After I stopped trying, a rich woman trained me into a demon emperor.

Zhou Ran turned over and left the black coffin, waved his hand to brush off the frost and algae from his outer clothes, and walked straight through the side hall.

Inside the storage space, the broken piece of white bone pen trembled incessantly, vaguely drawn by some force from the deepest part of the Nine Nether Well.

The contents of Xiaorou's voice transmission jade were clear.

On the ninth floor, there is a skeleton that has passed away, clutching half a bone in its hand. The texture of the broken bone matches the broken bone in its hand perfectly.

I have to go through this myself.

At the entrance to the Nine Nether Well, Jiu Youhou stood by the stone platform. She didn't say much, but handed over a jet-black token.

"The ninth floor is extremely deathly, more than ten times the level of the seventh floor you visited."

"With your mid-stage Nascent Soul cultivation, you can't force your way in; your meridians won't be able to withstand it."

She handed over the token.

"Take this, and the deathly aura will naturally avoid you along the way. It will take effect within 15 minutes, enough for you to make a round trip."

Zhou Ran accepted the token.

"You knew there was something down there."

Jiuyou stared at Zhou Ran's face, the black lines between his brows slightly furrowed.

Thirty thousand years ago, there was a scribe under the night sky.

This person held no official position or rank, wasn't even in the military, and did only one thing—draft and establish rules for the Demon Emperor.

Jiuyou raised his hand, pointing his fingertips toward the deep well.

He died before the Demon Emperor fell.

To put it bluntly, he chose this location and buried himself there, without revealing a single word beforehand.

By the time I took over this well, the ninth level would have been sealed off long ago.

We can't get in, we can't explore.

"Have you probed the bottom line?"

"I went down three times."

Jiuyou withdrew his fingertips.

"The door at the bottom of the well doesn't recognize my death aura; it won't even open a crack in the door."

Xiao Rou was able to enter today entirely because she hadn't been branded by the Nine Nether Well; the restrictions treated her as if she didn't exist.

Zhou Ran tossed the token in his hand.

"How should I be classified in this situation?"

Jiuyou's gaze swept over his sleeve.

"You've been branded with my death aura, so conventional methods won't work."

But the broken pen in your hand is far more senior than my Nine Netherworld Mark.

If the pen recognizes its master, what is a mere door?

Zhou Ran put the token into his pocket and leaped into the black well.

The array patterns on the token lit up, and the dense death aura on both sides made way.

Zhou Ran traversed several levels, stepping over the remaining scorch marks on the seventh level and over the ancient characters covering the stone walls of the eighth level, before landing smoothly.

There was only one stone door remaining ahead.

The storefront was covered with a thick layer of frost.

Zhou Ran pulled out the broken half of a bone from under his sleeve, pointed the pen forward, and held it straight to the door.

The frost peeled off in patches, and the heavy stone door opened with a thud.

The interior space was cramped, and the walls were made of ice formed from deathly energy.

A faint blue light shone on the cross-legged skeleton in the center.

He was dressed in a black robe, with a well-proportioned frame and upright posture.

The right finger bone firmly gripped a small fragment of bone.

Zhou Ran walked up to the skeleton and squatted down.

He gripped the broken bone in his hand and moved closer to the fragment.

The fracture was less than three inches apart, yet the white bones trembled continuously, revealing profound and mysterious fluctuations in the rules.

Zhou Ran's mind was in turmoil as a string of obscure information was forcibly forced into his brain.

The images flashed by extremely quickly, like a carousel.

A figure stood on the scorched earth where lava was rolling, holding a perfectly intact bone pen, the tip of which was full of ink, and wrote in mid-air.

The figure turned its head away, its face hidden in the flickering firelight.

The only thing that stood out was the black robe he was wearing, the workmanship and tailoring of which were exactly the same as the seated skeleton on the ground.

The image shattered into pieces.

A wisp of remnant soul emerged from the crack between the bones.

Before it dissipated, a few lines of text crashed straight into Zhou Ran's sea of ​​consciousness.

[This judgment can be revised. The price is true memory, like ink.]

I will pass away here, awaiting the next ruler.

Those without the bloodline of the Demon Emperor should not attempt to write.

Those who do not wish to offer their memories, may remain silent.

The remnant soul completely dissipated, the skeletal fingers loosened, and fragments clattered to the ground.

Zhou Ran picked up the piece of bone and reattached the two pieces of remains together.

The fault lines are tightly interlocked, yet they do not blend together.

There was a slit in the middle, about the thickness of a hair, with a hazy gray light flowing through the bottom of the slit.

The pen was broken in two, but it was still clinging to its last breath.

The pen is worn out, but it can still make one last stroke.

Zhou Ran gathered the broken bones together, tucked them into his sleeve, and stood up to examine the surrounding stone walls.

The old ice all around left many traces, recording the cause and effect of the scribe's death.

This person truly chose his own burial site before he breathed his last, and prepared his escape route well in advance.

He was just waiting for someone to come and take the pen.

Zhou Ran turned around and retreated back into the passage.

The heavy stone door slammed shut, and the gray frost spread again, returning everything to its original state.

When Zhou Ran returned to the main hall of the Devouring Heaven Demon Palace, three peak Tribulation Transcending cultivators, along with Qin San and the others, were already waiting.

Jiuyou leaned against the leftmost stone pillar, his expression unchanged.

Zhou Ran didn't beat around the bush; he took out the broken bones and placed them side by side on the cover of the military register.

"The Scribe. Ye Futian's former subordinate who was in charge of setting rules for writing."

Zhou Ran looked at both sides of the long table.

"This person died in the Nine Nether Well with half a pen in his hand, leaving behind one last chance to reverse the rules."

The bloodthirsty voice rang out.

"Whose rules should we change?"

"The Emperor's Judgment".

Zhou Ran tapped his knuckles on the broken bone.

"The decree to erase names, along with the official to erase names six days later, are all predetermined by the Emperor's son using his executive authority. The pen can change the rules and overturn the judgment."

Huanyin gently stroked her chin.

"Just this once. As long as the pen is placed precisely, the prince's seven-day ultimatum will become worthless."

Jiuyou stepped forward, bent down, and examined the gray light at the joint of the broken bones.

I watched it for a long time.

"How much will it cost?"

The conversation inside the hall ceased.

Jiuyou straightened up.

"This brush was never given away for free. In the past, Ye Fu used the brush with his own lifeblood as ink. Now that it's in your hands, what price do you expect?"

Zhou Ran met her gaze.

This woman had thoroughly understood Ye Futian's original team, even calculating the price for each contract.

"Use memories as ink."

Zhou Ran answered decisively.

"Every time I put pen to paper, I have to dig out a piece of my own personal memory to fill in."

The bloodthirsty spear slammed heavily onto the stone bricks.

"The black coffin was already partially broken off; are you going to keep cutting flesh out?"

Huan Yin narrowed her long, narrow eyes. She had just finished mending Zhou Ran's sea of ​​consciousness and knew very well how fragile those memories were.

"Zhou Ran".

Huan Yin lowered her voice.

"Memory cannot withstand repeated ruthless extraction. Once a piece is removed, the foundation of your primordial spirit weakens."

Zhou Ran tucked the broken bone back into his sleeve.

Chen Ya had kept the memory that the black coffin had taken from Jiang Cheng, so that he could have a backup plan.

If you sacrifice this part of your memory, you can piece it back together with a backup.

He was not allowed to reveal this trump card.

The fewer people who know the details, the more secure this move will be.

"With this pen in hand, we might have a chance to retaliate against the Emperor's son."

Zhou Ran flipped through the cover of the military register.

The people around them exchanged glances.

Bloodlust opened her mouth, about to scrutinize the price she was about to pay, when Nine Nether placed a hand on her shoulder, silencing her with deathly silence.

Jiuyou shook his head, his movements subtle.

When Ye Futian was alive, he also used this approach, stubbornly resisting to the end and keeping all his resources to himself.

But Zhou Ran's accounts were meticulously kept, with everything borrowed and repaid clearly stated.

Jiuyou glanced at Zhou Ran's sleeve and said nothing more.

She will pay attention.