The perpetual mist clinging to the jagged peaks of the Guixu Valley swallowed sound and light, leaving only an eerie stillness.
Xiao Jin, the Demon Sovereign, reclined on a worn bamboo chair by the frigid waters of the valley’s central tarn, a fishing rod held loosely in his hand.
He looked utterly bored.
Utterly invincible.
Beneath the surface of the still water, ancient bronze chains, etched with writhing demonic runes, shimmered faintly.
A deep, resonant rumble, like the growl of a slumbering dragon, echoed from the tarn’s depths, sending ripples across its otherwise glassy surface.
"Quiet down in there, you overgrown lizard," Xiao Jin muttered, his voice laced with an amused weariness, "or I swear I'll turn you into barbecued dragon skewers. Extra spicy."
The rumbling ceased abruptly, the tarn's surface smoothing like polished obsidian.
Xiao Jin chuckled, a dry, rasping sound like pebbles tumbling down a mountainside.
He, the Demon Sovereign who had ruled the cultivation world with an iron fist for millennia, was reduced to threatening a water monster with culinary atrocities.
Five hundred years.
Five hundred years he'd spent hiding in this godforsaken valley, far from the ceaseless squabbles and blood feuds of the cultivation world.
Five hundred years.
He’d grown weary of the killing, the endless cycle of power grabs and petty rivalries.
The silence, though sometimes deafening in its intensity, was a welcome change from the screams of the vanquished.
He sighed, the breath misting in the cool air.
"Five centuries of peace and quiet," he mused, "and I still haven’t caught a single damn fish." He’d traded slaughter for the mundane – fishing, chopping wood, tending his absurdly vibrant collection of spiritual herbs.
It was… an adjustment.
Today, however, even the quiet tranquility was being disrupted by the rumbling beast chained beneath the tarn.
He rose from his chair, stretching his stiff limbs.
Perhaps it was time to take a more… direct approach to securing his dinner.
He strolled to the edge of the tarn, peering into the murky depths.
As he leaned closer, his reflection rippled on the water's surface, revealing the faint outline of a dragon - shaped mark etched across his chest, pulsing with a dull, crimson light.
It was almost hidden, this mark of his power, tucked away beneath the simple, roughspun tunic he wore.
The water, disturbed by his presence, shifted, offering a glimpse of something beneath… something large, something pale, and something undeniably… finned.
Xiao Jin scoffed.
"Finned," he murmured, a hint of predatory amusement in his tone.
"More like delicious." He'd initially thought it was the chained beast stirring up trouble, but this… this was a gift from the heavens.
A plump, shimmering fish, practically leaping out of the tarn, begging to be grilled.
He wouldn’t even need a fishing rod.
This called for a more… hands - on approach.
He extended a hand, his movements deceptively languid, and with a swift, almost imperceptible motion, plucked the fish from the water.
It wriggled in his grasp, scales flashing silver in the filtered sunlight that managed to pierce the perpetual gloom of the valley.
"Gotcha," he whispered, a glint in his eye.
This wasn't just any fish; this was a cultivator fish, brimming with spiritual energy, practically vibrating with life force.
Perfect.
With a casual flick of his wrist, a small fire pit materialized beside him, complete with a meticulously crafted grill, glowing embers already radiating a comforting warmth.
Various jars and pouches appeared as if from thin air, filled with exotic spices and marinades, their aromas blending in a tantalizing symphony that even the most discerning gourmet would find irresistible.
He'd grown tired of the simple life, but certain luxuries were hard to abandon.
The fish, still squirming, received the Demon Sovereign’s full attention.
With the precision of a master chef, and perhaps a touch of the ruthlessness of a, well, Demon Sovereign, he scaled, gutted, and cleaned his prize, the movements fluid and efficient.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
He wasn't just preparing a meal; he was conducting a culinary ritual.
The marinating process was a work of art.
A blend of fire lilies, ghost peppers, and a dash of something decidedly unidentifiable coated the fish, the scent both earthy and otherworldly.
He even hummed a little tune, a surprisingly cheerful melody that clashed spectacularly with his reputation.
After all, even a Demon Sovereign deserved a little background music while cooking.
The fish sizzled on the grill, the skin crisping to a perfect golden brown, the aroma intensifying, permeating the valley with a mouthwatering fragrance.
Xiao Jin watched the process with an almost childlike anticipation, his stomach rumbling in approval.
Finally, it was ready.
He lifted the perfectly grilled fish, steam rising in fragrant wisps, and took a bite.
The taste?
Transcendental.
The flesh was flaky, succulent, bursting with flavor.
The spices danced on his tongue, a symphony of heat and sweetness, earthiness and fire.
He moaned, a low, guttural sound of pure culinary bliss.
This wasn’t just food; it was an experience.
He devoured the fish with gusto, every bite a testament to his culinary mastery.
Bones were discarded with a practiced flick of the wrist, landing neatly in a small pile beside the fire pit.
When the last morsel was gone, he leaned back, satisfied, a contented sigh escaping his lips.
Even immortality had its perks, especially when those perks included the ability to conjure up a gourmet meal in the middle of nowhere.
The sun, filtering through the valley’s perpetual mist, cast a warm glow on his face.
He closed his eyes, the remnants of the delicious meal lingering on his palate.
The gentle warmth, combined with the post - prandial satisfaction, lulled him into a peaceful slumber.
He found himself, as he often did in his dreams, standing at the foot of a colossal underground palace.
Silent, terracotta soldiers, their faces frozen in expressions of stoic determination, stood guard, lining the vast hall that stretched out before him.
Xiaojin surveyed the scene, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips.
"Here we go again," he murmured, his voice echoing slightly in the vast space.
"Another night, another imperial tomb. Déjà vu, anyone?"
Honestly, this dream was getting old.
For centuries, he'd been revisiting this subterranean mausoleum in his sleep.
It was like his subconscious was stuck on repeat, playing the same level over and over again.
He'd explored every nook and cranny, every hidden passage, every dusty corner.
He knew the layout better than he knew his own (admittedly ridiculously handsome) face.
These weren't just your run - of - the - mill clay soldiers, oh no.
These terracotta dudes were HUGE.
Like, bigger than your average cultivator after a triple helping of spiritual steroids.
They stood unmoving, their ancient armor gleaming faintly in the ethereal light of the dream realm.
Their eyes, though lifeless, seemed to follow him as he moved, sending a shiver of amusement down his spine.
Seriously, who designed this place?
Talk about overkill.
He knew this place.
Every crack in the walls, every loose tile on the floor.
He'd practically memorized the damn floor plan.
It was the tomb of some long - forgotten emperor, a dude obsessed with the afterlife and apparently, really into clay figurines.
Xiaojin had seen his fair share of grandiose tombs in his millennia of existence, but this one...
this one had a vibe.
A weird, unsettling vibe that kept drawing him back, night after night.
He'd seen all of the emperor's treasures, all of the emperor's concubines, and all of the emperor's battle maps.
But everything was meaningless!
Each dream visit was the same.
He’d start at the entrance, wander through the labyrinthine corridors, marvel at the sheer scale of the place, and then… he’d reach it.
The one thing that had eluded him every single time.
The one thing that kept him coming back for more.
The sarcophagus.
It sat atop the highest terrace, bathed in an otherworldly glow, radiating an aura of immense power.
He'd tried everything to open it.
Spells, brute force, even sweet - talking (don't judge, a guy's gotta try).
Nothing worked.
The damn thing was sealed tighter than a miser's coin purse.
But tonight...
tonight felt different.
There was a hum in the air, a tingling sensation in his fingertips.
A sense of anticipation, like the universe was holding its breath.
"Alright, you overgrown dirt clods," Xiaojin said to the terracotta army, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"Wish me luck. Daddy's got a coffin to crack."
Time to shake things up.
Time to finally solve this ancient mystery.
Time to get this show on the road.
With a renewed sense of purpose, Xiaojin started his ascent.
The stairs were long, winding, and steep, each step an exercise in patience.
The air grew heavy, the pressure mounting with every upward stride.
Most cultivators would have buckled under the strain, their bones creaking, their faces contorted in agony.
But Xiaojin?
He was a freakin' Demon Sovereign.
Gravity was just a suggestion to him.
He climbed, step after relentless step, the terracotta army shrinking below him.
His senses sharpened, his focus narrowed.
He could feel the power emanating from the sarcophagus, a magnetic pull that grew stronger with each passing moment.
The air crackled with energy, raising the hairs on his arms.
He imagined the emperor's spirit must be getting antsy, thinking someone was going to rob his tomb.
However, Xiaojin was not some grave robber.
He was a guy that robbed graves because he wanted to!
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he reached the summit.
The terrace was circular, open to the dream sky, which swirled with nebulous colors.
And there it was.
The sarcophagus.
Massive.
Imposing.
Covered in intricate carvings that seemed to shift and writhe before his very eyes.
The sarcophagus was easily ten times his size, crafted from a dark, obsidian - like material that seemed to absorb all light.
It pulsed with an inner energy, a silent heartbeat that resonated deep within his bones.
But it was the carving that truly captivated him.
A dragon.
Coiled, powerful, its scales shimmering with an ethereal light.
And not just any dragon.
This was the exact same dragon that was tattooed over his heart.
A sudden thought flashed in his mind: Is this my past life?
He'd always felt a strange connection to the dragon mark, a sense of belonging that defied logic.
He'd assumed it was just some random demonic sigil, a cool design he'd acquired during his… rebellious youth.
But now?
Now, he wasn't so sure.
"Okay, universe," Xiaojin muttered, his voice barely a whisper.
"You have my attention. What the hell is going on here?"
He knew the drill.
He'd been here before.
Every time he got close enough to touch the sarcophagus, he'd wake up.
The dream would shatter, leaving him stranded in his waking world, frustrated and empty - handed.
But this time, he was determined to break the cycle.
This time, he would see what lay inside.
This time, he would finally unravel the mystery of the dragon.
He steeled himself, focusing his energy, bracing for the inevitable jolt.
He reached out his hand, his fingers trembling slightly.
He had to know what was inside.
He had to know the truth.
He took a step closer, then another.
The sarcophagus loomed before him, its presence overwhelming.
The dragon carving seemed to pulse, its eyes glowing with an ancient light.
He was close. So close.
He took a deep breath, held it, and reached out his hand.
He walked over and reached out to touch the sarcophagus.
Finally touched it, icy to the touch.
