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

The day after the Soul Abyss Stone was transported back to the Devouring Heaven Demon Palace, Zhou Ran locked himself in the side hall.

The black coffin was pushed to the center of the room, and the lid was left open.

Six fist-sized Soul Abyss Stones were stacked on the edge of the coffin, their pale blue halo bathing the entire side hall in the color of the bottom of a body of water.

Zhou Ran sat cross-legged in front of the coffin.

The Taihuang Black Blade rested beside him, and his left arm was wrapped in coarse linen and hung around his neck.

He opened his right palm, and the jade bottle lay inside.

The imperial blood in the bottle was only enough to cover the base; it was a drop in the ocean.

The true reserves lie deep within the cracks in his primordial spirit.

Three cracks, left by the Emperor's hidden nails. Each one oozes a blackish-gold liquid, chilled to the bone, heavy enough to crush your bones.

Ye Futian explained it clearly: the Soul Abyss Stone is used as bones, and the Emperor's blood is used as glue.

To reforge the White Bone Pen, at least seven drops of the Emperor's blood are required.

Seven drops, that doesn't sound like much.

But that thing grew inside the primordial spirit, intertwined with the Demon Emperor's origin.

Taking even a single drop is like scraping a layer of skin off your own brain with a knife.

Zhou Ran did not consult with anyone.

He placed the jade bottle next to the Soul Abyss Stone, pressed his right index finger against his brow, and probed the deepest part of his sea of ​​consciousness with the power of his primordial spirit.

The first crack is located in the southeast corner of the sea of ​​consciousness.

The crack was narrow, about a finger's width, and bottomless. Blackish-gold liquid clung to the edge of the crack, indistinguishable from groundwater seeping from the rock wall.

The moment Zhou Ran's divine sense touched the Emperor's Blood, his entire sea of ​​consciousness trembled violently.

The remnants of the Emperor's rule were activated.

Black and gold patterns grew wildly from the crack, grabbing the outer wall of his primordial spirit and pulling it inward.

That force wasn't an attack; it was an instinctive backlash, the Emperor's Blood unwilling to leave its host.

Zhou Ran gritted his teeth, his divine sense transforming into an extremely fine hook, which hooked a wisp of imperial blood and dragged it out.

pain.

It's not a physical pain.

The dull pain of the soul being sanded by sandpaper spread outward from the core of the sea of ​​consciousness, burning all the way to the limbs and bones.

His body twitched uncontrollably, and the back of his head hit the edge of the black coffin with a solid thud.

The first drop of imperial blood was forcibly pulled out from the crack.

The black gold liquid landed in my palm, its weight almost as heavy as mercury.

Zhou Ran guided it into the jade bottle, his fingers trembling so much that he almost missed the mouth of the bottle.

Within the sea of ​​consciousness, the first crack expanded slightly.

The second drop widened the crack to two centimeters.

Fine cracks appeared on the outer wall of the primordial spirit, and the Demon Emperor's essence leaked out from the cracks, just like a leaky bucket.

The third drop of Zhou Ran's nosebleed fell onto the stone slab.

Black and red, with golden threads mixed with imperial blood.

He didn't even wipe it off, and then pulled out the fourth drop.

The door to the side hall was pushed open, and Huanyin was the first to enter.

She swept her dark red dress across the ground, walked straight behind Zhou Ran, and sat down cross-legged.

With ten fingers pressed on both sides of the back of his head, the Soul Imprint of the Same Frequency lit up from the edge of his sea of ​​consciousness.

Dark red soul power spread out into an extremely thin net, covering the cracks in the outer wall of Zhou Ran's primordial spirit.

It's not a repair, it's a safety net; the crack continues to widen, but the fragments won't fly outwards.

Huanyin's breath was close to Zhou Ran's nape, her rhythm extremely steady.

Bloodthirsty boot soles stepped on the threshold.

She walked in carrying a long spear, her red eyes sweeping over Huan Yin's position. Her lips twitched, and she swallowed back the words she was about to say.

She walked to Zhou Ran's left and squatted down.

With his left hand pressing down on Zhou Ran's left shoulder, ancestral blood seeped from his palm, and crimson liquid energy flowed along the meridians towards Zhou Ran's sea of ​​consciousness.

Instead of going in to repair it, they burned a ring of charred crust around the edge of the crack to stop its expansion.

Zhou Ran was no stranger to the feeling of ancestral blood burning his primordial spirit. He had experienced it once before when he forced the Moon Emperor's silver eyes out of his sea of ​​consciousness.

This time, the power of the bloodlust was controlled more precisely, only burning the area where the Emperor's blood seeped out, without touching Zhou Ran's own soul power.

"Which drop is it?"

Bloodlust asked.

"third."

"Four drops more?"

"right."

Bloodlust cursed.

Her voice wasn't loud, but Zhou Ran could tell she was trembling.

It wasn't fear, it was a trembling that came from heartache with no way to vent it.

"Keep going. I'll cover for you."

The fourth drop.

The crack widened to three-tenths of an inch.

The fifth drop.

The outer wall of the primordial spirit shattered completely, and thirty percent of the Demon Emperor's essence leaked out.

Zhou Ran's pupils went unfocused for a moment, and his body lurched forward.

Bloodlust grabbed his shoulder and doubled the amount of ancestral blood he poured in, patching up the collapsed gap.

The soul imprint of Huan Yin emitted a piercing buzzing sound.

Her face turned pale, and her dark red soul power was being consumed very quickly.

Her destined musical note has already been given to the Taihuang Black Blade; she relies entirely on her foundation, without any solid base supporting her.

Their ten fingers didn't move an inch.

Jiuyou arrived at some unknown time.

She stood barefoot on the other side of the black coffin, her hands pressing against the edge. Deathly energy surged from the bottom of the coffin, silently spreading to Zhou Ran's body.

Every bit of backlash from the rules overflowing from the crack in the primordial spirit was absorbed by the death energy and poured into the bottom of the black coffin.

The patterns on the coffin walls creaked and groaned as they withstood the backlash.

The Nine Netherworld had already suffered two layers of damage to the Black Coffin Laws, which were still not fully repaired. Now, it was using the damaged coffin to withstand the aftershocks of the Emperor's rule.

Her face was expressionless, the dark lines between her brows were minimized, and her pale face showed nothing superfluous.

Only her fingers, pressed against the edge of the coffin, were gray at the tips, a sign that the excessive death energy was backfiring on her.

Three peak Tribulation Transcending experts attacked simultaneously.

The sixth drop.

Zhou Ran's consciousness blurred for a moment.

The sea of ​​consciousness was a vast expanse of white, and the outer wall of the primordial spirit was almost transparent.

The moment the Emperor's Blood was pulled out, the three cracks spasmed simultaneously, and the black and gold patterns convulsed wildly.

The bloodthirsty ancestral blood burned into a blood mist, the illusory sound's soul net was about to break, and the cracking sound of wood breaking came from the coffin wall of the Nine Netherworld.

"The last drop."

Zhou Ran's voice was so hoarse it sounded inhuman.

He condensed all his remaining divine consciousness into a needle and plunged it into the deepest part of the third crack. The imperial blood there was the most concentrated, its color a dark black, and its temperature was three points lower than the previous six drops.

The core remnant of the Emperor's Son's Hidden Nail.

The moment the needle touched the Emperor's blood, Zhou Ran heard a crisp sound.

My consciousness has cracked.

The entire primordial spirit wall was no different from a shattered porcelain bowl, with cracks spreading from the center outwards.

Huan Yin let out a muffled groan, her soul imprint almost derailed by the impact. Bloodlust placed both hands on Zhou Ran's shoulders, pouring ancestral blood into him without restraint.

With a "thud," the black coffin in the Nine Netherworlds automatically closed halfway, as the coffin walls could no longer withstand the pressure and were trying to protect themselves.

Zhou Ran didn't let go.

The needle tip hooked onto that drop of imperial blood, dragging it out inch by inch.

Fragments of his primordial spirit drifted past him, almost like snowflakes.

Each fragment carries remnants of his memories—blurred faces, broken sounds, fragmented images.

He doesn't look at any of them.

The seventh drop of imperial blood fell into the jade bottle.

Zhou Ran spat out a mouthful of black blood and fell backward, his back slamming into Huan Yin's knee.

She didn't dodge; instead, she pressed her hands firmly against his temples, her dark red soul power desperately trying to hold back the fragments of his collapsing sea of ​​consciousness.

The bloodthirsty ancestral blood burned a final ring of charred crust at the cracks, sealing off most of the three cracks that had expanded to their limit.

Jiuyou reopened the coffin lid.

The deathly aura surged out from the bottom of the coffin, completely swallowing the remnants of the Emperor's rule.

The side hall fell silent.

Only three women were breathing rapidly.

Zhou Ran lay on Huan Yin's lap, his face upturned, his pupils dilating and focusing repeatedly, taking a long time to finally focus.

The first thing he saw was Huanyin's chin.

Her dark red eyes looked down at him, devoid of their usual languor and calculation.

A bloodthirsty face.

Her red eyes were a mixture of murderous intent and heartache; her lips were tightly pressed together, and blood was still seeping from the tiger's mouth.

Nine Netherworlds.

She stood beside the coffin, expressionless, the gray color spreading from her fingertips to the second knuckle.