not the specific culture of eating original braised trotters and original Dongpo pork belly alongside original mixed noodles all at once…

But hey, the customer orders what the customer wants, right?

Just needed to add a bottle of cheongju [^Korean refined rice wine] to that… yeah, perfect. Chef's kiss.

“You!”

Just as Qing was lost in her culinary daydreams, practically drooling, a sharp, impertinent young voice cut through the air.

Qing turned her head,

A triumphant, shit-eating grin firmly in place.

“Ah. The brat.” She looked at Ji Seungju. “Right. You were here too, weren’t you?”