Blood Mist Over the Nether Valley

Three days and three nights without sleep, Yan Yiao’s eyes were rimmed red, her steps unsteady, her head pounding and swollen.

Her already slender frame felt as though it might fall apart at any moment.

Hard work does pay off!

The specially formulated calming incense designed to deal with the people of the Demon Realm had finally been freshly completed.

Inside the simply furnished room, a red-and-gold incense box rested upon the desk.

It was filled with pale green powder that emitted a faint, lingering fragrance.

Yan Yiao stretched contentedly, and the exhaustion of days of labor vanished from her face in an instant.

At last, she was about to take the first step.

Thinking of this, her heart churned with mixed emotions, yet she could not suppress a rising excitement.

As dawn barely broke, Little Li curled beneath the quilt, snoring comfortably in deep sleep.

Yan Yiao turned lightly and quietly headed toward the inner room.

After bathing, she changed into a brightly colored dress, held the gold-painted incense box in one hand, picked up her medicine chest, and left the house.

It had been several days since she had seen the great villain.

She wondered how his injuries were recovering.

With heavy thoughts weighing on her mind, she slowly made her way toward Wen Xiaoran’s courtyard.

As she neared the gate, she saw from afar Wen Feng standing straight before the study door, like a tall pine tree.

A sharp, chilling aura radiated from him, completely different from his usual gentle demeanor.

Before Yan Yiao could speak, he had already sensed her presence.

“Miss Yan, what brings you here?” Wen Feng turned to look at her, a trace of inquiry hidden between his brows.

Yan Yiao hurried forward and greeted him warmly.

“Brother Wen, the weather is wonderful today! I came to see how His Excellency’s injuries are recovering.”

Wen Feng lowered his gaze at her with a meaningful look, but quickly shifted his eyes away when she glanced back.

He motioned for her to wait a moment.

“His Excellency has been disturbed by demonic energy. His headache has flared up again, and he is resting inside.”

Yan Yiao frowned unconsciously.

Wen Xiaoran — the dignified Demon Lord, the greatest villain in the book, possessing world-destroying strength — whose demonic energy could possibly injure him?

Before she could think further, Wen Feng knocked on the tightly shut door.

“Your Excellency, Miss Yan has arrived.”

There was no reply from within.

The two waited silently outside.

After a long while, a voice finally called, “Enter.”

Wen Feng slowly pushed open the door and stepped aside to let Yan Yiao go in.

Fearing she had intruded and disturbed his rest, Yan Yiao stood cautiously by the door at first.

When she looked up, she saw Wen Xiaoran lying on his side on the couch, facing outward.

His glass-like eyes stared at her without blinking.

“What do you want with me?”

The great villain looked languid, his voice low and hoarse, as though he had just recovered from a serious illness.

Seeing this, Wen Feng withdrew and closed the door behind him.

The room immediately dimmed.

Yan Yiao stood awkwardly, unconsciously rubbing the gold-painted incense box in her hands.

“Your Excellency, I came to check… the injury on your hand.”

“Come here.”

Wen Xiaoran sat up and extended the hand she had bitten, resting it atop the quilt.

Receiving the order, Yan Yiao hurried forward with her medicine chest, playing the part of a diligent and professional physician.

After unwrapping the bandage, she saw that the wound between his thumb and forefinger had already scabbed over, leaving only a ring of dark purple bite marks.

Two rows of ferocious teeth marks were clearly visible on his pale, delicate skin.

Yan Yiao could not help but feel guilty.

“Your Excellency, does it… still hurt?”

Wen Xiaoran glanced at her.

“It doesn’t.”

His gaze lingered meaningfully on her face, as if trying to extract some answer from her expression.

Several days ago, on a dark and windy night, due to unavoidable physical contact, he had reacted unexpectedly in front of her.

The incident had left him deeply perplexed.

He could not determine whether the touch had been accidental, or intentional on her part.

Reason told him that the mortal physician had merely brushed his tongue unintentionally while applying medicine.

Yet a voice in his heart questioned whether it had truly been unintentional.

In any case, he had fled in embarrassment that night, tossing and turning until dawn.

On one hand, he was annoyed at his own overly sensitive body.

On the other, he could not help but resent the culprit who had nearly caused him to lose control.

Thinking of this, his mood grew darker, and his brows furrowed tightly.

Yet Yan Yiao remained as timid and cautious as ever, deepening the confusion in his heart.

Had she noticed the abnormal reaction of his body that night?

He did not know.

The Demon Realm had recently been harassed by unknown demonic energy, leaving him with no time to dwell on that minor episode.

Yan Yiao leaned closer, focused entirely on his injury, unaware of his probing gaze.

She cleaned the dried blood from around the wound and applied a thick layer of ointment over the scar.

“This is a newly developed scar-removal ointment,” she explained patiently.

“If applied consistently, it can lighten fresh scars.”

Wen Xiaoran responded softly, unconcerned about whether the scar would fade.

His attention remained fixed upon her, his gaze inscrutable.

After finishing with his hand, Yan Yiao stepped back two paces, hesitating.

“Your Excellency, shall I check the injury in your mouth as well?”

His expression darkened at once.

“No need. It has healed.”

Yan Yiao opened her mouth to persuade him further, but meeting his sharp gaze, she fell silent.

Had this old-fashioned Demon Lord been possessed by a bashful youth?

Recalling how boldly she had touched his tongue last time, cold sweat broke out on her back.

She hurriedly avoided his searching eyes and suddenly remembered her true purpose.

“Your Excellency, Brother Wen mentioned your headache returned. I have prepared new calming incense. I’ll light it for you.”

He neither spoke nor refused, which she took as tacit approval.

Carefully, she placed the incense into the Boshan burner.

“Your Excellency, how long have these headaches been occurring?” she asked cautiously as she lit it.

He did not answer, his gaze drifting instead to her slender, pale index finger.

It was smooth as jade, the nail trimmed neatly and beautifully.

A sight that stirred the heart.

Was the mortal physician inquiring about his illness to gather intelligence?

Or was she simply concerned?

Seeing him silent, she explained softly that she had been studying medical texts in hopes of curing his headaches.

After a long pause, he finally said, “Sometimes they are accompanied by tinnitus.”

She quickly took notes and continued asking questions.

As the unfamiliar fragrance gradually filled the room, Wen Xiaoran turned his gaze to the rising wisps of smoke.

“This is your newly prepared incense?”

“Yes,” she replied steadily.

“It contains an additional herb. The effect is gentler and will not irritate the nerves.”

He exhaled softly, as if exhausted, and slowly closed his eyes.

Before long, his breathing grew long and steady.

Watching his chest rise and fall evenly, Yan Yiao packed her medicine chest and tiptoed closer to the couch.

She waved a hand before his eyes.

There was no reaction.

Satisfied, she smiled.

Her tension eased, and the fatigue of days of labor washed over her.

She sat in a nearby armchair and soon dozed off.

She did not know how long she slept.

Half-dreaming, she rubbed her stiff neck when a faint hissing sound outside the window pierced her ears.

She froze — then jolted awake.

As she tried to sit up, a strong hand pressed down on her head.

“Don’t move,” Wen Xiaoran’s voice murmured beside her ear.

Under the dim yellow light, his eyes gleamed sharply, like a deep, still pool.

The person in his arms emitted a faint fragrance.

He inexplicably recalled her words about incense that could leave a lingering scent upon the body.

A faint smile curved his lips.

Yan Yiao’s face was buried against his firm chest, stifled and breathless.

Too frightened to make a sound, she held her breath until her cheeks flushed red.

Her overheated skin transmitted warmth through his thin robe.

His breathing faltered.

He noticed her slender wrist resting against his waist, fingers gripping his sash tightly.

After a long while, the strange sound outside faded, and silence returned.

His gaze darkened, lingering on the pale fingertip at his waist.

A familiar sensation stirred within him, spreading from his heart to every limb.

He bit his tongue sharply, pain flashing through him.

A low hiss escaped his lips.

Startled, Yan Yiao quickly withdrew and tried to stand — only to collapse onto the floor, her legs numb from sitting too long.

Looking up, she saw blood at the corner of his lips.

Her heart dropped.

Had the incense harmed him?

Before she could think further, urgent knocking echoed at the door.

“Your Excellency, something has happened!” Wen Feng’s voice rang out.

“What was that sound just now?” Yan Yiao asked nervously.

“Demonic energy,” Wen Xiaoran answered calmly before rising to change clothes and leave.

She hesitated, wondering whether to retreat to her own courtyard.

But before stepping out, he turned back and instructed,

“Stay inside. Do not wander.”

She nodded stiffly, watching the door close heavily before her.

Outside, blood mist filled the sky above the estate.

The hissing grew clearer — the same sound she had once heard on Mount Fuyu.

Forcing herself to remain calm, she sat by the desk, deep in thought.

In the original story, only one person could wound Wen Xiaoran with demonic energy — the former Demon Lord, Wen Zhengming.

But he was imprisoned in Nether Valley.

How could he be attacking the Demon Realm now?

Cold sweat broke across her back.

In the original book, Wen Xiaoran would eventually kill his father, absorb his essence, and descend into madness.

Yet the timeline did not align.

Before that patricide, what decisive event had occurred?

Her memory failed her.

…

Wen Xiaoran led his guards to Nether Valley.

Blood mist shrouded the mountain peak, condensing into droplets that fell steadily.

He ordered the guards to remain outside and entered alone.

Only he could survive under his father’s demonic energy.

Inside, father and son clashed fiercely.

In the end, though injured, Wen Xiaoran prevailed and reinforced the prison with all his strength.

When he returned to the estate, gravely wounded, the shaman physician diagnosed severe internal damage caused by demonic energy — damage that could prove fatal.

Yet even the physician had no cure.

Later, when Yan Yiao mentioned the Ice Lotus of the Frozen Continent — a rare plant said to dispel demonic energy — hope flickered.

But as incense smoke rose once more in the quiet study, she saw emotions she had never witnessed before upon his face: pain, disappointment, guilt.

Thinking of his tragic past and cruel fate, her heart tightened.

Clutching the red crystal pendant at her chest, Yan Yiao steeled herself and stepped toward the couch.

“Your Excellency—”