The cold walls of the small room reflected all the sounds and rustles that were carried in it. Just bare walls, without large calligraphy scrolls, and any decorations. It was taken out of here, leaving only a gray surface without any decorations. The air temperature in the room was such that even an immortal celestial would feel it, not to mention the poor mortal body lying on a large bed covered with a single silk sheet, from which the coolness also emanated. The figure, carelessly wrapped in a black hanfu with clawed hands, lying on the bed was none other than Shi Qingxuan, around whose thin ankle a heavy silver chain was wrapped, chained to one of the legs of the bed. Now the mortal lord of the wind was unconscious, but soon he would begin to return it back, well, judging by everything. The poor wind creature lost his consciousness at that fateful moment of choice, apparently he could not bear the scene of how the demon with his bare hands tore off Shi Wudu's head in addition to his already missing limbs, holding it by the hair right in front of Shi Qingxuan's face, forcing him to look at the face of his dead brother, splattered with blood, with dead, empty eyes. And no screams, no confessions of guilt, pleas for mercy, tears and distraught, hoarse cries of the poor wind lord could stop him.

When Shi Qingxuan slowly began to come to his senses and sat up, he could feel a severe headache, spreading like poison along the right side of his skull, burning every cell, literally seething under the bones. And the second thing the former young celestial felt was the heaviness in every part of his body, flowing through his veins, such that it was impossible to lift his hand, breathing was difficult, while his frail figure was pierced by the cold. This is all mortal body, and the pain that mortals carried with them from birth, accustomed to not noticing it, but for a being who was divine until this moment, it was excruciating. In front of the limited semi-darkness of the field of vision of dim green eyes, a tall, dark figure appeared, whose face he could finally discern. Ming Hong... no. He Xuan. A pale, gray-tinged, sharp face, with those burning through, yellow eyes, boring into him all this time, it seemed. This face, which had become the young celestial's personal nightmare, expressed absolutely nothing, He Xuan was cold, calm, as always, but now it was... scary.

"Finally,"the demon slowly said, moving away from the bed at some distance, he stood close enough, by the way, as if checking the condition of the mortal, but this would be an extremely stupid hypothesis, which he would never admit. His long black hair swayed slightly as he moved, a persistent aroma of the sea emanated from it, but... cold. Lifeless and deadly, and as ruthless as He Xuan himself.