Demonic Insanity

A wisp of white smoke curled upward from the pipe, twisting gently before fading into the evening breeze.

The Heavenly Demon, monitoring Jing's movements through his spiritual sense, became aware of several cultivators nearby.

They were Qi Refinement first-layer cultivators, trailing Jing from a safe distance. The Heavenly Demon allowed a faint smile to surface. They emanated no demonic energy, which likely meant they were allies of hers.

But what kind of friend follows another with such caution?

His gaze lingered on Jing until she disappeared behind the hedges. As she reached the hut, the cultivators—upon spotting him—quickly melted into the shadows.

Jing entered the courtyard with a lighthearted step, but the moment she noticed the unfamiliar man sitting there, she froze.

Cautiously, she asked, "Sir, who are you? Have you seen my grandfather?"

The Heavenly Demon rose slowly. He was an aged man, his skin lined with deep wrinkles, dark rings beneath his eyes, his hands thin and skeletal. Long strands of silver-streaked hair shimmered faintly under the dim light.

He let out a rough cough and tapped the ash from his pipe.

"Girl, you must be Jing, am I right?"

Jing tilted her head slightly, suspicion flickering in her gaze.

The Heavenly Demon continued, "I was an old friend of your grandfather's. Name's Ling Yun. We used to drink together… until he lost his wife and left the village."

Jing hesitated, taking a step back.

"Sir… my grandfather never mentioned you. Not once."

She paused, eyes narrowing.

"…Or any village, for that matter. He's lived here his entire life."

Doubt settled deep in her chest.

Suddenly, Ling Yun collapsed onto his chair, his shoulders trembling as he wept. His voice, hoarse with sorrow, carried a weight that even Jing could feel.

"Sir, please stop. There must be a misunderstanding. My grandfather will be back soon. He must have gone to the mountains to gather spirit herbs…"

Ling Yun's tear-filled eyes shifted to the mound of earth beside the house. He pointed with a trembling hand.

"No, child… He's gone. Gone forever."

Jing's gaze followed his gesture—and landed on the grave she had somehow failed to notice until now.

Her breath caught in her throat.

"No…"

On the stone marker, carved in Zhou Lao's own hand, was a single word:

"Forgotten."

Jing's hand flew to her mouth, but the shock was too great for even a scream to escape. Her knees gave way, and before she could catch herself, darkness overtook her.

Ling Yun stood over her still form for a long moment. Then, with a heavy sigh, he bent down, carefully lifting her, and carried her inside.

A few hours later, Jing regained consciousness. She was still in shock.

"G-Grandfather… is he… gone?"

The only family she had, the one person who had always been by her side, was no longer breathing in this world. A hollow, suffocating grief settled deep in her chest.

Ling Yun sat in the courtyard, smoking his pipe in silence, his gaze lost in the star-strewn sky. His face carried a quiet sorrow, as if he, too, could feel a sliver of that loss. The cultivators who had been hunting Jing remained hidden among the underbrush, unwilling to draw closer.

Jing stepped out of the room, still in her nightclothes. But her body was weak, her mind clouded. She lost her balance and collapsed onto the ground.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she turned toward the small grave beside the hut. Then, she noticed Ling Yun, sitting in the dark, exhaling wisps of smoke into the night air.

She took a deep breath, steadied herself, and approached him.

"Elder… may I sit here?"

Ling Yun gave a slight nod, never taking his eyes off the sky. Jing settled onto the wooden bench beside him.

Together, they gazed upward. The stars stretched from east to west, an endless sea of light.

After a long silence, Ling Yun finally spoke.

"Your grandfather was a good man."

A faint, wistful smile crossed Jing's lips.

"He was the best man I ever knew."

Ling Yun took another slow draw from his pipe. His voice was calm, almost distant.

"But now… he's where he was always meant to be. He's a star, watching over you from above."

Jing let out a soft sigh.

"When I was five, I heard the village kids talking about their stars. When they asked me about mine, I didn't have an answer. For a while… they made fun of me."

She hesitated, lowering her gaze to her hands.

"You know, Elder… I was just a child. I didn't understand what things really meant. So I decided I would find my own star."

Ling Yun listened in silence.

"One day, I went to a fortune teller. He told me I had no star. That I was living against the will of Heaven."

She closed her eyes. Even now, the memory burned.

"I was terrified. Everyone else had a star… so why didn't I? What made me different?"

Her fingers curled into a fist on her lap.

"So I made a decision. If I had no star, then I would create one myself."

She lifted her head, eyes shining with resolve.

"That's when I told Grandfather—I wanted to become immortal. I wanted to ascend."

Ling Yun let out a quiet, bitter chuckle.

"The path to immortality is not an easy one, girl. No one knows where it truly leads. Those who have ascended… never returned to the mortal world. Are you really willing to step onto such an uncertain path?"

Jing wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. Her voice was steady, unwavering.

"Yes, Elder. Immortality is dangerous… but it's the only path that belongs to me. If this world wants to destroy me… then why shouldn't I answer with immortality?"

Ling Yun fell silent for a moment. Then, suddenly, he burst into laughter.

"Hahaha! That was amusing, girl! Do you realize how much your way of thinking resembles that of demons?"

Jing whispered in confusion, doubt creeping into her voice.

"Demons...? No... I don't harm anyone..."

Ling Yun smirked.

"You're mistaken. The moment you step onto the path of immortality, you must be prepared—to hurt and to be hurt. Your enemies aren't just fiends and vengeful spirits. Your greatest foes will be none other than the cultivators walking the same path as you."

His voice grew calm, yet profoundly deep.

"All men are demons… though most never tread the demonic path."

He exhaled a slow stream of smoke. As it curled into the air, it took the shape of a floating island, a mirage of some legendary realm.

"They say beyond this mortal world, there lies a place known as the Sacred Realm… True immortality exists there."

Ling Yun repeated the words, as if lost in his own distant dream.

"The Sacred Realm…"

That name carried the weight of countless aspirations—a destination thousands longed to reach, the dream of every cultivator.

A moment later, the smoky island trembled, then quietly dissipated into the night.

Ling Yun let out a bitter smile.

"The dream of reaching the Sacred Realm… is nothing more than a mirage."

Slowly, he rose to his feet and pointed toward the vast, starlit sky.

"Thousands of stars shine above us every night. Why? Because their fate is to shine. They are prisoners of their own brilliance… and every night, from above, they watch us with envy."

He paused, then turned to Jing, his voice firm.

"Do you know why? Because we are not bound to shine. No one is forced to be brilliant. You can become whatever you choose to be… and it is your desire that shapes your fate, not fate that dictates your desires."

Jing, entranced by his words, could only stare in silence.

Without another word, Ling Yun walked toward the grave beside the hut, pulling a small bottle of liquor from his sleeve. He poured a portion into a cup, took a slow sip, and murmured,

"Brother Zhou… I will fulfill your last wish. I will make sure your daughter reaches her dream."

Suddenly, his spiritual aura surged. Tiny orbs of light—like fireflies woven from pure energy—appeared around him, dancing in the air.

Jing watched in stunned silence.

"Elder… you're an immortal?"

But Ling Yun did not answer. He simply took another sip, his gaze lost in the endless night sky…