“Monster! How dare you show your face here!”

Clara Brighton opened her eyes, a splitting headache pulsing behind them.

She was in a large hall, wide and echoing with noise.

Hundreds of people stood packed nearby, shouting over each other.

The place had a classic look—half-open carved wooden lattice windows, spotless wooden floors, and furniture pushed to the edges in stacks.

“Our whole town’s talkin’ about it! Said all the folks in West Village got eaten by a monster, left just her alive!”

A boy in bright yellow silk stood out in front. He looked about twelve or thirteen, face decent but smug, his eyes filled with disdain like she was some kind of trash.

“It’s her!”

He jabbed his finger in her face, nearly poking her nose.

“My father says she’s in league with that monster! She lured it in and got everyone killed!”

“No way…”

“Is that true?”

A few boys and girls in the crowd traded glances—some disgusted, some unsure.

“She killed her parents just by being born, then her aunt’s whole family and the village too. Can’t be anything but a monster!” the boy spat. “Go ask around Qingyang Town—everyone knows!”

He sneered and snarled, “Ellie Brighton, you filthy demon, how dare you stand here with us for the sect trial! You don’t belong anywhere near a sacred place!”

Clara: “?”

Ellie Brighton, Qingyang Town, West Village… Monsters.

Not to mention that familiar dialogue…

Wasn’t this the opening scene from that smutty cultivation novel “Chronicles of the Imprisoned Demon”?

The lead, Ellie Brighton, born in West Village under Qingyang Town, woke one morning to find her family slaughtered by demons. She ends up wandering alone and somehow joins Qing Province’s top sect.

Sounds great, except… she’s got half-demon blood, cursed and unstable. Her episodes hit without warning, and the only cure? Dual cultivation.

Cue all the awkward pairings: senior brother, senior sister, even the master…

The writing was emotional and kind of steamy at first—but it got old, fast. Same format every time: meet someone, get sick, and straight to the weird stuff.

It started fun, then got messy. The plot tangled, characters popped in with no rhyme or reason, names got switched up—the author clearly lost track, and so did the readers.

Clara could barely finish a few chapters before she passed out from boredom.

Next thing she knew—bam—she was the main character.

And now her head hurt even more.

Sure, if you took “Chronicles of the Imprisoned Demon” as mindless smut, it wasn’t the worst.

Over-the-top moments, criminal behavior that somehow flew in the story’s world—typical adult fiction tropes.

Compared to worse titles, the content wasn’t overly gory or disgusting.

But reading it and living it were two different beasts.

Ellie spent most of the story with no control over herself.

Even if dual cultivation boosted her power, the whole lose-your-mind-and-body-on-a-whim thing?

No thanks. Hard pass."—If you’ve got half a brain, you’ll scram now. Or better yet, get on your knees and beg the immortal masters to end you clean."

The boy in yellow wouldn’t shut up.

But halfway through his rant, he noticed—she wasn’t even listening.

"I’m talking to you!" he snapped. "Ellie Brighton, you filthy freak—"

His arm shot forward, trying to slap her.

Clara Brighton snapped awake.

This was it—the start of the story. The protagonist hadn’t even had her first episode yet. The spirit root test was still ahead. Maybe things could still be changed.

Without hesitation, Clara caught his hand mid-air and drove her foot into the side of his knee. "Tch. You’re the nastiest one here. What, had swill for breakfast? How much, a bucket?"

The boy cried out and stumbled back, face twisted in pain and disbelief.

This wasn’t the Ellie Brighton he remembered—a timid girl who never fought back, who’d just cry silently when kids bullied her.

As he reeled, Clara quickly scanned the hall again.

Over by the staircase stood several young men and women. Some talked quietly, others watched the scene.

They wore long robes, most armed with blades slung over their backs or at their waists, weapons faintly glowing.

Inside the hall, it was mostly teens.

Some strutted around in silk and jewelry, clearly from money.

Others were clad in plain cloth—some new, some washed pale, some patched up.

This was how the story started.

Every five years, the strongest sect in Qingzhou, Xuanshen Sect, sent people out. With special tools and spells, they searched the land for those with spirit roots—potential cultivators.

Those found were taken back to the sect for further testing in the Spirit Root Ceremony.

The original Ellie had been picked up while wandering the streets. When the cultivators found her to have a spirit root, they asked if she wanted to train on the mountain. With nowhere else to go, she agreed and ended up here.

"You shameless monster…"

The boy was still ranting.

Clara turned toward the water basin by the window.

Above it, a polished copper mirror.

In it, a girl’s face stared back, eyes hazy with confusion.

She looked about fifteen or sixteen—thin frame, long black hair braided and hanging low.

Her skin was pale, lashes long, eyes deep. Every glance shimmered with light. High nose bridge, lips slightly curved—delicate and striking.

Her iris held a cool golden hue, almost like sunlit sand. That, paired with her emotionless look, gave her an air of aloof pride.

That face… it was familiar.

She looked almost like she had in high school. Same features. Just a different hairstyle.

Her gaze shifted to the window.

Outside, a bustling street.

Old-style buildings lined the road, white walls and deep-tile roofs running in unbroken rhythm. Wide, clean streets, crowded but never cramped.

People strode with easy strength, all in robes, all with weapons on their belts or backs. Blades glinted in the sun.

Every now and then, someone would shoot up into the sky, turning into a flash of light.

This was Qingming Peak of Langshan.

Home of the Sect Affairs Hall—one of Xuanshen Sect’s five outer halls. It handled all kinds of logistical matters, including assigning demon-hunting tasks.

The Spirit Root Ceremony was held right here.

"Disgusting…" the boy kept muttering.

Clara shot him a cold glare.He kept calling her a monster, but that didn’t mean he knew she was half-demon.

Clara Brighton had been left with her aunt and uncle when she was a baby. She grew up with their family and never showed a trace of demonic blood.

Even she hadn’t known she was a half-blood until her first episode. So how could anyone else?

Her aunt and uncle treated her just like one of their own. They didn’t spoil her, sure, and there were chores, even the occasional scolding or beating—but their own kids got the same. Nothing worth complaining about.

A few nights ago, her cousin had a stomach ache. Her uncle told Clara to pick herbs in the mountains. That’s why she was out when the demon attacked their village.

By the time she came back, West Village was soaked in blood. Not a single soul left breathing.

The massacre shook all the nearby towns. Then, two days later, someone spotted Clara alive. News spread like wildfire—more twisted every time someone told it.

The boy in the yellow coat came from the Lee family in Qingyang Town. On paper, they were a respected clan. In truth, just a bunch of rich bullies. And he was one of the cannon fodder villains in the original novel.

He—and plenty of others—thought the same thing: everyone in West Village died. Clara survived. Must be because she’s a monster.

Her parents had died long ago—no grave, no name left behind. People had always called her a bad omen, cursed from birth. After this? They were sure she was unnatural.

Just old-school superstition.

Clara drew in a deep breath.

To others, it looked like she was hesitating. But then her face changed, like she’d made up her mind.

“Jonathan Lee, I know why you’re spreading lies. You want the villagers to drive me out.”

His brows knit together. He tried to say something.

Clara cut him off, sharp and clear. “You’re scared. Scared I’ll talk about what the Lee family really does behind closed doors—how you stomp on the weak and trample the rules in town. We’re from the same village. Outsiders don’t know. Yet.”

The Lee family ran a tavern in Qingyang Town. Had money, power. They shortchanged workers, charged interest no one could repay, did whatever they had to do to ruin their competitors. Maybe they didn’t kill outright, but their hands weren’t clean.

“You—shut your mouth!” Jonathan panicked, lunging at her.

Clara saw it coming.

She’d been watching him, waiting for a move. The second his shoulder shifted—she slipped aside.

He missed, stumbled, then charged again.

The crowd was tensing for a fight—when suddenly things quieted.

“What’s going on?” A light male voice came from ahead. Clear and calm.

Children backed away fast, their faces filled with awe—and fear.

The crowd parted.

A black-haired boy strolled forward in deep blue robes. He looked sixteen, maybe seventeen. Pretty face. Tall, lean build. Moved without a sound.

When he reached them, he glanced around. “Why all the noise?”

The way he spoke was casual, almost lazy. No anger. Just curiosity.

By the stairs, those older men—the cultivators from the Mystic Sky Sect—stood frozen, heads lowered.

Clara’s eyes flicked to his robe.

Near the hem, embroidered in near-invisible thread, was a dragon curling in silver-blue silk. It shimmered, faint and steady.

“Why are they bowing to him?” someone whispered in the back. “Is he that important?”"Look at his robes—he's from Wolong Peak, probably a direct disciple of some elder."

"All of us here are just outer sect disciples. Of course we should show respect."

"Man, if only I could get into the inner sect..."

"Pfft, even to be a registered disciple in one of the four inner peaks, you need at least a True Spiritual Root. That's like one in a thousand."

The moment someone from Celestial Sect appeared, everyone’s attention shifted.

It was obvious Jonathan Lee was just putting on a show. That ‘demon’ nonsense was laughable.

"Esteemed Immortal, please judge fairly!" Jonathan stepped up fast, quickly repeating the tale of a demon attack in West Village. "This Ellie Brighton, no one knows where she really came from—she's always acted strange."

The blue-robed young man gave a slow nod, then looked at Clara Brighton. "They’re calling you a demon. You sayin’ that’s true?"

Tone casual. Almost bored.

Clara steadied herself, a flicker of sorrow showing. "Immortal sir… that night, I went into the mountain to gather herbs. Ended up dodging the disaster—pure luck, nothing more. I’ve got nobody left to vouch for me, but I swear I’ve done no wrong."

Her half-demon bloodline was hidden deep—wouldn’t show unless she lost control. In the novel, even the Demonic Mirror didn’t reveal it.

She clenched her jaw. "I am not a demon."

As she spoke, she forced tears into her eyes. Red-rimmed.

Maybe it was the grief of lost family. Maybe it was the shame of being falsely accused. Or both.

"Liar!" Jonathan shrieked. "You're a demon! You! Are! A! Demon!"

The blue-robed boy looked bored now.

He seemed about to speak—then his expression shifted. Suddenly, he vanished.

The crowd gasped loud.

No one could tell how he left.

“You—” Jonathan narrowed his eyes at her.

He’d wanted to teach her a lesson, but that little performance had changed things. She didn’t seem like the type to just take a beating.

"My cousin’s got dual Earth Spiritual Roots. He’s already with Elder Pierce at Mistfire Peak," Jonathan sneered. Then leaned in, low voice full of threat. "If you don’t get lost today, I’ve got ways to make your death real ugly."

Clara: "...Is that so."

In the original story, the girl took it all—got slapped once too.

Didn’t matter. He still saw her as beneath him. Still tried to harm her later, even after she entered the sect.

No pleasing that kind of person.

And Clara had bigger things to deal with anyway.

"...Who’s that?" someone murmured in the crowd.

A flicker in the corner of her eye. The blue-robed boy reappeared at the stairs.

This time, he wasn’t alone.

Next to him was a tall man in snow-white brocade robes, spotless. Silver-blue trim lined the outer layer, faint embroidery of clouds and geese near the hem. The whole look had a touch of immortal grace.

As if feeling her gaze, the man turned his head slightly.

Clara’s eyes locked with a pair of cold, star-bright black eyes.

He wore a silver crown, long black hair tied high. Strikingly handsome. His eyes shone so vividly it was hard to meet them.

The cultivators near the stairs all bowed low at once.

Some even forgot to breathe.

The blue-robed youth stayed calm. "Uncle Lucas, looks like their Spirit Gathering Array's almost fixed."The man gave a slight nod to the bowing cultivators. “No need for such formality.”

He didn’t bother with pleasantries, nor did he care how they responded. His gaze swept toward the crowd in the hall.

The group of youths waiting for the test noticed immediately. The man was striking to look at—so much so that many thought he was looking right at them. Faces turned red, excitement flared, and some lowered their heads shyly.

Only Clara Brighton felt her skin crawl. A chill crept up her spine.

She couldn’t hear what was being said, but judging by the scene, she already knew who the man was.

“Judging by his robes… must be from Falling Goose Peak…”

Lucas Dunn.

One of the four inner peaks of the Celestial Sect—Falling Goose Peak.

Its head, Leonard Cleary, was a legendary figure across the Nine Provinces, having slain countless great demons and demon kings. Even within the Celestial Sect, he stood just beneath the Sect Leader.

And Lucas Dunn was his first disciple.

The Spirit Sensing Rite was held at the Hall of Fate. Once the tests concluded, some would stay as outer sect members—either here or at other halls—while a few would qualify for the inner sect.

So, representatives from the four inner peaks always showed face, officially to welcome newcomers, but really just to ensure the Hall of Fate didn’t manipulate results to keep talented ones to themselves.

According to the novel, after the young man in blue robes left, the protagonist—Ellie Brighton—would be shoved and cursed by Jonathan Lee. All she could do was insist tearfully that she wasn't a demon, eventually falling to the ground in silence and grief.

That’s when Lucas Dunn arrived. He saw her, tear-streaked and pitiful, and was stunned by her beauty.

A man of power and will, he didn’t ask for permission. He just took her with him.

Truth was, he hadn’t meant to do anything to her.

But she couldn’t speak clearly and looked like she was about to pass out from crying. Lucas only wanted to move her somewhere quiet and let her calm down before figuring out what was going on.

Who’d have thought—once alone in a room—she lost her mind, leapt on him, completely out of control.

The rest… well, everyone knows how that goes.

Not only did they sleep together, but during her episode, her eyes shifted color—her half-demon blood exposed. From there, she was chained to him, suffering through endless drama and torment.

Clara: "…Dammit."

She was nothing like Ellie Brighton. But her earlier scene had been too convincing. She probably looked just as sad and teary-eyed now.

Lucas Dunn’s eyes never left her. They were calm, almost empty, as if he was just casually looking her way—yet he wouldn’t turn away. He just stared.

Clara angled her head away, avoiding eye contact, but she still felt the pressure, like a blade against her back.

No.

Her eyes flicked—then it clicked.

The novel was clear: Lucas had no interest in petty conflict. What drew him in was the image of a delicate girl on the verge of tears, helpless and gentle.

That might’ve been pity—or a twisted kink.

Either way, she just needed to kill the mood.

Clara sucked in a breath, her gaze cutting toward Jonathan Lee, who’d just tried to get tough moments ago. She grabbed a stool stacked nearby.

Next second, the wooden stool crashed onto Jonathan’s head.

“You call me a demon and run your mouth? Fine—let’s f*cking die together, you rotten bastard!”