Reborn as a succubus - Chapter 47

At the doorway stood a man in a black robe — the one responsible for guiding their group of newcomers. Seeing the two of them appear together, he said, “Since you’re both dressed and ready, come with me.”

Both Xi Che and Chu Yan were confused, but they didn’t ask questions. They simply followed the man out the door. Xi Che was cautious by nature, and Chu Yan wasn’t fond of talking — naturally, neither of them said much.

The black-robed man seemed pleased by how obedient and quiet they were. He even said kindly, “Don’t be nervous. Today, you’re just cleaning up and getting familiar with the rules of the mountain.”

Xi Che then noticed that it wasn’t just the two of them being called out — other newcomers were also being led from their rooms and sent off to different parts of Xiaoyao Mountain.

He and Chu Yan were assigned to a grand hall that indeed looked gray and dusty, as if it hadn’t been used for a long time. The black-robed man handed them cleaning tools and left, telling them to tidy the place up.

Xi Che looked up at the vast hall and thought that if Xiaoyao Mountain could mobilize this many people just for cleaning, then it must have grown into quite a large sect by now.

He glanced instinctively at Chu Yan, who happened to be watching him. He quickly averted his gaze — strange, it seemed to have become a habit of his to look to Chu Yan for every decision. They weren’t even that close. Why did he keep doing that?

Realizing this, he suddenly felt awkward. He knew he only treated Chu Yan as a partner to consult with, but Chu Yan’s feelings toward him were clearly not so simple. He really should keep some distance — the best way would be to split up.

But… he was still living off Chu Yan’s money and food. How could he just walk away?

“What’s wrong?”

Xi Che was lost in thought when he suddenly heard a voice beside his ear. Turning around, he saw Chu Yan standing very close, watching him with concern. Xi Che practically jumped back, hastily muttering, “Just thinking. Got distracted for a bit.”

Chu Yan could tell he’d been thinking and asked, “Thinking about what? If it’s bothering you, tell me — maybe I can help.”

Xi Che felt instantly irritated. This time, he couldn’t even be bothered to make excuses. “It’s none of your business.”

He’d just realized he’d become too dependent on this “Chu Qi,” and now the man chose this very moment to question him — of course it rubbed him the wrong way. He wasn’t the type to overthink things, but he’d been through so much lately that he often felt cornered, unable to share what was on his mind. It made his moods unpredictable.

That unpredictability affected Chu Yan as well.

As a god, Chu Yan was supposed to be all-knowing and all-powerful, yet he couldn’t see through the thoughts of the one he loved. Xi Che was always hot and cold with him. The fact that Chu Yan hadn’t already turned dark was a testament to his self-control.

He looked at Xi Che — who now had his back turned coldly toward him — and felt a dull ache in his chest. But there was nothing he could do; Xi Che refused to open his heart, whether it was to him as a god or as his mortal disguise “Chu Qi.”

Each lost in his own thoughts, Xi Che absentmindedly swept dust from the floor, not noticing Chu Yan’s shifting mood. He was planning to look around later for any clues about this place — but someone made the first move.

Another black-robed man entered, glancing around before locking eyes on Xi Che and striding toward him. Unlike the one who had brought them here, this man’s robes were lined with silver — a sign of higher rank. His approach was clearly aggressive.

Chu Yan frowned and subtly stepped closer to Xi Che, ready to protect him at any moment.

In Chu Yan’s eyes now, Xi Che was as fragile as a glass lamp — beautiful, but easily shattered. He had to tread carefully around him.

The silver-trimmed man stopped in front of Xi Che and said, “Come with me. The Protector wants to see you.”

Chu Yan instinctively moved to follow, but the man raised a hand to block him. “Only him. The rest of you stay here.”

Xi Che frowned. “Meng Xinghe wants to see me alone? Why?”

He had only joined Xiaoyao Mountain today and wasn’t remarkable in any way. Compared to the other demons here, he was downright ordinary. Why would the Protector summon him personally?

Chu Yan wasn’t thinking that deeply. After everything that had happened, his only thought was that any time Xi Che left his sight for more than ten minutes — or strayed more than five paces away — something bad would happen. There was no way he’d let Xi Che go off alone with someone suspicious, especially one who clearly bore hostility toward his divine self.

But right now, he and Xi Che were merely “partners.” He had no legitimate reason to insist on going along. Forcing his way would only draw suspicion.

The black-robed man grew impatient at Xi Che’s questioning. “Just follow me. No need to ask so much.”

His tone was in line with Xiaoyao Mountain’s usual domineering style — nothing that particularly angered Xi Che. But for Chu Yan, it only confirmed that he couldn’t openly accompany him.

He’d have to spy instead.

As Xi Che and the man started walking away, Chu Yan reached out and patted his shoulder, secretly attaching a wisp of divine consciousness to him. Xi Che turned back in confusion, and Chu Yan said evenly, “Be careful.”

Xi Che nodded and followed the man away.

Chu Yan subconsciously took a few steps after them, but two more black-robed guards blocked his path. He gave them a cold glare, then returned to his spot and sat down. Fine. He’d already planted his divine sense — if Xi Che was in danger, he’d rush in without hesitation.

Meanwhile, Xi Che followed the man out of the hall and into another. As he walked, he couldn’t help but think that people at Xiaoyao Mountain must be excellent at navigation — otherwise, with every building looking identical, they’d get lost constantly.

The black-robed man led him to the Protector Meng Xinghe’s chamber and left. The door closed behind him automatically. Inside, Meng Xinghe stood with his back to him, hands clasped behind, as though waiting specifically for him.

Xi Che’s confusion deepened. He was just a newcomer — what could possibly warrant the Protector’s personal attention?

Sensing his presence, Meng Xinghe turned and smiled. The expression was calm and assured — almost as if he could see straight through Xi Che’s disguise to his very soul.

That thought unsettled Xi Che. After all, he knew this world contained many powers beyond his comprehension. Meng Xinghe, as one of Jin Lingzi’s subordinates, was likely no simple man. If he somehow discovered Xi Che’s soul inhabited this body, that could be disastrous.

The more Xi Che thought about it, the warier he became. Meng Xinghe began walking toward him. But it was too late to back away — he couldn’t teleport, so he could only brace himself and face him head-on.

“I’ve heard that among this year’s newcomers, there’s an incubus,” Meng Xinghe said, studying him. “That would be you, wouldn’t it? Truly, you look almost human. If I hadn’t known in advance that you’re of demon blood, I wouldn’t have guessed.”

Hearing that, Xi Che silently exhaled in relief — so that’s what this was about. At least it wasn’t about his true identity.

He paused, then said evenly, “Protector, you must have a reason for calling me here.”

Meng Xinghe nodded. “I’ve looked into your past. You were once a student of the Divine Academy. For a demon — and a succubus at that — to enter a celestial academy and even compete for the position of the next God of Light God… you must have had an ulterior motive.”

Xi Che’s heart skipped. He’d thought he had kept a low profile since arriving, but it had only been one night and Meng Xinghe already knew this much. Hopefully he hadn’t discovered that they’d sneaked into the secret chamber and seen his old body.

Still, he was no fool — he’d lived a whole lifetime. As long as the man didn’t mention it, he’d play dumb to the end.

After a moment’s hesitation, he sighed deeply. “Since you already know, I’ll explain it myself. I never thought my tiny background could escape your eyes anyway. There’s nothing worth hiding. It’s true that I entered the Divine Academy to become a divine heir — but that was for someone else’s sake, not my own. I’ve never been interested in the God of Light’s position.”

The divine wisp attached to Xi Che’s shoulder faithfully transmitted every word back to Chu Yan. Hearing Xi Che say he had “no interest in the God of light,” he felt a pang of jealousy. It wasn’t pettiness, exactly — just that, caught in one-sided love, even the smallest thing the other person said could tug painfully at the heart.

Meng Xinghe, however, looked skeptical. “You were working for someone else? So, you had a master then?”

Xi Che thought for a moment and gave a bitter smile. “A master? Hardly. I was coerced. Even among incubi, I’m the lowest of the low — just trying to survive. The great general of our clan threatened me using my sister’s life, so I agreed to help him. If I could have escaped, I would have. Honestly, I have no lofty ideals. I just want to make money and live. When I failed to qualify as a divine heir, I couldn’t go back, so I came here to Xiaoyao Mountain. You’re free to investigate any of this.”

 Except for the part about the God of Light’s selection, everything he said was true. Yuan Ting had publicly whipped and poisoned him back then; his cooperation with them had always been driven by desperation — and by the secret hope of seeing Chu Yan again.

Meng Xinghe studied him with a thoughtful smile, gauging the truth of his words. Since much of what had happened afterward took place in the Nine Nether Realm — beyond his reach — he couldn’t verify it, but what Xi Che said aligned with the fragments he did know.

“I only serve whoever feeds me,” he finished calmly. “If you give me food, I’ll work for you.”

Meng Xinghe seemed pleased and laughed. “Good. Very good. Then I can safely entrust you with a task — an important one. Succeed, and there’ll be rewards for you.”

Xi Che hesitated. “But… I’m new here. Why give me such an important task?”

He expected some kind of motivational speech about trust or opportunity, but Meng Xinghe was startlingly honest. “There’s only one kind of person I’ll never use — someone without desire. You, on the other hand, have desires. And you’re honest about them. That’s why I’ll use you.”

Xi Che blinked. That was… surprisingly reasonable.

Then he heard Meng Xinghe murmur, almost to himself, “But really — who in this world is without desire? Only gods are.”

Xi Che froze. Those words dragged him back to long-buried memories — back to when he had been a war god in the Nine Nether Realm.

He knew this truth all too well: gods have no desires. And that was precisely why nothing could ever come of him and Chu Yan.

It wasn’t just because of the Heart-Cleansing Spring. Among all the gods in the Nine Nether Realm, many had once succumbed to private emotions and drunk its waters — but never Chu Yan. Never once.

Chu Yan was born to be a god.

That was why Xi Che had given up hope long ago.

He remembered a story he’d once heard — of a fisherman who fell in love with a sea goddess. He devoted his entire life to chasing her, sailing his boat beyond mortal limits, even as his body was torn apart by storms. When he finally reached her, expecting tenderness, all he saw was her cold, pitying gaze. Out of mercy, she said she loved him — then waved her sleeve and cast him back to shore, separating them forever by an endless sea.

Only then did the fisherman understand: that wasn’t the love he sought. She said she loved him not because she did, but because she wanted to stop him from dying — she loved him as she loved all mortals who prayed to her.

The greatest divide between mortals and gods isn’t power or status — it’s that no matter what a mortal does, a god cannot desire.

Xi Che swallowed his sorrow and said evenly, “Rest assured, Protector. I’ll complete whatever task you assign.”

He wasn’t a coward. Even if there was only the faintest hope of shaking a god’s heart, he would still throw himself into the flames like a moth to light.

But that… was impossible.