The No. 1 Hunfen King in the Entire Server [Interstellar] Chapter 88

From one to three hundred and four.

With each touch of his fingers along the stone wall, Chu Feihuan knew every pattern and crevice by heart.

The endless, boundless passage of time was enough to drive anyone mad.

Trapped in this pitch-black, deathly silent chamber, with the cold springs of the Sword Pool churning overhead, he had no choice but to count the stones every day—to keep his mind clear, to prevent himself from spiraling into wild thoughts, to stop the crushing despair from breaking him.

So when the paper crane landed on his fingertip, no one knew how chaotic his emotions became.

Chu Feihuan silently gazed at it, his cyan eyes half-hidden in the shadows.

“To Chu Feihuan, reading this letter is like seeing me in person.”

“Can you guess who I am?”

His gaze lowered, his expression shrouded in flickering light—half-divine, half-demonic.

“If you can’t guess, that’s good.”

“I’m here to scold you.”

“I heard you’re locked up in Abyssal Prison. You probably can’t scold me back, huh? How tragic. Hahaha.”

The paper crane carried a faint, rare fragrance—the scent of a precious spiritual medicine worth more than gold.

Chu Feihuan ran his fingers gently over the writing, as if handling something fragile beyond words.

“I can’t think of what to scold you for right now, so I’ll save it for later.”

“I have too many paper cranes in my room. If I fold any more, there won’t be space to put them. So I’ll use you to get rid of some.”

“Aren’t you bored staying in one room all by yourself? What a coincidence—I am too. But I’ve been alone much longer than you.”

“Are you counting ants now? Wait, are there even ants in Abyssal Prison? If not, then I bet you’re counting the stones on the walls. Or pacing back and forth, measuring the room from south to north, right? Ha! I got sick of those games ages ago.”

At first, Lin Jing had planned to keep up the act. But by the end, he completely let loose.

In Yingluo Hall, paper cranes covered the entire room, stacked up endlessly.

Lin Jing never needed a reply—he treated this as his personal diary, venting about everything he observed.

Ten years in the mortal world, watching countless schemes unfold from an omniscient perspective, he had far too much to rant about.

Time passed.

“Have you ever seen the ‘Chun’ tree in Broken Sky Valley? I’ve always heard it’s legendary, but I’ve been there countless times and never found that mythical tree. Total scam.”

“Also, Chu Feihuan, after all this time, have you figured out who I am?”

Lin Jing paused over the last paper crane, hesitating for a long time.

For a moment, he was tempted to jokingly write, “Actually, I’m your dad.”

But in the end, he shook his head, chuckled, and instead penned something far more cryptic and profound:

“I am the presence you can sense when you close your eyes.”

Do you get it, kid? I’m the nameless god who has watched over you, step by step, as you grew. In a way, I really am your dad.

When Chu Feihuan received this final letter, time had long since lost meaning to him.

The paper crane landed on his fingertip, as always.

After he unfolded it, within a minute, the crane dissolved into mist, vanishing without a trace—as if it had all been just a dream.

His fingers traced the inked words.

The presence you can sense when you close your eyes—what does that mean?

Slowly, Chu Feihuan lifted his head.

Above the deep, impenetrable abyss of the Sword Pool, the cold spring water churned and rippled.

His cyan eyes reflected the chill of that water. Long lashes cast faint shadows over his cheeks before he slowly closed his eyes.

The paper crane dissolved into stardust at his fingertips.

At that moment, his senses expanded infinitely.

Every sensation became delicate and ice-cold.

He saw ripples spreading across an endless river.

He saw a breeze sweeping past scattered bones.

He saw moonlight descending from the heavens, piercing through the dust of the mortal world, shining upon the deepest depths.

The presence he could sense when he closed his eyes—

Was the wind, and the moon.

Meanwhile, in Yingluo Hall, paper cranes were scattered like a web of red threads across the entire room.

Lin Jing had fallen asleep at his desk.

When he woke up, the system was beside him.

The system said, “Wipe your drool.”

Expressionless, Lin Jing wiped his face. “What do you want?”

The system said, “You like watching drama, right? I just thought I’d remind you—a major plot point is about to happen.”

Lin Jing blinked. “What?”

The system, a newly created AI that wasn’t even a year old, huffed arrogantly: “If you don’t believe me, fine. I’ll leave. I have other storylines to manage, you know.”

Lin Jing couldn’t even be bothered to expose its lie—Yeah, right. The way you fuss over this storyline is completely unmatched.

After arriving at the Jiuyang Sword Sect, Lin Jing finally understood what the system meant by a major plot point.

It was demonic intent.

The young master of the Astrologer Pavilion had once again used his spiritual power to detect the last trace of demonic intent.

Unwrapping the black silk covering his eyes, he opened his divine pupil. His fingers, icy cold, pointed distantly in the direction of the Jiuyang Sword Sect.

The Jiuyang Sword Sect. The Abyssal Prison.

—Chu Feihuan was actually a demon!

The entire world was shaken.

The devastation caused by the Demon Lord two hundred years ago still lingered like an unshakable shadow over the cultivation world. Back then, the land was filled with wails, rivers ran red with blood, and fear and despair gripped every heart.

No one wanted to recall those days.

Now that the Astrologer Pavilion had given its decree, everyone turned pale, trembling, yet firm in their resolve.

Kill him—he must be killed, to eliminate any future threats!

While chaos surged outside, Chu Feihuan remained seated quietly at the bottom of Abyssal Prison.

Gu Xiangsi was the first to stand up for him.

She knelt in front of the sect master’s hall for three days and three nights, neither resting nor sleeping, yet the Jiuyang Sword Sect’s leader refused to see her.

This young woman, known throughout the cultivation world for her beauty and grace, knelt before the stone steps, bowing again and again, until her forehead was streaked with fresh blood.

Onlookers couldn’t help but feel sympathy.

They whispered among themselves, “Chu Feihuan is truly lucky to have such a devoted woman.”

“It’s just a shame he’s a demon. Otherwise, even I’d be moved by their love.”

Lin Jing sneered, “Even I’m about to be touched by their love story.”

But… demon.

Does having demonic intent in one’s body automatically mean one will become a demon? Who decided this rule? Is determining good and evil truly such a careless judgment?

In Yingluo Hall, thousands of paper cranes swayed in the air, colliding and rubbing against each other, producing crisp, melodious sounds.

When Shangguan Wuya entered, Lin Jing was washing his hands by the lotus lake. His pinky finger throbbed faintly, requiring a soak to ease the pain.

“Ah Qing, how have you been feeling lately?”

The revered and cold Sect Master of Lingxiao, who commanded great authority before outsiders, was merely a gentle and kind father in front of his daughter.

Lin Jing, recalling Chu Feihuan’s situation, tilted his head slightly and curiously asked, “Father, does having demonic intent necessarily mean one will become a demon?”

Shangguan Wuya’s expression stiffened for a moment before he gently replied, “Why are you asking about this today?”

Lin Jing made up an excuse, saying, “I read about the origins of the Immortal Alliance in a book and was just a bit curious. If demonic intent enters someone’s body, do they really have no other fate but to become a demon?”

Shangguan Wuya shook his head and explained from the perspective of a master cultivator in the Nascent Soul stage: “Not necessarily. Demonic intent is just like an inner demon—it’s merely a thought that interferes with the mind. If one has a clear and steadfast heart, they may not necessarily fall into demonic ways.”

Lin Jing asked, “Then why does the Immortal Alliance insist on wiping them out completely?”

Looking into his daughter’s clear eyes, Shangguan Wuya felt both affection and helplessness toward her innocence. He smiled and said, “Ah Qing, the cultivation world cannot afford to leave such a great hidden danger unchecked. If we can root out the problem completely, why take the risk?”

It was cruel, but understandable.

Pain pulsed through Lin Jing’s pinky again. He nodded slightly and said, “Father is right.”

But… does one necessarily become a demon?

Certainly not.

Otherwise, the entire premise of this game wouldn’t even make sense.

Lin Jing never sent another paper crane to Chu Feihuan.

He simply continued to watch silently by his side, observing the people he encountered—the good and the bad, the love and the hatred.

In the end, Gu Xiangsi abandoned everything and opened the gates of Abyssal Prison.

No one knew where she had stolen the access token from, but in order to create a distraction, she even set fire to the Sword Pool above. Flames roared, thick smoke billowed.

Dressed in a light blue gown, she rushed inside, screaming at the top of her lungs, “Chu Feihuan!”

So touching.

Lin Jing could do nothing but stand by and watch these two reckless lovers.

Gu Xiangsi stumbled forward, eyes red and brimming with tears. She didn’t waste a single word—she simply grabbed his hand. “Come, Chu Feihuan, I’m taking you away.” Her voice choked with sobs, tears welled in her eyes.

Chu Feihuan looked up at her, his cool blue eyes calm, his lips curling into a faint smile. “Senior Sister Gu, where do you plan to take me?”

Gu Xiangsi’s tears finally spilled over. “I’ll take you away from here.”

Lin Jing let out a sigh.

Ah, what an iconic scene.

Back then, she brought him home. Now, she was taking him away—throwing everything aside to protect him for a lifetime.

Gu Xiangsi was undoubtedly playing the heroine’s role.

But… she was holding the villain card.

Lin Jing’s gaze shifted to Chu Feihuan, a complex emotion flickering in his eyes.

So, in the end, how tragic would this love turn out to be?

Lin Jing had played this game long enough to reach the number one ranking. His ability to foresee major events had been honed to its peak.

He continued to follow the two of them.

The moment they stepped out of Abyssal Prison, as expected, they were met with furious sect elders and a horde of sword cultivators.

Torches burned bright. Voices roared. They shouted for the eradication of evil, their faces twisted with anger and hatred.

Gu Xiangsi stood protectively in front of Chu Feihuan, her trembling fingers gripping the Biling Sword.

“Xiangsi, stop being so stubborn.”

A female elder—Gu Xiangsi’s own master—looked at her beloved disciple with deep sorrow, sighing heavily. “If you turn yourself in to the Discipline Hall now, your punishment will be lighter. Don’t get involved any further.”

Gu Xiangsi was in tears, shaking as she cried out, “No! Master, Chu Feihuan is not a demon! He’s not! You have to believe me!”

The male elder bellowed in rage, “Not a demon cultivator? The Astrologer Pavilion has already given their decree, yet you still defend him? Today, I will kill you both!”

“Xiangsi, let go!”

Lin Jing sat on a tree not far away, the wind making the paper cranes on his robe tremble gently.

Playing idly with a leaf, he suddenly felt that this scene wasn’t as entertaining as he had expected.

Too tragic.

Truly, too tragic.

He watched as smoke and fire filled the sky, as thousands of arrows were loosed at once, as rivers of blood flowed amidst the clash of blades and shadows.

And he watched Chu Feihuan—powerless and without cultivation—have his legs broken, forced to kneel in the mud.

Watched Gu Xiangsi fight desperately, using her mortal body to shield him from the storm of prejudice and hostility.

Tears and blood fell together.

At the last moment, another person rushed forward to block the sword meant for them.

“Wenqing? Even you want to interfere in this?”

It was Xue Wenqing.

The frail, sickly young master spread his arms, shielding the couple. Blood gushed from his wounds, and he seemed ready to collapse at any moment, yet his gaze was filled with sorrow. “Elder, leave the matter of executing demons to the Immortal Alliance.”

That night, half the mountain of Jiuyang Sword Sect burned.

That night, countless fates were sealed.

Soon, more people arrived—even the rarely seen Sword Sect leader.

They shouted until their voices were hoarse. They argued and debated fiercely, caught between life and death, bound by deep emotions and unfulfilled debts.

But none of it had anything to do with Lin Jing.

The wind curled coldly around his fingertips. Lin Jing tilted his head slightly, his clear gaze resting on Chu Feihuan.

He watched the man who had been locked away in a lonely, dark stone chamber for three years, only to step out into a sea of blood and vengeance.

The crane embroidery on his black robe was already soaked in red.

Once, he had been a carefree youth, roaming a thousand mountains with his sword. Once, he had shone like a bright star, rushing through the night to rescue a damsel in distress.

But now, with just a few words, the world had turned upside down. And awaiting him was an endless abyss of darkness.

Lin Jing couldn’t help but wonder—what was Chu Feihuan thinking at this moment?

But unfortunately, Chu Feihuan’s hair had fallen loose, cascading like a black waterfall, veiling his expression. Only his hands, gripping his sword, remained visible—cold and rigid.

Lin Jing idly toyed with a leaf, a sudden pang of sorrow welling up inside him.

He wasn’t sure if he felt sad for Chu Feihuan’s current plight or for the hidden truths yet to be revealed.

Chu Feihuan—will you fall in love with Gu Xiangsi today?

But the story isn’t over yet.

Lin Jing sighed softly, leaned back, feeling restless. He stuffed the leaf into his mouth and began to play a tune—

The same melody he had once idly composed for himself, a tune to distract his own mind.

The notes drifted lightly through the air. His white robe fluttered, the paper cranes hanging from his belt dancing along with the wind. In the swirling mist, he looked like a butterfly—or perhaps, a great bird.

Yet, halfway through the song, his heart grew even more unsettled. Frustrated, he untied a paper crane from his waist.

He unfolded it, intending to write something—only to realize he didn’t know what to say.

Closing his eyes, he hurriedly folded it back up and let it fly away.

When his gaze returned to the Jiuyang Sword Sect’s sword pool, he saw that Chu Feihuan had already been dragged off the cliff by Gu Xiangsi.

No way out—seeking life from the jaws of death.

Lin Jing could have easily floated down to see what became of them.

But he found it all rather dull. Closing his eyes, he let himself wake up once again inside the Yingluo Hall.