Chapter Thirty-Three: The Price of Cultivation Techniques

After changing, a simple breakfast was brought in. While Shang Jiuya ate, Bai Yu stood quietly to her side, reporting in hushed tones on some less urgent but necessary palace matters: which disgruntled minor official had sent a letter of allegiance, the newly inventoried supplies in the storeroom that could be used for rewards, and even some supposedly calming and sleep-inducing herbs from the demon realm that had been presented to them…

Shang Jiuya mostly listened, only occasionally asking a question or two about the details. These somewhat trivial daily affairs, on the contrary, temporarily pulled her away from the endless power struggles and life-and-death battles, making her feel that she was still "living," and not just fighting for "survival."

After having breakfast, Shang Jiuya habitually walked to the window, looked at the still oppressive sky outside, and began to quickly calculate the tasks she needed to handle, the people she needed to meet, and the movements she needed to guard against that day.

Bai Yu silently draped a cloak over her shoulders. "Your Excellency, Elder Xing Yuan sent word that today's 'Spark Gathering' will proceed as scheduled, and asked if you wish to..."

Shang Jiuya pondered for a moment. The Spark Gathering was a front for Xing Yuan, ostensibly to exchange magical rune techniques, but actually a crucial window for her to understand the dynamics of the young demons and spread her ideas. Although the situation was tense, it was all the more important that she couldn't appear cowardly, and even more so, she couldn't sever ties with her supporters.

"Go. Reply to Elder Xing Yuan that I will arrive on time." Shang Jiuya made the decision. "In addition, have Li Yue pick two clever new faces from among the shadow guards to blend in with the attendees to ensure everything goes smoothly."

"Yes." Bai Yu noted it down and immediately turned to make the arrangements.

Shang Jiuya stood alone by the window, feeling the complex mix of power and emptiness brought by the constantly circulating internal energy technique, as well as the hidden pain in her shoulder injury.

The commotion and commotion deep within the Demon Palace seemed to be temporarily isolated from the Purple Light Hall by an invisible barrier. Inside the hall, the lights were bright, yet it was eerily quiet, with only Shang Jiuya's slightly hurried yet deliberately suppressed breathing echoing softly in the empty bedchamber.

The continuous high-intensity tension, life-or-death struggles, and strategic planning had drained every last bit of her energy. Now, in the brief respite after temporarily defeating the formidable enemy and eliminating the most obvious internal threat, the exhaustion that had been forcibly suppressed by adrenaline and unwavering willpower was revealed, like a rugged and cold reef exposed after the tide recedes.

His body felt completely drained, every muscle aching and weak. The spot on his shoulder where the Seven Mu Fist had grazed him, despite the best medicine, still throbbed, a stark reminder of the perilous nature of the decapitation operation. The mental exhaustion deepened; his mind continued to involuntarily replay past battles and future plans, unable to truly relax.

She slowly walked to the dressing table, where the enormous magic mirror, crafted from a single piece of shadow crystal, clearly reflected her current appearance. Her face was a bloodless pale, with faint dark circles under her eyes. This body still retained some traces of the timid "Eleventh Girl" of the past, fragile and easily broken.

But when you look up and meet those eyes in the mirror, everything changes.

Deep within his dark pupils, there was a sharp, cold, and penetrating power that seemed to have seen through everything after being tempered by life and death.

However, beneath this growing authority, there are subtle changes that only she herself can clearly perceive.

She slowly sat down, attempting to circulate the "Shadowy Secrets" to calm her mind and nourish her depleted spirit. Her spiritual awareness spread like mercury, clearly discerning even the finest dust particles falling and the energy fluctuations of the leaping demonic fire within the hall. However, as she subconsciously began to connect with the "Burning Marrow and Eroding Heart Technique," attempting to further consolidate and purify her increasingly powerful demonic energy, an unprecedented sense of unease suddenly swept over her.

This is a sense of "emptiness" and "loss" originating from the very source of life, as if there is an invisible spring within the body, whose water is being rapidly evaporated and consumed by some force. When practicing the technique, one can clearly "internally see" that with each increase in the strength of the scorching and sharp dark red demonic energy, it seems to be forcibly drawing corresponding "nutrients" from that spring of life.

She slowly raised her hand, her fingertips trembling slightly as she brushed her long, ink-black hair. At the most inconspicuous spot near her temple, her fingertips touched something unusual—not smooth black, but a withered, rough texture.

She stared intently at her reflection in the mirror, carefully parting the few strands of hair.

In an instant, her movements froze.

Amidst the jet-black hair, several strikingly white strands stood out, a pale white devoid of any life or luster.

My heart clenched, and a chilling coldness shot up my spine.

She stared intently at those few strands of white hair, her breathing suddenly becoming heavy. The *Burning Marrow and Corroding Heart Technique*... Is this the true price it pays? It devours not only pain, but also...life force? Its side effects have begun to appear so quickly?

She subconsciously looked inward, and that feeling of emptiness became even clearer.

A wave of panic washed over her uncontrollably. A soul born of modern society harbors a deep-seated fear of aging and lifespan. She had barely escaped the threat of death; was she already about to pay the price in another form?

The image in the mirror seemed to sway slightly, and that pale and dignified face now looked somewhat fragile.

But the next second, Shang Jiuya suddenly closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

cost?

Didn't she already know that? Even if a demon's lifespan were to be sacrificed for a few hundred years, it would still be a gain for her. There's no such thing as a free lunch; how could she possibly gain power enough to rival veteran experts in a desperate situation without paying a price?

Trading one's lifespan for the power to control one's own destiny—this trade... is worthwhile!

Her eyes were sharp, as if she wanted to cut off those few strands of white hair along with them. As long as she was alive, as long as she could still hold onto the power in her hands, there were endless possibilities. Perhaps the future would offer a way to restore life, or even reverse life and death, but the prerequisite was that she had to live to see that day! She had to win everything she had in front of her.

With her thoughts clear, her will became even stronger. She actively guided the "Burning Marrow and Eroding Heart Technique" to operate again, experiencing more deeply the strange feeling of power increasing and life force being consumed simultaneously, trying to familiarize herself with it and control it, rather than being dominated by the fear it brought.

Intense pain swept over her again, but she gritted her teeth and endured it silently.

After an unknown amount of time, she completed a full cycle of energy circulation. She slowly withdrew her cultivation, her breathing somewhat disordered, her face even paler, but her eyes shone with an astonishing brightness.

She reached out her hand, a thought flashing through her mind.

"Buzz—"

The Kunwu short blade, placed on the bedside table, emitted a pleasant, soft hum. Its dark red hue swirled and flowed, as if it had come alive. The next moment, without any human intervention, it transformed into a streak of dark red light, swiftly flying into her palm and settling firmly. The blade felt slightly warm, resonating strongly with the demonic energy within her, as if it were an extension of her limbs.

A mysterious connection was established between the person and the knife. She could even sense the thirsty "consciousness" of the Kunwu knife, its desire for power and killing strangely merging with her will to survive.

She held the knife and casually twirled it. Without using much magic, with just a slight flick of her wrist, the air ripped apart with a soft hissing sound, and a jade ornament on the dressing table was silently split in two, the cut surface as smooth as a mirror.

She looked up again and gazed at her reflection in the mirror.

The woman in the mirror was pale, her brows furrowed with undisguised weariness, and her temples were even streaked with glaring white frost. But her spine was ramrod straight, her hand gripping a dark red demonic blade, and an aura of majesty flowed naturally around her.

Shang Jiuya, who had felt like he was sitting on pins and needles on the throne in the Daqing Hall when he first arrived, was already dead.

Standing here at this moment is Jiu Ya, who personally killed his elder brother, quelled the rebellion, wielded power, and was tempered by blood and fire, truly making the name of the Demon Lord carry real weight!

She slowly raised her hand, her fingertips gently brushing against the cold blade of the Kunwu sword. A tiny drop of blood seeped out, instantly absorbed by the blade, making the dark red color seem even brighter.

She took a deep breath and sheathed the Kunwu sword in her sleeve; the cold touch made her even more alert.

She turned around, no longer glancing at the familiar yet unfamiliar reflection in the mirror, and walked steadily toward the palace gate.

"Squeak—"

The heavy palace doors were pushed open, and dim light from outside flooded in. She raised her head, her gaze piercing through the layers of palace walls and the tense atmosphere, looking towards the magnificent hall that symbolized the highest power in the demon realm and was about to become the final battlefield—the Daqing Hall.