Reverend Insanity Chapter 1: The heart of a demon never has regret even in death
Chapter 1: A Demon's Heart Knows No Regret, Even in Death
“Fang Yuan, just hand over the Spring Autumn Cicada and I promise you will have a swift death!”
“Cease your futile resistance, Old Man Fang. Today, the major righteous factions have united specifically to eradicate your demonic nest. This perimeter is sealed tight—there is no escape for you. Your execution is guaranteed!”
“You wicked demon! To satisfy your obsession with the Spring Autumn Cicada, you have slaughtered thousands. Your atrocities are beyond redemption!”
“Monster! Three hundred years ago, you humiliated me, ruined my purity, and butchered my kin down to my ninth generation. Every second since, my hatred has burned hotter than hellfire. Today, I demand your life!”
……
Fang Yuan stood amidst the carnage, his deep green robes shredded to ribbons. His hair hung in disarray, and his entire frame was masked in blood. He surveyed his surroundings.
His blood-drenched garments fluttered against the mountain gale like a tattered battle banner.
Streams of fresh blood leaked from countless wounds. He had stood still for mere moments, yet a vast, dark pool of blood had already gathered beneath him.
Foes circled him from every direction; all paths of retreat were severed.
His demise was an unavoidable truth.
Fang Yuan perceived his grim reality clearly, yet as death stared him in the face, his expression remained perfectly serene.
His gaze was tranquil, his eyes resembling bottomless pits of water—so profound that they seemed to hold no end.
The assembly of righteous factions surrounding him consisted of not only seasoned Elders but also promising young talents. Some roared with fury, while others sneered in triumph. Certain faces glittered with predatory fervor, while others winced in visible, trembling fear as they sheltered their own wounds.
They dared not lunge, all wary of a desperate final strike from this demon.
For six long hours, this tense standoff dragged on until evening broke, the setting sun painting the mountainside in colors as vivid as a forest fire.
Fang Yuan, who had remained as motionless as a statue, finally shifted his posture.
The warriors jolted in alarm, collectively stepping back in retreat.
The grey mountain stone under his feet had long been soaked into a deep, dark red. Having lost so much blood, his face was deathly pallid, yet caught in the sunset’s glow, it took on a haunting, ethereal luster.
Watching the dying light of the sun, Fang Yuan laughed softly. “The sun sinks behind the turquoise peak, and the autumn moon drifts with the spring breeze. Youth vanishes like the morning hair, and the night descends like silent snow. Whether you attain glory or fall into ruin, upon looking back, nothing remains.”
As he spoke, memories from his original life on Earth began to resurface.
He had been a scholar from Earth who stumbled into this world, enduring three hundred years in these lands and another two hundred beyond—over five centuries, all gone in the blink of an eye.
Forgotten memories buried deep within his soul began to stir, blooming to life before his tired eyes.
“In the end, I have failed.” Fang Yuan sighed inwardly, though not a shred of regret touched him.
This outcome had been expected. He had prepared for this finality the moment he chose his path long ago.
To pursue the demonic path is to be cold-blooded and ruthless—a destroyer who stands against the heavens and the earth. To defy the world is to acknowledge that the world will eventually demand its due.
“If the Spring Autumn Cicada I have just refined proves effective, I shall walk the demonic path once more in my next life!” With this thought fixed firmly in his mind, Fang Yuan broke into a hearty laugh.
“Vile demon, what are you laughing about?”
“Stay alert! The demon prepares to strike at the brink of death!”
“Quickly, seize the Spring Autumn Cicada!”
The band of warriors surged forward. At that instant, a massive roar split the air, and Fang Yuan was swallowed by a blinding, violent eruption of power.
……
Spring rain dampened the heights of Qing Mao Mountain in a hushed, steady patter.
It was late in the night, and a cool breeze swept through the damp air.
However, the mountain was far from swallowed by shadow; from the middle slopes to the foothills, dozens of tiny lights flickered like a luminous ribbon.
These lights drifted from towering structures—while they could hardly compare to the grandeur of a city, the count of several thousand fires breathed life into the desolate mountain.
Nestled upon the peak was the Gu Yue Village, bestowing a heavy sense of human civilization upon the lonely, expansive wilderness.
At the center of Gu Yue Village stood a magnificent pavilion. A grand ritual was underway, and the lanterns burned with a intensity that cast a glorious glow.
“Ancestors, grant us your favor! We beseech you to grace this year’s ceremony with youths of exceptional talent and keen intellect, bringing vitality and promise to our kin!” The Gu Yue clan leader, a man in his middle years with streaks of grey at his temples and dressed in ceremonial white robes, knelt on the polished floor. He remained rigid, hands clasped tightly, eyes closed in profound devotion.
He knelt before a tiered black case housing the memorial tablets of his ancestors. Copper incense burners sat on either side, wisps of fragrant smoke curling into the air.
Behind the leader, over ten others knelt in perfect synchrony. They were the clan’s Elders and high-ranking authorities, all clad in loose, formal white garments.
When his prayers concluded, the clan leader bowed low, pressing his hands against the floor. As he kowtowed, his forehead struck the brownish-yellow ground with rhythmic, audible thuds.
Behind him, the Elders and prominent members followed suit with disciplined silence.
The entire hall echoed with nothing but the dull, rhythmic impact of heads hitting the stone floor.
Once the rite was finished, the gathering rose and exited the sacred temple in quiet composure.
As they moved into the hallway, the collective tension finally broke into sighs of relief, and the low hum of conversation began to rise.
“Time flows all too swiftly. A year has passed in what feels like a single blink.”
“The memory of the previous ceremony is still so sharp, as if it occurred only yesterday.”
“Tomorrow marks the commencement of the annual grand ceremony. I wonder what new blood will emerge for our clan this year?”
“Oh, I pray for a youth of immense talent. It has been three years since our clan witnessed a true genius.”
“Indeed. The Bai Village and Xiong Village have both seen talented prodigies rise of late. That Bai Ning Bing from the Bai clan, especially—that child’s natural aptitude is truly frightening.”
At the mention of Bai Ning Bing’s name, a shadow of anxiety fell across the faces of the Elders.
The boy’s potential was monstrous; after a mere two years of cultivation training, he had already shattered the threshold of a Level 3 Gu Master.
Among the younger generation, he stood unrivaled, exerting a suffocating pressure even upon the older, more experienced veterans.
He would undoubtedly become the backbone of the Bai clan. At the very least, he was destined to be a formidable warrior. No one dared refute this.
“However, for this year’s candidates, not all hope is lost.”
“Quite right. A young prodigy has surfaced from the line of Fang Zhi. He began speaking at three months and walking at four. By age five, he could recite complex poetry. He is remarkably gifted, though he was orphaned young and remains under the care of his uncle and aunt.”
“Indeed, such early wisdom is a sign of great ambition. I have heard his compositions, ‘Jiang Jing Jiu’ and ‘Yong Mei’—he is truly a genius!”
The Gu Yue clan leader, being the last to leave the temple, closed the doors and caught snippets of the Elders’ hushed debates in the corridor.
He knew instantly they were discussing the youth known as Gu Yue Fang Yuan.
As the leader, it was his duty to identify the most promising young members. Gu Yue Fang Yuan had naturally become the most scrutinised of the junior generation.
Past experience proved that those blessed with photographic memories as children, or those possessing strength that challenged grown men, almost always carried immense potential for future Cultivation.
“If this child has Grade A aptitude, with proper guidance, he could rival even Bai Ning Bing. Should he even reach Grade B, he could serve as a pillar for our clan in the future. Yet, given such early displays of intelligence, a Grade B result seems unlikely—it is highly probable he is Grade A.” With this thought, the clan leader allowed a thin smile to grace his lips.
He coughed once to get the attention of the Elders, then said, “Everyone, the hour grows late. You should all retire now and preserve your energy for tomorrow’s grand ceremony.”
His words caused the Elders to startle. They exchanged wary, calculating glances.
The leader’s advice was well-intentioned, but everyone understood the subtext.
Each year, the struggle to secure these young geniuses pitted the Elders against one another, frequently resulting in bitter arguments and heated conflict.
They were indeed intended to rest, storing strength for the competition that lay ahead.
This was doubly true for Gu Yue Fang Yuan, whose potential for Grade A status was immense. Beyond that, he was one of the last two survivors of the Fang Zhi bloodline. If anyone could claim him for their own family branch, it would ensure a century of prosperity for their household!
“However, I will state my expectations clearly. Keep your competition civil and fair. No traps or conspiracies will be tolerated, and any threat to the clan’s unity will be punished. Keep this in mind!” the leader warned with steel in his voice.
“We would never dream of such things.”
“We shall remember, Clan Head.”
“Then good night to you all.”
The Elders gradually dispersed, lost in their own private calculations.
Before long, the hallway fell into silence. A cool breeze, saturated with the scent of spring rain, brushed through the window, drawing the clan leader toward it.
He inhaled the fresh, damp air of the mountain, feeling a sudden sense of rejuvenation.
Standing on the third floor of his residence, he looked out across the village. Half of the Gu Yue Village was visible from this vantage point.
It was late, yet most homes remained lit, which was an unusual sight.
With the ceremony so close upon them and so much at stake, the volatile mix of excitement and anxiety kept the villagers awake.
“This is the future of our clan.” The leader sighed, watching the sea of lights dance in his vision.
At that exact second, a pair of clear, piercing eyes looked upon those same lights in the night, filled with emotions both chaotic and profound.
“Gu Yue Village… five hundred years ago? It seems the Spring Autumn Cicada truly worked…” Fang Yuan stood by the window, letting the wind-blown rain mist against his skin.
The power of the Spring Autumn Cicada was to reverse the flow of time. Within the rankings of the Ten Great Mystical Gu, the Spring Autumn Cicada stood at rank seven—it was no mere insect.
In essence, it granted the power of rebirth.
“Using the Spring Autumn Cicada, I have been reborn, returning to a time five centuries in the past!” Fang Yuan stretched out his hand, his gaze locked on his own pale, youthful palms. He slowly clenched them, embracing this harsh reality with every ounce of his resolve.
As the sound of the rain against the windowsill filled his ears, he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply before opening them once more. He sighed, “Five hundred years of life… it really feels like a fever dream.”
Yet he knew—this was no dream.”