Shang Qinghua despairingly pulled his own hair. My king, you—you, you, you—what did you bring me for?! I can’t lift a hand, I can’t carry your burden. How am I qualified to protect you? For this sort of life-and-death situation, you should obviously find a trusted confidant—your most impressive ally! So what if you had no more hope of scraping Bing-ge off his shizun than you did of scraping burnt caramel off a pan, at least you could borrow a few thousand black-armored generals from him! No matter how desperate you are, you can’t call on me other than to make tea, carry water, wash clothes, and fold blankets! Exactly which of my other skills aren’t amateur at best?!
Without the aid of the inextinguishable halo and plot armor Shang Qinghua had personally bestowed upon the male protagonist, at that fatal moment in seven days, Mobei-Jun would…
“You didn’t bring a single person for this important occasion?” asked Linguang-Jun.
Mobei-Jun was silent before he coolly replied, “I didn’t.”
Linguang-Jun tittered. “You did, didn’t you? I saw. When I arrived, I encountered someone walking out. It was that—that An Ding Peak Lord who’s said to follow you. How did he anger you? He’d been beaten into such a state. And here I’d heard those rumors that had me thinking your temper had changed for the better.”
For a long time, no one spoke.
“Your uncle was only asking. Why are you looking at me with such an antagonistic expression?” Linguang-Jun’s voice was all smiles again.
“I want you to leave,” Mobei-Jun said bluntly.
“You’re hurting this demon’s feelings. Unfortunately, our clan has no rule to prevent others from observing the succession ceremony. What’s more, I am your father’s younger brother. If not for you, the one standing here today waiting for their inheritance would certainly be me.”
Mobei-Jun seemed to know he wouldn’t be able to drive Linguang-Jun away, and he said no more on the topic.
Linguang-Jun, on the other hand, was immensely pleased with himself; he didn’t check his mirth in the slightest. “Ah, you’ve grown up, and you’re going to be a lord now. You really have changed. You were much cuter when you were young.”
At these familiar lines, Shang Qinghua anxiously wiped the sweat from his forehead, feeling a bit ashamed that he had written such a shameless character. This uncle even had the face to bring up Mobei-Jun’s childhood!
Mobei-Jun had lost his mother very young, and the person to whom he had most closely stuck in his youth was precisely this youngest uncle, who wasn’t much older than him. However, because of some conflicts and emotional disputes between the older generation of brothers, Linguang-Jun hadn’t quite been able to begin liking this nephew of his.
One time, when the other demons weren’t paying attention, Linguang-Jun had coaxed this obedient little nephew out the gate and thrown him into the Human Realm. He’d let a mob of cultivator thugs give chase to the little demon, who hadn’t understood a thing and lost his head out of fear, falling every few steps as he fled. Those thugs had frantically hunted him down for days and days.
At the time, developmentally speaking, Mobei-Jun had been roughly equivalent to a human four-year-old child. If, after about ten days, his dad hadn’t suddenly realized that his son hadn’t been following his younger brother around for quite some time, and hadn’t casually made a few inquiries, Mobei-Jun might have been locked up in the Huan Hua Palace Water Prison until he simply died of fright. To a demon of that age, being surrounded by a shouting crowd of humans was like a being surrounded by flesh-eating, blood-drinking monsters. Imagine a human four-year-old child getting captured and imprisoned in a nest of demons—their reaction would be about the same.
The former Mobei-Jun’s head was as empty as a basin, where the “basin” was that of the Sichuan Basin. Either way, his son was stolen back in the end, more scared than hurt, and certainly not dead, so he didn’t really pay the incident much mind. He scolded his brother a bit, then told them to keep “getting along well” in the future.
After Mobei-Jun was retrieved, messy-haired and dirty-faced, he never again spoke to his formerly favorite uncle. As his age increased, he grew more and more severe, until he was, in the end, unwilling to speak to anyone, and held a deep abhorrence for any kind of betrayal.
As Shang Qinghua mentally reviewed the melodramatic backstory of the aloof young lord he had fabricated, he also did some self-reflection. He mainly reflected on whether the demon race’s cold and apathetic nature, which he had himself established, had been too inhumane. Secondly, he reflected on why he hadn’t just added in a worldbuilding line like “No idle witnesses are permitted to be present at the succession ceremony—not even direct relations.” If only he’d done that, Mobei-Jun wouldn’t have to be keeping watch beside his father’s body and waiting for the time of inheritance, unable to leave, but without good reason to drive away Linguang-Jun.
Reflecting on one hand while trembling with fear on the other, Shang Qinghua passed seven whole days until, finally, the last arrived.
After the seven days of observance, it was time for Mobei-Jun to officially inherit the martial aspect. He had very wisely yet to move and begin the transfer.
However, he would need to begin sooner or later.
“What is it?” asked Linguang-Jun. “Why do you hesitate?”
Because you’re standing right there!
“Could it be…you’re afraid I’ll strike you unawares?” Linguang-Jun asked. “How could I? I am your uncle, after all. Mobei, you have to hurry. If you don’t start now, you’ll miss the opportunity. There won’t be another chance to salvage it—you don’t need me to remind you of that, do you?”
If he didn’t begin immediately, the martial aspect would naturally dissipate, like a giant inheritance drifting away on the wind. But if he did begin immediately, Linguang-Jun would still be standing there like a tiger watching its prey, unquestionably harboring ill intent. Mobei-Jun’s current situation afforded neither room to advance nor room to retreat.
Everything was playing out like it had in the original—it was just that they were down an Invincible Bing-ge and up a Useless-ass Hua-di.
In the end, Mobei-Jun let out a cold laugh.
Shang Qinghua gritted his teeth and, braving the possibility of being discovered by a demon and losing his neck as a reward, stuck out his head. Just then, a ball of blue light flew out of the sleeping chamber and enveloped Mobei-Jun—but practically in the same instant, Linguang-Jun suddenly played his hand!