Chapter 1: The Path of Demons Demands a Rebellious Spirit

Zhangze County, Canglang Mountain.

The Chen family.

After generations of accumulation, they had finally obtained a Foundation Establishment Pill.

As the entire clan rejoiced, hoping their patriarch would consume the pill, ascend to Foundation Establishment, and thereby alter the family's fate, they remained ignorant of the ancient warning: disaster befalls the innocent who possess coveted treasures.

Calamity struck from the heavens. More than a hundred members of the Chen family, young and old alike, all perished.

Amidst the pile of corpses, a boy of eleven or twelve suddenly sprang up as if resurrected.

"All I did was search the souls of Qi Jinchan and Laughing Monk, those little bastards. Was it necessary to use the Two Forms Particle Array to refine me? Huh!"

Chen Yang’s thoughts lingered on that last moment, inside the Two Forms Particle Array, as the array simulated the primordial chaos, its power overwhelming heaven and earth.

Instinctively, he tried to summon his spiritual energy to resist, only to find his body empty, utterly bereft of power. With a jolt, he realized something was wrong.

Fragments of the boy Chen Yang’s memories floated up in his mind.

This was not Chen Yang’s first transmigration. In the Shushan world, he had cultivated for over two centuries. Combined with memories from his first life on Earth, the memories of this boy’s ten-odd years were inconsequential.

“Spiritual roots? What a worthless cultivation method.”

After absorbing the boy’s memories, Chen Yang could not help but shake his head.

In Shushan cultivation, there was no talk of spiritual roots. As long as one was not born crippled, only destiny, karma, prior wisdom, and innate comprehension mattered.

After all, every school’s arts were profoundly difficult. Lacking intelligence and depth, one could scarcely even comprehend the texts, let alone cultivate.

Better to descend the mountain and try for the imperial exams—far more realistic.

As for physiques and the like, they were secondary. Shushan abounded with miraculous elixirs.

Even the Guangcheng Golden Pill, which granted a thousand years’ worth of cultivation in one dose, was stored in dozens aboard the Guangcheng Golden Ship on Yuan River.

Elixirs to transform one’s physique were mere trifles.

He glanced at the corpses strewn everywhere, at the thick aura of resentment and baleful energy, and felt no discomfort.

He had, after all, first trained at Wutai, and after the death of the Primordial Master, spent over a century under the Red Lotus Demon of Western Kunlun. He had witnessed scenes far more brutal than this—such carnage was nothing.

Casting his gaze over his ‘relatives’ lying dead, Chen Yang tried to squeeze out a few tears, to express some anger at this cruel world, but found himself utterly unmoved. He gave up the attempt.

What a world—no Heaven’s Will, no karma. Truly a paradise for demons. In his old world, Shushan, karma was tightly woven.

On top of that, the Celestial Emperors and Great Saints of the Spirit Sky Immortal Realm presided above, leaving little hope for demon cultivators.

That was one reason he set his sights on Emei after attaining mastery, and incidentally, to collect a bit of interest for his poor master, the Primordial Ancestor.

Thinking of how he had turned Qi Jinchan and Laughing Monk into simpletons, making it impossible for them to recover their spiritual wisdom except after countless reincarnations, Chen Yang couldn’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction.

Yet his own end was bitter; the good die young, and calamities linger. Once more, he had transmigrated into a new world.

Pity his second master of convenience, the Red Lotus Demon, who suffered because of him.

Though that master was a mighty demon in his own right, considering the power of the Two Forms Particle Array, he feared the Red Lotus Demon would not survive.

“I still underestimated the strength of the Emei Sect. Never thought Qi Shuming would act so decisively and ruthlessly, unafraid that Blood God Deng Yin might take advantage, even bringing the Supreme One Qi Talisman to Western Kunlun. A miscalculation, a grave miscalculation.”

He mourned for his convenient master for a moment, then dismissed the thought.

Compared to his true master, the Primordial Ancestor, who saved him from the ravages of war, taught him the Dao, refined his sword, and treated him like a son, the Red Lotus Demon meant little. That one had nearly handed him over to Blood God for the Blood God Sutra—he had only ever intended to use him.

Having grown used to soaring the skies and burrowing through the earth, now, bereft of all spiritual power, Chen Yang felt deeply uneasy and unsafe.

He sat cross-legged amid the corpses, palms upward, silently reciting the Wutai Sect’s Qi Refining incantation.

“My body houses three treasures, essence, energy, and spirit made clear. Essence transforms to energy, energy to spirit, spirit returns to the void, ethereal and free. From the coccyx to the jade pillow, spirit and energy in the three dantians, three passes behind, three before, pass through three threes and one becomes a sage…”

After nearly half an hour, Chen Yang opened his eyes in resignation. This body was already dead—whether organs or meridians, all were either blocked or lifeless.

He was merely possessing a corpse, relying on a sliver of primordial spirit to forcibly control this lifeless shell. To cultivate anew, he would need some supreme Yang treasure such as a ten-thousand-year-old warm jade, or to concoct the Pure Yang Treasure Pill to revive the flesh from death.

“Emei, our debts grow ever deeper. If I perfect the Supreme Dharma, no matter how arduous, I will return to Shushan and raze your sect to the ground.”

Chen Yang swore to himself, intentionally glossing over the fact that he had crippled their beloved sons first.

He reviewed all his knowledge, Daoist or demonic, and soon found a solution to his immediate predicament in the Secret Three Demonic Ginsengs he had obtained from the Three Phoenixes of Purple Cloud Palace.

These Secret Three Demonic Ginsengs had a profound origin—created by Grandmaster Lianshan, the martial uncle of Emei’s founder, Master Long-eyebrow, who had devised the art after comprehending myriad demonic paths. Its methods were exquisite and formidable, ranking just below the Blood God Sutra of the Asura Sect and the Grand Demonic Classic of the Northern Demonic Sect.

In truth, neither the Blood God Sutra nor the Grand Demonic Classic were complete. The Blood God Sutra’s good and evil volumes had long been separated, never to be joined again.

As for the Grand Demonic Classic, one part was in the hands of the demonic patriarch Iron Mountain Demon, the other part was the lower volume of the Primordial True Explanation.

He played through the young Chen Yang’s memories frame by frame, merging himself into the boy’s perspective. Soon, anger, resentment, and fury began to stir within him.

Demonic chants spilled from his lips. Under their influence, the six desires transformed into demonic thoughts.

“I want revenge.”

“Father, mother, grandfather.”

“Kill, kill, kill.”

A vague, ferocious shadow emerged from Chen Yang’s chest—half without, half still within his spiritual consciousness—filled with boundless resentment, howling incessantly.

This was a Six Desires Yin Demon, formed by luring out the original soul’s discontent and grievances through demonic thoughts of the six desires.

“Insolence!”

Unable to escape Chen Yang to seek vengeance, the Six Desires Yin Demon immediately turned upon him, baring its bloody maw to devour his head.

The Wutai Sect, famed as the greatest of the heterodox sects, cultivated both Dao and demon. Chen Yang was no exception, versed in the arts of forging and subduing demons.

But if he employed Daoist methods, his efforts would be wasted.

Instead, he chose the most orthodox demonic method: subduing demons with greater demonic force, transforming them for his own use.

This art was central to the demon path, but exceedingly dangerous. If one’s demonic nature was insufficient, or self-control lacking, one could lose humanity and become a fiend, or be overwhelmed and enslaved.

Chen Yang’s demonic nature was strong, his talent high. Against a low-level Yin Demon of his own making, he was utterly confident.

His eyes grew as black as ink, demonic syllables poured from his mouth, his expression fiercer and crueler than the Yin Demon’s.

As his own presence waxed and the demon’s waned, the once-fierce Yin Demon grew fearful. At the moment its fear peaked, Chen Yang seized its throat and yanked it free, transforming it into a phantom mirroring his own appearance.

By now, the phantom was no longer fierce, only fearful and ingratiating.

The fear and flattery were genuine, yet so too was the resentment and desire to consume its master.

Demonic cultivation was swift—ten times faster than the orthodox way. Its arts were subtle and difficult to guard against. Yet there was one great flaw: should one ever lose vigilance, the demons and spirits one had forged would inevitably rebel.

But then, that was the demon path—one must be born of rebellion to be worthy of the name.