Chapter 1: The Accidental Catalyst

The Xuanwei Era, year three thousand six hundred and seventy-two, winter.

Qingyun Sect, within the Sword Tomb.

Thousands of broken swords hummed, their vibrations filling the air. Frost and snow rolled back, as a mighty sword qi, piercing both heaven and earth, tore through the sea of clouds.

It surged three thousand *li* into the distant sky.

The Chief of the Enforcement Hall, Ning Jihe, had, on this very day, shattered the bottleneck of the Void Return realm.

With a single stride, she ascended to the Half-Step Dao Integration realm.

As the news spread, the entire sect was shaken to its core. Countless disciples gazed intently at the enduring sword light, their hearts stirring with a profound sense of awe.

They speculated amongst themselves, wondering what peerless Sword Dao Elder Ning had comprehended to summon such a magnificent celestial phenomenon.

“Have you heard? Elder Ning sat in silent meditation in the Sword Tomb for three years, and today, in a single morning, achieved enlightenment!”

“Nonsense, with such a grand commotion, only the deaf wouldn’t hear it! They say auspicious signs descended from the heavens, and purple qi drifted from the east above the Sword Tomb!”

“I heard that a disciple, serving nearby, became imbued with the Elder’s aura of enlightenment and broke through on the spot!”

The rumors, like wildfire, blazed through every corner of Qingyun Sect.

Yet, at this very moment, in the eye of the rumor storm, a menial disciple clutched their broom. A look of utter despair etched upon their face, they squatted behind a rock on the outskirts of the Sword Tomb.

They vigorously poured a mouthful of strong liquor into their mouth.

The fiery liquor burned its way down their throat and esophagus, finally dispelling some of the biting chill.

Shen Zhaoqing couldn’t help but let out a hiccup.

‘Purple qi drifting from the east? Auspicious signs descending from the heavens?’

‘Bullshit.’

‘At that moment, my hands and feet were numb with cold from sweeping snow. I had merely sought to steal a moment of respite, hoping to take a few more swigs of the ‘Little Qingzhou’ I secretly stashed in my gourd.’

‘However, I had inadvertently consumed too much. The warm energy within my body, unable to be suppressed, had simply… diffused outwards.’

‘Who could have known that Elder Ning, who perpetually wore a face so stern it seemed ‘the three hundred sect rules were etched upon it,’ would suddenly react like a cat to catnip?’

‘With a resounding ‘thump,’ she had simply taken off from the spot.’

‘That sword qi, by the heavens, had nearly ripped my precious broom from my grasp.’

Still shaken, Shen Zhaoqing patted her chest, then took another gulp of liquor.

She had been transmigrated to this cursed place for three years now. From a starving orphan, she had barely managed to secure a position as a temporary groundskeeper for the Qingyun Sect.

Her meager daily wages were solely dedicated to buying wine.

Her life goals were exceedingly simple: clock in on time, clock out on time, and strive to live a long, uneventful life until her natural end.

Yet, it seemed the heavens were constantly trying to inject some excitement into her life.

Her body harbored a peculiar quirk: whenever she drank alcohol or became emotionally agitated, she would emit a certain… an odd aura. It was an essence she herself couldn’t detect, yet it seemed to make nearby plants flourish with unusual vigor, and small animals instinctively burrow into her embrace.

Previously, she had assumed this was some kind of ‘affinity with nature’ passive talent. That was, until today.

She now understood completely: ‘this damnable thing wasn’t a talent; it was a death omen!’

“Hey, look, it’s her!”

“Which one? Which one?”

“The one sweeping, what’s her name, Shen Zhaoqing? I heard she was right there when Elder Ning broke through!”

“*Hiss*… I heard from an inner sect senior brother that this woman possesses a strange fragrance. She might be a legendary… Alluring Spirit Body!”

“What?! The kind that can destabilize the Dao heart of powerful cultivators, even causing them to suffer qi deviation…?”

“Keep your voice down! Do you want to be dragged away by the Enforcement Hall?!”

A few passing outer sect disciples pointed at her, their voices hushed to a whisper. Yet, in the profound silence of the snow-covered landscape, it was as if they were shouting directly into her ear.

Shen Zhaoqing: ‘…’

‘My ass, an Alluring Spirit Body!’

‘Are these cultivators missing a screw in their heads? With such vivid imaginations, why don’t they go write novels?! A strange fragrance, my foot! I’m not some novel’s heroine; I clearly only reek of cheap liquor!’

“Help me, I truly don’t want to get into trouble!”

Shen Zhaoqing covered her face, silently shrinking further behind the rock, pulling her worn cotton robe tighter around her.

‘No, this place is far too dangerous.’

‘Starting tomorrow, no, starting right now, I must sweep at least thirty *zhang* away from that Elder Ning! I’ll even have to walk around the paths she’s taken!’

****

Shen Zhaoqing finally endured until the end of her shift.

Clutching the few low-grade spirit stones she had just received today, she scrambled out of the mountain gate.

She made a beeline for ‘Old Wang’s Wine Stall,’ an establishment that had been open for decades at the foot of the mountain.

“Old Wang, the usual,” Shen Zhaoqing said, settling into the most inconspicuous corner with practiced ease. “A pot of ‘Moon-Gazing Sorrow’ and a plate of fennel beans.”

She then placed her small wine gourd on the table.

“Alright!” Old Wang, the stall owner, was a gray-haired mortal elder. Seeing her, he chuckled in response. “Zhaoqing lass, you’re quite early today.”

“Don’t even mention it, I nearly worked myself to death,” Shen Zhaoqing replied listlessly, slumping onto the table.

The wine arrived swiftly.

Shen Zhaoqing eagerly poured herself a full cup. As the crisp aroma of the wine wafted into her nostrils, she felt herself instantly come alive.

‘In this life, only fine wine must never be forsaken~’

Shen Zhaoqing hunched her shoulders, sipping the wine in small mouthfuls, feeling a soothing warmth spread from her stomach to her limbs and bones.

The surrounding clamor of cultivators and mortal patrons, filled with the vibrancy of everyday life, brought her an unparalleled sense of peace.

Just as she reached a state of pleasant tipsiness, beginning to ponder whether she would sweep fallen leaves to the east or accumulated snow to the west tomorrow, an overwhelming stench of blood, mingled with an extreme killing intent that made one’s soul tremble, swept through the entire wine stall.

It arrived without a single warning.

“*Clang*—”

A cultivator’s wine cup at the neighboring table clattered directly to the ground, shattering into countless pieces.

The wine stall, which had been bustling with noise moments before, fell into instant, profound silence.

Everyone froze in place, their faces ashen, as if an invisible, colossal hand had seized them by the throat.

The air seemed to solidify into an iron block, pressing down on them, making it impossible to breathe.

Shen Zhaoqing’s tipsiness vanished in a flash.

She snapped her head up, her gaze following the source of that killing intent.

At the end of the mountain path, a peerless beauty in a white battle robe was seen. She was treading through the void, slowly approaching.

Her long, frost-white hair billowed wildly in the cold wind. Her figure was slender and seemingly delicate, yet it exuded an overwhelming sense of oppression, as if she could crush the heavens and earth beneath her feet.

Most striking of all was the bizarre demonic sword she held in her hand.

The sword’s blade was a dark, ominous red, appearing as though forged from congealed blood. Wisps of black demonic energy coiled around it.

Several drops of crimson blood slid down the sword’s tip, splashing onto the snow. Instantly, they corroded the white powder into a sizzling black hole.

The woman seemed to cast a disdainful glance at the bloodstains on her sword. With an air of casual indifference, she wiped the blade on her black cloak, her movements as nonchalant as if cleaning a common tool.

“The Abyssal Slaughter Sword!” From the crowd, an unknown voice shrieked, laced with extreme terror.

“It’s… it’s Ling Shuangjue!”

“It’s the Demonic Venerable of the Myriad Flowers Blood Palace… Ling Shuangjue!”

“Why is she here?!”

“Run!”

The silence shattered, and panic spread like a plague. The patrons scrambled away in terror, stumbling and crawling in every direction.

Old Wang, for his part, dove beneath a table, trembling like a sieve.

Shen Zhaoqing desperately wanted to flee as well.

Her body had already issued its highest-level alarm. Every single cell screamed ‘Danger! Flee now!’

But she couldn’t move.

That overwhelming killing intent, like countless steel needles, had pinned her firmly to the spot.

What was even more terrifying was that the legendary female demon, rumored to kill without batting an eye, had swept her gaze past all the panicked individuals.

A pair of crimson eyes landed with unnerving precision… directly upon her.

****

Ling Shuangjue had just finished slaughtering a city occupied by evil cultivators at the border of Qingzhou, wielding her ‘Abyssal Slaughter Sword.’

The after-effects of her failed tribulation had left her demonic heart constantly teetering on the brink of a frenzied rampage. Within her sea of consciousness, billions of vengeful spirits seemed to roar.

Only slaughter, it seemed, could bring her a fleeting moment of peace.

Yet, just moments ago, as she passed this small wine stall, that frenzied killing intent had, without any warning, subsided for an instant.

It was as if a pot of boiling magma had suddenly been doused with a ladle of clear, cool spring water. Even the rose demonic tattoo on her collarbone, which constantly burned with pain, had grown docile.

The source, astonishingly, was that small, terrified menial disciple, huddled in the corner, clutching a worn wine gourd?

“Interesting.”

For the first time, a flicker of interest, distinct from her usual bloodlust, appeared in Ling Shuangjue’s crimson pupils.

She advanced slowly, her red-patterned long boots making no sound as they touched the snow. Yet, it felt as though each step landed directly on the hearts of those present.

The surrounding cultivators were struck silent, frozen in terror, even forgetting to breathe.

Shen Zhaoqing felt as though her heart was about to leap from her throat.

‘Here she comes, here she comes! She’s walking towards me!’

‘What do I do, what do I do? If I play dead, is it too late to lie down now? Or should I fall to my knees and beg for mercy? Should I shout, “Demonic Venerable, spare my life!”?’

A hundred and eight survival strategies flashed through her mind in an instant. Yet, her body was so rigid she couldn’t even move a single finger.

Finally, that white-clad figure halted before her.

A scent, a chilling blend of blood and cold fragrance, assailed her. Shen Zhaoqing could even discern the dark crimson bloodstains, still wet, splattered across the woman’s robe.

Ling Shuangjue leaned down slightly, a few strands of her frost-white hair brushing against Shen Zhaoqing’s shoulder. The icy touch sent shivers down her spine, raising goosebumps all over her body.

The female demon scrutinized her, much like one might admire a newly unearthed, peerless treasure. Her gaze was intensely predatory, as if intent on peeling away every inch of Shen Zhaoqing’s flesh, bones, and even her very soul, to examine her thoroughly.

After a long moment, Ling Shuangjue curved her lips, revealing a smile that could bewitch all living beings.

Her voice, like her long hair, carried the chill of frost and snow.

“You, come with me.” The words were imbued with an undeniable, unyielding authority.

Shen Zhaoqing’s mind buzzed, then went utterly blank.

‘It’s over.’

‘I’m utterly finished.’

‘My brief and haphazard transmigration journey is about to conclude with me being ‘captured by a female demon to be used as emergency rations.”

Shen Zhaoqing was on the verge of tears, yet found herself unable to weep.

Just as she began to ponder whether she would be steamed or braised, a sword light, as clear and cold as snow, *zinged* out of its sheath without warning.

It was as swift as lightning, precisely interposing itself between her and Ling Shuangjue.