The Demon Lord Wants a Vacation - Chapter 15: Mu Qianli

CW: Pregnancy Horror Mentioned

Duanmu Wuqiu caught a whiff of blood in the air.

Expression tightening, he stepped toward Luo Xianyun. “You’re wounded?”

“I used a drop of fingertip blood to draw talismans,” Luo Xianyun replied nonchalantly, raising his hand to show the still-unhealed cut.

Duanmu Wuqiu, who had grown numb to the sight of carnage over the years—even fellow cultivators torn limb from limb—now found himself distinctly agitated at the sight of that small wound.

“Why hasn’t it healed?” he asked, displeased.

“I only just made the cut. The bleeding’s stopped,” Luo Xianyun answered.

“Why not heal it with a spell?”

“It’s too minor to be worth it. It’ll recover on its own.”

Though Luo Xianyun’s expression remained unchanged, Duanmu Wuqiu had the distinct sense he was lying.

He turned a sharp gaze on Song Gui and transmitted a message. “What’s wrong with Luo Xianyun? Why won’t he use a healing spell?”

Song Gui glanced at Luo Xianyun, then back at Duanmu Wuqiu. Technically, he should have kept his shishu’s secret. But Duanmu Wuqiu’s concern for his shishu seemed genuine, and Song Gui decided it wouldn’t hurt to speak.

Before he could answer, Duanmu Wuqiu sent another message. “This Lord will ask you a few questions. If you answer, this Lord will hand you over to Luo Xianyun. He’s merciful—he won’t kill you. You might actually survive.”

Duanmu Wuqiu had already promised Song Gui to the Beichen Sect. Even if he currently saw more use in keeping Song Gui alive, he wouldn’t break his word. Still, he was shrewd enough to notice a connection between Song Gui and Luo Xianyun. Since Luo Xianyun was part of Beichen Sect and disinclined to kill, handing Song Gui over to him was the same as fulfilling his promise.

Song Gui, having spent years undercover in the demonic sect, now realized he had a path to freedom—with both his shishu and Duanmu Wuqiu safe. He immediately chose to cooperate.

“Shishu has a heavenly spiritual root, my Lord. Each drop of his blood is a rare resource. Once lost, it can only regenerate naturally—it can’t be replenished with spells. Think of it like a bite taken out of a millennium-old ginseng: no spell can heal it. It has to regrow in the earth, slowly.”

Song Gui, well-versed in the typical intellect of demonic cultivators, had phrased it plainly. Duanmu Wuqiu grasped it at once.

“Heavenly spiritual roots are that rare? How many does your sect have?” he asked, surprised.

“Surely you jest, my Lord,” Song Gui replied. “One appears perhaps once in a century. There are only two alive in the world right now. It’d be absurd for Beichen Sect to have both.”

“If Luo Xianyun is one, who’s the other?”

“Hè Jinglun of the Tianshou Sect.”

Duanmu Wuqiu’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Meanwhile, Luo Xianyun remained focused on the array, pouring residual spiritual energy from spirit stones into the valley’s subterranean veins to enhance its ambient qi. He didn’t notice the glances exchanged behind his back.

But the Savior System did.

At that moment, it was in the middle of dispensing rewards.

[Task One: Protect Duanmu Wuqiu’s residence—successfully completed. Duanmu Wuqiu’s goodwill toward you has increased to 80.]

[There is no automatic reward for this task. However, the host may request a reward directly from Duanmu Wuqiu. Available options: elixirs, custody of Song Gui, or a kiss. The host may also request all three. Duanmu Wuqiu will likely agree.]

‘Why did you throw in the third one?’ Luo Xianyun asked, exasperated.

Ignoring him, the system pressed on: [Task One has now evolved: New Task—Identify the culprits who set the valley’s array.]

‘That won’t be difficult,’ Luo Xianyun replied.

He summoned several ghosts whose resentment had dissipated and asked them who had sealed them within the spirit stones.

Now clear-minded, the spirits recalled the one who had captured them. They revealed a face.

Luo Xianyun didn’t recognize it and was about to summon Duanmu Wuqiu and Song Gui for help when the Savior System blared in warning.

[ALERT! Duanmu Wuqiu has developed a strong desire to kill Hè Jinglun. You must dissuade him and complete Tasks Two and Three with urgency!]

He already knows about Hè Jinglun?! Alarmed, Luo Xianyun glanced toward Duanmu Wuqiu.

As if offering a gift, Duanmu Wuqiu strode over. “This Lord has discovered the identity of the other heavenly spiritual root cultivator—Hè Jinglun of the Tianshou Sect. This Lord will extract his root for you.”

Luo Xianyun: …

He had said it outright without the faintest intent to conceal his intentions!

Luo Xianyun prepared to dissuade him, but Duanmu Wuqiu was already pointing at the image the spirits had shown. “Who is this?”

“You don’t recognize him?” Luo Xianyun asked, surprised.

“Is this Lord meant to know every dead person’s face?”

“He’s either the mastermind or a co-conspirator,” Luo Xianyun said. “I assumed he was from the demonic path—you might’ve known him.”

“This Lord has personally beaten up every member of Taoyuan Sect at least once,” Duanmu Wuqiu replied. “I’ve never fought this man.”

“Could he be a personal disciple?” Luo Xianyun wondered aloud.

He called Song Gui over. “Do you recognize him?”

Song Gui stepped closer, then stiffened in visible shock.

“You know him,” Duanmu Wuqiu said at once, watching his expression carefully.

“Shishu, Lord,” Song Gui began, “this man is Mu Ge. He was accepted as a disciple by Mu Qianli of Qingtian Sword Sect one hundred and fifty years ago. He’s never left the sect, nor strayed into the demonic path. His loyalty to Mu Qianli is beyond doubt.”

“Mu Qianli?” Luo Xianyun echoed, a nostalgic look flashing in his eyes.

Mu Qianli had once been one of the Seven Stars of Deliverance—a sword cultivator with a pure metal root.

Of the original Seven Stars, three had died. Four remained. Mu Qianli was one of them.

Over the last two centuries, Luo Xianyun had lived in seclusion, unfamiliar with any new disciples outside of Beichen Sect. Naturally, he wouldn’t recognize someone Mu Qianli had accepted 150 years ago.

“Mu Qianli is upright and unyielding, as if forged from tempered steel,” Luo Xianyun murmured. “Why would he raise a disciple like this?”

“I’ve also heard,” Song Gui said hesitantly, “that Mu Ge might be his illegitimate son.”

Luo Xianyun frowned. “Qingtian Sect emphasizes early training. They don’t accept disciples over the age of ten. If Mu Qianli took him in 150 years ago, Mu Ge can’t be older than 160. That would mean Mu Qianli fathered a child less than 200 years ago?”

“That’s right,” Song Gui confirmed.

“That doesn’t add up,” Luo Xianyun said.

Qingtian Sect didn’t forbid romantic attachments. Disciples were allowed to take Dao companions. But for a cultivator to sire a child after a hundred, mystic techniques were required to nurture the fetus with true essence. Without that, the child wouldn’t survive.

Mu Qianli was already over 300 two centuries ago. The idea that he fathered a child accidentally was laughable. If Mu Ge truly was his son, it had to be deliberate—a conscious effort with substantial investment.

But Mu Qianli had lost half his spiritual root 200 years ago. His physical condition mirrored Luo Xianyun’s—broken.

As a sword cultivator, his body was suffused with sword qi. Any attempt to draw upon spiritual power caused it to erupt chaotically from his dantian, ravaging his meridians without the guidance of a full root.

Each invocation of true essence would have felt like a thousand blades carving him from within.

Under such conditions—why would he go to such lengths to raise a child?

Sword cultivators possessed formidable meridians and bodies far superior to other cultivators.

If Mu Qianli simply rested and maintained his health, living another three to five centuries would have posed no difficulty.

Raising a child, however, could easily cost him a portion of that remaining lifespan.

Why would he take such a risk?

Was it that, after his spiritual root had been damaged, worldly desires took root in him, and he became so deeply infatuated with a woman that he was determined to have a child with her, regardless of the consequences?

“Who is Mu Ge’s mother?” Luo Xianyun asked.

“No one knows,” Song Gui replied. “I heard she was a mortal. Mu Ge presented himself to the Qingtian Sect as an orphan after his mother had passed away.”

“Absurd!” Luo Xianyun exclaimed, his voice laced with fury.

Duanmu Wuqiu, taken aback by Luo Xianyun’s uncharacteristic anger, immediately shrank back.

“You don’t like children?” he asked cautiously. “Then I won’t have any. Wait—no, I mean, this Lord would never be entangled with women in the first place. How could I even have children?”

Luo Xianyun shook his head. “It’s not the child that’s the issue. The issue is that Mu Qianli is a sword cultivator.

“He’s already over a hundred years old. According to the laws of heaven, he should no longer be able to father children. For him to conceive one, he would have had to infuse the fetus with sword qi.

“If Mu Ge’s mother had been a cultivator, she would’ve had methods to mitigate the damage caused by sword qi.

“But if she was an ordinary mortal, her body would have had no protection. The sword qi would have torn her apart. Every time Mu Qianli transferred his qi, it would’ve felt like being flayed alive.

“No ordinary woman could endure that kind of torment. Unless…”

“Unless what?” Duanmu Wuqiu and Song Gui asked in unison.

It was highly esoteric knowledge—neither of them had ever heard of it before.

From a young age, Luo Xianyun had read extensively, with an exceptional memory and comprehension. After years of study, even sword cultivation techniques were not entirely foreign to him. That was how he’d come to understand the horrifying implications.

He continued, “Unless womb transference was used.”

At these words, Duanmu Wuqiu and Song Gui instantly grasped his meaning. It was a method aligned with the demonic path.

Demonic cultivators, when attempting to create infant ghosts, sometimes resorted to womb transference—
Transferring a fetus from one mother whose body was failing into another, allowing it to continue developing.

With a pained expression, Luo Xianyun said, “Mu Qianli would’ve had to nourish the fetus with sword qi once every seven days. Each host body could only endure it twice. Over a ten-month pregnancy, the fetus would need to be transferred at least twenty times. That means at least twenty women would’ve had to die.

“Song Gui, is Mu Ge truly Mu Qianli’s son? Just what has he done?”

“Mu Qianli has never publicly acknowledged Mu Ge as his son,” Song Gui said. “He only claimed that Mu Ge had a karmic bond with him and that they both had pure metal spiritual roots, so he adopted him and gave him his name. The story about him being his illegitimate child is just a rumor.”

“Rumors don’t appear out of thin air,” Luo Xianyun said. “You aren’t even a disciple of Qingtian Sect, yet you’ve heard of it. Why would the rumor spread so widely?”

“Because Mu Ge changed his face. The image you saw earlier wasn’t his original appearance. When he was eighteen, he looked almost exactly like Mu Qianli. That resemblance sparked the initial rumors of a father-son relationship.

“But at the time, most assumed it was merely a karmic resemblance and didn’t think much of it.

“Then, a few years later, while attempting to claim his bonded sword, Mu Ge fell into the sect’s sword tomb. By the time he was rescued, his face was ruined. Mu Qianli provided rare medicines for the healing process.

“Since then, Mu Ge’s appearance changed every time he was seen. Over the course of ten years, his face became completely unfamiliar—any resemblance to Mu Qianli vanished.

“That was when the rumors took on a darker shade. People said Mu Qianli had altered Mu Ge’s face out of guilt, to cover up the fact that he was his bastard son.

“I didn’t understand it then. Even if Mu Ge really was his son, why go to such lengths to hide it?

“But now, after hearing shishu’s explanation, I get it. Mu Qianli couldn’t allow such a vile, unforgivable truth to come to light.”

Luo Xianyun’s expression was torn with grief and disbelief. “Why would my friend Qianli resort to something like this?”

“Why do you even need to ask?” Duanmu Wuqiu said, unfazed. “You mentioned earlier that Mu Qianli lost half his spiritual root. He must be trying to restore it.

“Spiritual roots of blood relatives are far more compatible than those of strangers. Creating a child for the purpose of saving oneself—it’s a common practice among demonic cultivators.

“When I was sorting through the Blood Hell Elder’s belongings, I found a weapon crafted from eighteen infant skulls. Each one had been his own child. The weapon was so soaked in blood taboo, its aura was monstrous. When wielded, even a Mahayana cultivator would be shaken by the wails of eighteen resentful infant spirits crying in unison.

“Cultivators are still human. And humans are capable of both the sublime and the horrific. The longer they live, the more warped they become. With power comes extremity.

“Someone like you—so purely good—is the rarest thing this Lord has ever encountered.”

Duanmu Wuqiu looked at Luo Xianyun, his gaze sharp as blades, as though he had seen through all things.

Why had he trusted Luo Xianyun at first sight, believing every word he spoke?

Because this Demonic Sovereign, who had seen all the wickedness in the mortal world, had immediately recognized Luo Xianyun’s sincerity and goodness.

He, the Carefree Demon Lord, wasn’t one to be easily swayed or moved by just anyone.

And yet—

He chose to listen to Luo Xianyun.

—

Author’s Note:

Duanmu Wuqiu: So, when are you going to touch my head? If you keep delaying, I’m going to go headbutt Wangcai. That’ll count as indirect contact.

Luo Xianyun: How is that in any way considered indirect contact?