Chapter 1: Eighteen

The bloody wind cut across his face. He Tingtong blinked dry eyes, feeling a sluggish pain.

He hadn’t rested for over twenty days.

From Hanshan Realm in the far north all the way south to Tuomi Province, crossing Changmin River, traversing Yimeng Marsh, to now Central Province’s Shangxuan Realm—the Immortal Alliance retreated step by step while demon armies drove straight in, swords pointing at the Thirty-Three Heavenly Palaces of Jiuyao Mountain.

He Tingtong stood outside Jiuyao Mountain’s boundary marker, the long sword in his palm dim, spiritual energy in his limbs depleted—at the end of his strength.

In his arms was a little girl he’d just rescued, five or six years old, clutching his neck and trembling, asking in a thin voice: “Immortal Master, will we win?”

He Tingtong set the girl down, gesturing for her to climb up the glazed Immortal Ascension stairs. He didn’t dare speak of victory or defeat, only patting the little girl’s head and gently instructing: “Go up, to the Cloud Peak.”

There remained one final killing formation, their last line of defense. Atop the immortal palace would be somewhat safer.

As for here…

At the mountain’s base, demon armies like endless surging tides wave after wave assaulted the mountain-guarding formation. Immortal sect disciples used their bodies as walls, blocking demons’ infinite attacks, making a final struggle.

Verdant mountains had been razed to scorched earth, corpses everywhere, blood flowing in rivers.

The Demon Lord sat atop a nine-headed evil dragon, slowly wiping his long blade. Around him circled bone birds, wings flapping in the air, huge bone plates grinding against each other with clack-clack-clack sounds, blue-green phosphorescent fire like flowers falling with the bloody wind through bone crevices.

The Demon Lord hadn’t yet made his move, but the front lines were already collapsing. The outer mountain formation gradually dimmed under demon army attacks, yet they’d waited in vain for reinforcements.

Couldn’t hold much longer.

Behind him, floating cloud streams were scattered by fierce winds, revealing a winding long stairway. Semi-transparent stone steps refracted sun and moon’s radiance, connecting the mortal realm with heavenly palaces above.

Palaces suspended high in the firmament—snow-white, flawless, desolate. Fleeing mortals crawled up the long stairs like ant colonies moving before a storm, densely packed into a long dark line.

He Tingtong sent another spirit talisman upward. Still no response.

He wanted to curse.

But someone beat him to it.

“Tsk, a bunch of cowardly turtles. You think you can hide for how long?”

“A bunch of waste.”

The Demon Lord’s arrogant voice floated down from mid-air, mixed with faint excitement and inexplicable hope.

“Now, immediately, at once—let Qin Tan roll out here, and this lord may spare your lives.”

He Tingtong’s brow furrowed slightly.

Qin Tan.

Died in Hanshan Realm ten years ago. Even if he tried summoning him now, he couldn’t bring him back.

The Demon Lord above continued clamoring, voice hoarse and neurotic, like a resentful woman who hated heaven and earth, broadcasting his psychological state far and wide.

Demonic sound pierced ears.

“Heaven wronged me! The people wronged me! Master wronged me!”

…

“Qin Tan, when you abandoned me, did you imagine this day?”

“Come out now, or I’ll immediately slaughter my way up the Thirty-Three Heavenly Palaces, leaving your Immortal Alliance without even chickens or dogs!”

…

The Demon Lord eloquent and unceasing, He Tingtong had no heart to listen to his inner journey. Taking advantage of his emotional outpouring, he immediately went to the mountain-guarding formation, found the array’s eye, and amid maniacal laughter echoing through nine provinces, extracted his heart’s blood, dipped his brush in it, and reinforced the formation.

His aptitude was truly mediocre. After so many years of arduous cultivation, his cultivation barely reached the twelfth realm, semi-immortal status—already the limit.

He’d tried—in martial prowess, he couldn’t defeat the Demon Lord. He could only do his utmost to make the mountain-protecting formation last a bit longer.

Coughing up more blood, He Tingtong pulled out miscellaneous pills from his chest, not even looking as he poured bottle after bottle down his throat.

Blood and sweat flowing together, the dim golden light outside Jiuyao Mountain blazed anew. Small immortal scripts floating in the air like hazy flying ants filled toward damaged areas everywhere. Then the great formation reversed, turning defense to offense. Amid the Demon Lord’s soul-calling voice, hundreds of millions of spirit stones arranged on Jiuyao Mountain shattered. Spiritual power transformed into sky-filling killing formations grinding forth, successfully clearing everything within five li of Jiuyao Mountain.

Finally quiet.

He Tingtong breathed a sigh of relief.

The jade brush turned to powder with one squeeze. Just activating the formation drained all his spiritual power, nearly losing consciousness.

He was truly too exhausted. Even his dantian ached, yet he still struggled to rise, using his finger to dip blood and reverse the formation again.

The mountain-protecting formation restarted. He Tingtong emerged supporting himself with his sword, letting a junior disciple beside him help.

“Immortal Master, what should we do now?”

“Go request Dao Lord Xuan Xiao.” He coughed lightly, a palm of blood. “I’ve done all I can.”

Jiuyao Mountain’s Thirty-Three Heavenly Palaces was the Immortal Alliance headquarters. Living above were the current world’s strongest immortals, the world’s number one Dao Lord Xuan Xiao. If he made a move, they might hold on a bit longer.

Only he didn’t know why—until now, no movement.

Could it be the legendary protagonist always appears at the finale?

He Tingtong caught his breath, looking up. On the glazed long stairs, the fastest batch of fleeing people had climbed atop the heavenly palace. Only they hadn’t stayed long before that group ran back down in panic, shouting: “He’s mad! Mad! The immortal’s gone mad!”

Gone mad? How could a perfectly fine person go mad?

He Tingtong was full of questions.

But the next moment, he saw black dots suddenly shoot out from jade-colored pavilions. Then those black dots jumped on the eaves, growing larger and more vigorous.

Black flames rapidly ignited the Thirty-Three Heavenly Palaces’ rooftops. Jade towers and magnificent buildings blazed piece by piece, heat waves rolling. Yet He Tingtong felt his limbs frozen, body ice-cold.

Like this again.

A. Gain. Like. This!

A bunch of brain-damaged idiots!!

He Tingtong’s face turned iron-blue. Gritting teeth, he drew blood talismans, then with one sword fixed the mountain gate, strengthening prohibitions. Floating golden light faintly revealed blood-red. Just this once exhausted half his lifetime’s cultivation.

Then he pushed everyone aside, holding one breath, staggering as he rushed up the mountain.

Dao Lord Xuan Xiao’s natal spirit fire had lost control!

He Tingtong rushed to the main hall, found where flames burned, kicked open the door with one foot. Thick bloody scent immediately surged out.

He saw corpses littering the hall. Immortal Alliance backbone members who should have supported him now all lay here.

The immortal’s hair had turned white overnight, white robes bathed in blood, holding a withered corpse while weeping, murmuring: “Why did he die?”

“Why this time did you still die?”

“Which step did I take wrong…”

“Where exactly was the mistake?”

He Tingtong wanted to ask why even more than him.

Where exactly did I go wrong to encounter allies like you!

Brother, big brother, ancestor! You’re an undercover agent sent by the Demon Lord, right?!

Forcibly suppressing his breakdown, He Tingtong went over to check. Dao Lord Xuan Xiao’s spouse’s features remained the same, but breath was gone—thoroughly dead.

Five declines of heaven and man, beyond help.

He Tingtong barely politely reminded: “Mortals have limited lifespans. His time came—please accept my condolences.”

“Impossible!” The usually aloof immortal suddenly spat blood, muttering to himself as if talking to himself: “His aptitude was so good, talent so high—how could he become a mortal?”

He Tingtong took a deep breath: “Your spouse’s dantian shattered sixty years ago. He’s been seeking medicine everywhere. You’re his dao companion—don’t tell me you didn’t know?”

With a clang, the light in Lord Xuan Xiao’s eyes extinguished. He knelt there like a corpse dead for ages.

He Tingtong: It’s over. He seems to really not have known.

Suddenly endless flames rose from around the immortal, nearly licking He Tingtong’s clothes.

He barely retreated, avoiding the flames, reminding: “Dao Lord, the Demon Lord has killed his way to the mountain base.”

The immortal seemingly dead for ages spoke: “My spouse is dead. At this point, what does the world’s people have to do with me?”

He didn’t even raise his head, looking utterly disheartened.

“You didn’t hurt him. I won’t kill you. Leave.”

As if granting a favor.

He Tingtong: “…”

Where would I go?

“Xie Xuan Xiao.”

“Fuck your grandfather!!”

“You yourself didn’t see your spouse for sixty years, had eyes but didn’t look, had ears but didn’t listen, had a mouth but didn’t speak—this is your own problem, unrelated to the world’s people!” He Tingtong went crazy. “But you’re the Immortal Alliance leader, the decision-maker for the nine provinces’ one hundred and eight sects. You say you won’t manage and that’s it?”

“If you didn’t want the position, you could have abdicated initially. Since you took it, you must bear responsibility—don’t occupy the toilet without taking a shit!”

“Eliminate demons and protect the dao, shelter the common people—the Immortal Alliance’s rules are right there. Did you forget everything?!”

“Usually you don’t care about your spouse, but at this life-or-death moment, you suddenly had a conscience?!”

“You absolutely had to kill people before battle? But we’re still fighting!”

His clothes corner was touched by fire. Flames swiftly devoured upward. He Tingtong quick-eyed and deft-handed, yanked off his outer robe and threw it over. He glared at that withdrawn back, extremely distraught: “Forget all that—even if you won’t help, at least don’t set fire to the mountain!”

“There’s fire on the mountain, demons at the mountain base—what am I supposed to do?!”

“So many people came here for refuge—where do you want them to hide?!”

Probably finding him too noisy, a sword intent slapped over. He Tingtong was knocked out of the hall, falling to the ground like a flattened pancake.

The great hall fell silent.

He Tingtong darkly thought Xie Xuan Xiao had probably burned to death.

He climbed up, staggering to the edge of the glazed long stairs.

Looking far into the distance, with the boundary marker as the line—beneath his feet surged endless demon tide, behind him blazed roaring flames, sandwiching that snow-white long stairway in between. He stood on the glazed stairs feeling like a clown.

Dao Lord Xuan Xiao was born with the Xuantian Spirit Fire—touch it and burn, never ending until death.

The heavenly palace was uninhabitable.

He Tingtong looked at the people crowded on the glazed long stairs, at most a thousand people remaining, breathing heavily.

The world’s nine provinces—five provinces fallen, only this many left.

“Immortal, do we still have a way to live?”

Someone asked softly.

He Tingtong squeezed out a smile: “Should still have one. I’ll figure something out.”

He walked down the long stairs step by step, robes brushing stone surfaces, dragging out a glaring crimson trail.

Silence behind him.

The eighteenth time.

He Tingtong slowly thought.

He’d already restarted eighteen times, still unable to escape this certain-death ending. Clearly this time, he’d already worked very hard, been very careful, absorbed all previous lives’ experiences, yet still reached this state.

Was he not working hard enough?

Or not smart enough?

Why did this world always get destroyed over messy things? He could neither save the common people nor himself, trapped here, living and dying, constantly repeating, constantly repeating, constantly repeating, like a toy manipulated in others’ hands.

Spirit fire burned, formations shattered. Huge bone birds dove down from the sky, each bone feather when spread was a sharp blade.

Mortals’ terrified screams pierced eardrums. He Tingtong instinctively raised his hand to swing his sword, hitting empty air. Only then did he remember—his natal sword was used to suppress the formation.

Formation shattered, sword shattered.

All his possessions reduced to one sword sheath.

“Where’s Qin Tan?” The Demon Lord landed, personally grabbing He Tingtong’s neck. “Where did you hide him?”

“Fool,” He Tingtong couldn’t hold back, wooden-faced, brows raised coldly, giving up completely. “Your master was killed by you ten years ago. Find him? Very simple—now immediately kill yourself, then go search in hell!”

“Ungrateful thing!”

The Demon Lord’s hand trembled. “Impossible!”

“Master is from another world—how could he die? You’re not allowed to curse him!”

The Demon Lord’s eyes turned blood-red. He seemed extremely angry, slapping down at He Tingtong’s head!

Going to die again.

He Tingtong peacefully closed his eyes.

Good to die. Dead, he wouldn’t have to deal with these idiots anymore.

Screw all your romances! I’m breaking up all of you—all of you go cultivate the ruthless dao!