154: Chapter 154 Ye Wushuang is resurrected!

Three years later, Fire Cloud Peak.

Deep within Fire Cloud Peak, there was a secret room hidden away, a place where even sunlight couldn't be bothered to glance.

The air wasn't still; it was dead, weighing heavily on the lungs, carrying a scent mixed with aged blood rust, damp mud, and an indescribable, sickly sweetness of decaying meat.

Taking a breath felt like a greasy film had coated the throat.

The original color of the four walls had long since vanished, covered in layers of dark green moss that were so thick they could almost be squeezed for water.

The light was dim, with only a few Ever-burning lamps fueled by Mermaid fat in the corners; their bean-sized flames flickered stubbornly, casting large, distorted shadows that made the place feel even more like the underworld.

Occasionally, a few black beetles the size of a fingernail would rustle out from under the moss, scurrying past with tiny, hurried steps.

That sound was like someone slowly scraping bone with the bluntest of knives right by one's ear.

In the very center of the room, a massive black coffin stood firmly, as if it had grown out from the ground.

The coffin's material was neither wood nor stone, cold to the touch, and its surface was covered in twisted, eerie runes.

Staring at those patterns for too long would make one's eyes blur and chest tighten, as if a single extra glance would suck one's soul inside, never to be reincarnated.

Wisps of black turbid qi were constantly seeping out from the gaps in the coffin lid.

That qi was no dead thing; it crawled and entwined slowly in the air like living tentacles, greedily licking at all the light and vitality around it, making this already cramped space so oppressive that one wished to go mad immediately.

Lin Yi stood before this coffin, his back ramrod straight like a stake driven into the ground.

The halo of the Ever-burning lamps was limited, hiding most of his face in shadow and only outlining his taut jawline.

His complexion was a sickly pale from a long lack of sunlight, his eyes deeply sunken with heavy dark circles hanging beneath them.

A fine layer of cold sweat seeped from his forehead, gathering into beads that slid down his temples; some dripped into his eyes, causing a stinging pain, yet he didn't even blink.

In these three years, over a thousand days and nights, he had hardly closed his eyes; all his energy and obsession were poured into the coffin before him and the "thing" inside.

A daily ritual that never wavered.

Slitting his palm, he fed the essence blood containing his life origin, drop by drop, to the thing within the coffin.

Today was different.

He could feel that the long-dormant connection, linked to his bloodline, was becoming exceptionally active, like a demonic seed about to burst from the soil, frantically absorbing the final nutrients.

The time had finally come.

He slowly raised his right hand; his fingernails had taken on an unhealthy greenish-gray hue from years of contact with yin and evil qi.

Using those sharp nails, he made a gentle cut across his left palm, which was already covered in crisscrossing scars.

The movement was so practiced it was heartbreaking.

The flesh split, and blood first seeped out as a red line.

Then it quickly welled up, condensing into blood droplets. Drip, drip...

Precisely falling into the gaps of the coffin.

As soon as the blood droplets touched the churning black turbid qi, they made an extremely faint "chi" sound, like a red-hot iron hitting cold water, instantly swallowed without a trace.

Immediately after, a low hum, as if coming from the depths of the Nine Nether, echoed from inside the coffin.

The sound wasn't loud, but it made one's heart go numb with vibration.

"Soon... almost there..."

Lin Yi's lips barely moved; the voice squeezed out from deep in his throat, carrying a raspiness like sandpaper rubbing.

After speaking, the corners of his parched mouth twitched upward ever so slightly, forming a curve that was cold to the extreme.

It wasn't a smile; it was more like the beast-like mutterings before an obsession is fulfilled.

His gaze, piercing through the gloom, was locked dead on the coffin.

A near-mad heat churned within them, as if what he was performing wasn't a wicked art against the heavens, but some supreme, sacred sacrifice.

Over these three years, using his essence blood as a guide and turbid qi as a medium, he had bit by bit fed and repaired Ye Wushuang's broken physical body.

Watching the granulation at the severed neck wriggle and entwine, finally healing as it was before.

Watching the originally deathly gray skin gradually flush with an ominous dark red, and even begin to sprout fine, hard black scales.

This was a clear sign that the demon race's physical body was beginning to recover.

And directly above the coffin, a blurred, constantly twisting and changing dark shadow hovered.

That was Ye Wushuang's soul, forcibly gathered but not yet fully returned to its place.

With the massive influx of turbid qi, that dark shadow became solid at a speed visible to the naked eye, faintly revealing a humanoid silhouette.

Lin Yi no longer hesitated; he abruptly raised his hands, his fingers flying so fast they left afterimages, forming one complex and eerie Hand seal after another.

At the same time, he chanted under his breath, but what he uttered was not the language of the human race.

But an ancient, tongue-twisting demon race Incantation, every syllable of which contained an aura of chaos and tyranny.

As the Incantation rang out, it was as if an invisible bomb had been dropped into the secret room.

The previously slowly crawling black turbid qi instantly turned violent, like a startled herd of beasts, letting out silent roars as they frantically surged toward Ye Wushuang's body, scrambling to burrow into his Seven Orifices!

The coffin began to vibrate violently—creak, creak—the sound of wood groaning under an unbearable burden, as if it would completely fall apart in the next second.

The entire secret room trembled along with it; moss on the walls fell in showers, and dust filled the air.

Lin Yi's breathing became heavy and rapid, his chest heaving violently.

The red light in his eyes grew brighter and brighter, until finally, they were like two clusters of ghost fire burning in the depths of hell.

The aura around him also became violent and dangerous; where was there any trace of the elegance and transcendence of a human cultivator?

He was clearly a demon god crawled out of a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood, born only for destruction!

"Resurrect! My disciple! Ye—Wu—shuang—!"

He roared hoarsely with all his might.

That voice crashed and echoed within the narrow secret room, hitting the walls.

Then bouncing back, layering upon itself with a frenzy and ferocity that could tear eardrums and crush the mind!

"Boom—!"

The coffin lid was suddenly blown off from the inside by a massive force, slamming heavily into the back wall before falling to the ground with a clang, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Inside the coffin, a figure slowly sat up with a stiff and eerie rhythm.

It was Ye Wushuang.

He suddenly snapped his eyes open!