Volume One, Chapter 40: Who Gave You the Audacity to Negotiate With Me?

Chong Li was all too familiar with the violent, bloodthirsty nature of this tree demon. She hadn’t been sure if other organizations would target it while it remained unhurt, but now that she had intervened, it meant a fight to the death. If it escaped, dozens could die within a single day—dozens whose loss would affect hundreds of families. Chong Li could not shoulder such karma; even if it meant gambling with her own life, she could not let it get away.

The tree demon had no way out, nor did Chong Li. If she failed her mission, she would bring shame upon her master and disgrace to Mao Mountain. She blamed herself for not finding the right moment, for not seeking out her fellow disciples—for facing the demon alone and underestimating its strength.

Pressing his hands down, Chong Li whispered, “I’ll go out. You hide here. Once I draw it away, you run.”

The tree demon gave them little time; its vines had already covered the walls.

In front of the one she loved, all reason gave way to reckless impulse.

Li Jingshou didn’t care about approval; he’d made up his mind. Chong Li had always said he lacked initiative—now, he would prove her wrong.

Unlike other wealthy heirs, Li Jingshou had no hobbies besides spending money and learning various cultures—including sign language. Coincidentally, sign language was a required course for Chong Li at Mao Mountain. Over time, they used it to communicate discreetly in certain situations.

Li Jingshou reached out, using the dim light filtering through a crack to sign: “Let me be a man for once. I love you.”

There was no time for goodbyes; Li Jingshou slipped out, just as the tree demon, its branches quivering, emerged from the corridor.

Its massive form shifted out from the dead-end, immediately locking eyes on Li Jingshou.

“You damned monster, come chase me!” Li Jingshou had prepared several lines in his head, but nerves reduced him to that single shout.

The demon’s trunk split into brittle branches, and its vine, withered leaves attached, whipped toward Li Jingshou’s head at an invisible speed.

Trembling with anxiety, Li Jingshou didn’t dare move. The scene before him shattered his worldview in seconds. He regretted his earlier words, and now believed what Chong Li had said: they belonged to different worlds.

He also regretted his own restraint—why hadn’t he learned more from his elder brother? Maybe then he could have saved Chong Li.

The sharpened vine brushed past his hair with a howl; Li Jingshou screamed, “I’m alive?! I’m not dead!”

Chong Li slapped him. “Stop whining! Run! I’ll hold it off—you find a Daoist priest from Dragon Tiger Mountain, as fast as you can.”

Swish, swish, swish—

The demon’s body spread, branches barricading both sides of the street, transforming the whole avenue into a fabricated cage.

“Sorry, none of you are leaving—especially you, little Daoist. If I eat you, my powers will be greatly enhanced.”

As it spoke, the tree demon wasted no time. Branches surged from all directions. Without her weapon, Chong Li could only throw the talismans she’d accumulated over time.

But no matter how, the demon’s strength was far beyond hers. Even wounded, it was unbeatable; at best, she could only stall it longer than before.

Li Jingshou had never been looked down upon—not for any reason but wealth. He had always been confident, excelling in whatever he did, untouched by failure. Connections? He had them. Knowledge? He possessed it. Yet since opening the door, he’d felt defeat for the first time.

Today, with Chong Li shielding him, he, as a grown man, was powerless. That crushing sense of failure enveloped him, a feeling he’d never experienced before.

Everyone reaches their limits. Chong Li ran out of talismans stored in her robe, closed her eyes helplessly.

The street was sealed, the place deserted. As the last talisman was spent, their lives reached a definitive end.

The tree demon bound them together. Its trunk split and bent, forming a pitch-black hole that seemed capable of swallowing everything.

Chong Li spoke resolutely, “Xiao Li, I’m sorry—I failed to protect you.”

Li Jingshou lowered his head, unable to utter a word. The confident man who once scoffed at the world was utterly shattered.

The demon’s vines tightened, suspending them above its gaping maw. In seconds, the constricting vines would crush their bodies like a python’s tail.

The demon sped up. At the mouth of the street, a man suddenly appeared, wearing baggy shorts and flip-flops.

The man yawned, “Unbelievable. If I hadn’t cast a divination before bed, my new apprentice would be devoured by an ungrateful tree demon tonight.”

The tree demon halted its swallowing. In a blink, the man covered the hundred-step distance, standing five meters from the demon.

“Are you out of your mind? You dare bully Mao Mountain’s treasured disciple? Don’t you know those branches are binding the prized protege of Qingfeng Daoist, Mao Mountain’s chief?”

Li Jingshou was overjoyed, “Big brother, you’re here!”

Jiang Chen shot him a glare. “Shut up. I’ll deal with you later. Damn it, if I hadn’t come, you’d be nothing but a dried corpse.”

Chong Li stared, stunned at the young man.

Shrinking the ground into an inch—a Daoist spell, mastered only by top-tier priests. Of the three who knew it, one was her master, Qingfeng Daoist; the other two were at Dragon Tiger Mountain. Master Zhang from Dragon Tiger Mountain was too old, so only one possibility remained.

The disheveled, flip-flop-wearing man before her was the new chief of Dragon Tiger Mountain—Jiang Chen—the youngest purple-robed priest in history, and a rising leader of Daoism.

Jiang Chen glanced at the girl, who by seniority should be his junior disciple, “Little sister, we’ll talk later. Let me deal with this thing first.”

Morning grumpiness was no joke, and Jiang Chen had plenty of it. He could have slept in, but divination foretold trouble, so Ning Rou had sent him out.

Luckily, he arrived in time—everything could still be saved.

Standing before the nearly ten-meter-tall demon, Jiang Chen looked small. The demon’s trunk bent, its voice hoarse, “Can’t you spare me? I only killed a few people—not enough to deserve death.”

Before it finished, Jiang Chen laughed. “Do you plants not read? Kill and you pay with your life; debts must be repaid. You killed, so you must die—is there a problem?”

If the demon’s earlier words were respectful, now they were cold, “I can give you fifty years of cultivation—can’t we negotiate?”

Jiang Chen stepped forward, “Do I look like I need your fifty years of cultivation?”

“And who gave you the right to negotiate with me?”