Chapter Forty-One: Returning with the Handsome Immortal and the Divine Sword

Back when I was in the Demon Realm, although I was Chixiao’s younger sister and held the title of princess, there were truly few among the demon kind who genuinely respected me. The reason was obvious, even without asking—I had only cultivated for three thousand years, and I didn’t possess a magical weapon of my own.

This matter weighed heavily on my heart. More than once, I snuck out of the Demon Palace behind Chixiao’s back, wandering through the realm in search of a powerful weapon I could claim as my own. Yet, every time I was on the verge of obtaining one, some unexpected rival would appear, blocking my way. In the end, the weapon was either seized by someone else or already had a rightful owner. Such outcomes left me so frustrated I could have coughed up blood.

A whole year passed, and I returned empty-handed.

Not long after, I noticed the way everyone in the Demon Realm looked at me had changed. Their gazes were wary, as though I might snatch away their treasures at any moment. Whenever I approached a lively gathering, the place would instantly clear out, leaving me standing there alone, watching the leaders and warriors from each palace slip away.

I asked Xiaoyao why this was happening. That girl replied, “Princess, it’s because your reputation for snatching things throughout the realm has become too well known. Now, the leaders and warriors of every palace guard their weapons as if they were their own lives. They’re afraid you’ll return empty-handed from your searches and try to take their weapons instead. That’s why they treat you like a thief.”

Her answer wounded me deeply. I couldn’t sleep the whole night, wondering if I had truly become infamous and hated by all.

The next day, I went to find Chixiao, clinging to him, pestering and crying until he could no longer bear it. At last, he turned to me, his face a mixture of helplessness and anger.

“What exactly do you want now?” he asked coldly.

“Weapons. I want a weapon,” I sobbed, clutching his sleeve.

At this, Chixiao’s brow furrowed. “The qin—how is your practice coming along?”

“The qin?” I hadn’t touched the instrument in eight hundred years. His question caught me off guard, and I didn’t dare tell him the truth.

“It’s… it’s fine,” I replied, forcing myself to nod even as cold sweat trickled down my back.

I couldn’t tell if he noticed I was lying. After a moment, he said, “Your cultivation is still shallow. When you reach ten thousand years, I’ll take you to the Antarctic Ice Fields. There, we’ll seek out the black iron buried beneath the snow and forge you a peerless sword.”

A peerless sword—the words thrilled me at the time. But looking back now, I suspect Chixiao was merely coaxing me, hoping I’d focus on music as he wished.

Seven thousand years have passed—no, my scales have already started to fall off; it’s now over eight thousand years. Eight thousand years is such a long time, long enough to forget oneself. Even if I managed to remember myself, I still feared that eight thousand years later, I might not remember Zilian at all.

But now, things are different. Never mind whether this Youyue Sword has any true power—it’s still an immortal sword, and who’s to say it doesn’t contain a sword spirit within? If I could obtain the immortal sword from Zilian’s hand, I’d consider it a great fortune. When the day comes that I retire in glory and bring Zilian back to the Demon Realm, I’ll make sure all those demons witness it with their own eyes—what need have I for celestial beings or divine weapons? Their own princess can obtain such treasures with ease.