Chen Moyan's Journey: Clues to Blood Prison Star
Chen Moyan watched Zhou Laosan and his men vanish at the end of the pine forest. Pine needles swirled in the wind, falling into the folds of his black robe. The Soul-Purifying Bead around his neck still carried the coolness of dawn, pressing against his skin like Su Qingxue's fingertips when she'd wiped his sweat for him—back then, she would always hold an ice talisman and lean over, her voice soft: "Master, your sword scar is burning again. Sit down quickly, and I'll soothe it for you."
A soft sound suddenly came from behind, like someone stepping on a dry branch. Chen Moyan turned and saw Er squatting by the bushes, his legs trembling like a sieve. In his hand, he clutched a tattered piece of Daoist robe torn from Zhou Laosan. His face was as pale as a sheet, his eyes filled with terror—like a rabbit being stared down by a hunter, even his breath came in trembles.
"Why didn't you run with them?" Chen Moyan's voice was as icy cold as ever. The hem of his black robe brushed the grass, stirring up the bitter scent of pine resin. Er's Adam's apple bobbed, and he stammered: "M-My legs are weak… I can't run… Spare me, sir! I didn't do anything! Zhou Laosan told me to chop you, but I didn't dare!" He held up his hand, where the bloodstain from the wooden staff splinter was still fresh, oozing faint red beads. "Look! I—I was forced!"
Chen Moyan walked over and tapped Er's shoulder lightly. There was a crisp crack—Er's shoulder joint dislocated. He screamed in pain but didn't dare struggle, tears streaming down his cheeks: "Sir! It hurts! I really don't know anything!"
"Know what?" Chen Moyan knelt down, meeting Er's gaze. The sword scar above his left eyebrow glowed pale cyan in the sun, like a sleeping snake. "Tell me about what happened ten thousand years ago. Yijing Sect, Chen Moyan, Xiao Qianjue—tell me everything you know."
Er's pupils contracted sharply, clearly caught off guard by the question. He swallowed hard, his voice wheezing like a broken bellows: "I—I heard it from Old Zhou in the next village… When he was young, he was a servant at Yijing Sect, and he escaped back then… Ten thousand years ago, Yijing Sect was the overlord of the Divine-Demon Continent! The sect leader was Chen Moyan, the Supreme Emperor of the Mortal World, and his Ten Disciples were all fierce fighters—especially the eldest, Xiao Qianjue! With his Pojun Saber, he cut down demon soldiers until they cried for their parents!"
Chen Moyan's fingers tightened slowly, his nails digging into his palm until a bead of blood seeped out. His voice was still cold, but it hid a surging killing intent: "And then?"
"Then…" Er's voice trembled even more, "the Seven Great Holy Sects suddenly joined forces! They launched a night raid on Yijing Sect's main altar! Old Zhou said the blood dyed the main altar's green stone slabs red that day—even the newborn disciples weren't spared… Xiao Qianjue tried to protect the younger disciples and run to the back mountain, but five Holy Sect masters surrounded him. He used his last strength to seal the secret passage—while he himself was hacked to pieces by their swords…"
Chen Moyan's sword scar suddenly burned, as painful as when the Demon Emperor's sword had pierced his eyebrow two thousand years ago. It was an old wound, but now it hurt worse than ever, like a flame burning beneath his skin. His Adam's apple moved, and he asked hoarsely: "Xiao Qianjue… is he dead?"
"N-Not entirely!" Er suddenly shrieked, his face covered in tears and snot, "Later, a Soul-Eating Demon Lord appeared in the Demon Realm! He said he was Xiao Qianjue, and he could still use Yijing Sect's Pojun Secret Art! He built a Demon Lord Palace on Blood Prison Star, with a hundred thousand demon soldiers under him… Anyone who dares to mention Yijing Sect, he sucks their soul out! Old Zhou's son said 'Yijing Sect was destroyed long ago,' and the Demon Lord ate his soul alive!"
Chen Moyan's pupils shrank to pinpricks, his knuckles white from gripping too hard. He stood up and looked at the distant sky, where a dark moon hid among the clouds—like a cold eye, staring at him. The pine wind lifted his robe, carrying the scent of resin farther away, but he couldn't smell it—his nose was filled with the stench of blood: the blood of Yijing Sect's main altar, Xiao Qianjue's blood, Su Qingxue's blood.
"How do I get to Blood Prison Star?" he asked.
Er fumbled in his arms, pulling out a crumpled map and handing it over. The paper was old, its edges curled like the wrinkles on Old Zhou's face, and the route was scribbled in charcoal: "Go three thousand li southwest, and cross the Demon Realm passage… Sir, you mustn't go! That place is a devil's den! Not even birds dare to fly over!"
Chen Moyan took the map, his fingertips lingering on the three characters "Blood Prison Star" for a moment. The charcoal marks were slightly blurred, as if soaked in tears—whether Old Zhou's or Er's, he couldn't tell. He tucked the map into his bosom and turned toward the official road outside the valley: "Get out. Tell Wang Teng that if he sends trash like you again, I'll feed his soul to the demon hounds of Blood Prison Star."
Er scrambled to his feet, clutching his dislocated shoulder as he ran into the pine forest, muttering, "Spare me, sir! Spare me!" His footsteps faded into the distance, finally drowned out by the rustle of pine trees, leaving only the tattered piece of Daoist robe on the ground, covered in grass scraps—like a discarded leaf.
Chen Moyan watched Er's figure disappear into the woods, then touched the Soul-Purifying Bead around his neck. Su Qingxue's spiritual energy emanated faintly from it, like a string tugging at his heart until it ached. Ten thousand years had passed: his sect was gone, his disciples were either dead or changed beyond recognition, and even Xiao Qianjue had become a soul-eating Demon Lord… But he couldn't stop—he had to take back everything he'd lost.
The wind lifted his robe, carrying the scent of pine resin toward the end of the official road. The distant stream still flowed, crashing against rocks with a clear sound. A cold smile tugged at Chen Moyan's lips, and the sword scar above his left eyebrow still burned. Seven Great Holy Sects—you owe me a debt, and now it's time to repay it.
He stepped onto the official road, the hem of his black robe brushing the grass and stirring up a breeze. The sun broke through the clouds, falling on his back, but it couldn't warm the cold in his heart. Blood Prison Star, Xiao Qianjue—I'm coming for you.