Return to Before the Villain’s Corruption

A gust of wind swept in from the surface of Qin Hai at night, and thick, dense clouds spread across the sky, blotting out the stars and moon that had peeked through the darkness.
In Baitang Courtyard, several large banana plants stood by the wall, their long, broad leaves swaying luxuriantly. Suddenly, rain fell in relentless sheets, striking the gray-blue tiles of the eaves with a sharp, rattling sound.
Qiu Shi lay curled on a reclining couch beneath the latticed window, draped in a thin layer of mermaid silk, her long lashes casting faint shadows beneath her eyes.
Beside the table, a delicate bell-shaped incense burner released tendrils of white mist, filling the air with an exotic fragrance that gradually permeated the entire room.
It was Ming Yue who had recently replaced the incense—a rare offering from the sea serpent tribe, known for its calming and sleep-inducing properties.
Qiu Shi wanted to see if she would dream the same dream again.
Her mind was troubled, and though she managed to drift into sleep, it was restless and fitful. Fragmented, nonsensical images flickered through her mind, and even in slumber, her brows remained furrowed.
Half an hour later, Qiu Shi awoke, propping herself up on one elbow. Her slender fingers twitched, and the thin blanket covering her waist slipped away. There was no trace of drowsiness in her eyes—only clarity.
She stood by the window, dressed in a lotus-pink mermaid gauze dress, her delicate shoulders stark against the night and the rain. She looked like a carefully rendered painting.
The rain continued its relentless drumming, and the wind howled.
Qiu Shi tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear and murmured, "Chong Ying."
"Young Mistress."
A faint ripple disturbed the air behind her, and a lean figure materialized soundlessly, bowing his head in response.
As the youngest princess of the sea demon tribe, Qiu Shi had been granted her own personal guard upon reaching adulthood—ten elite warriors, each meticulously selected through rigorous trials. Their loyalty was hers alone, and their strength was formidable.
In her dream, it was with their help—and the stolen token from Qin Hai Main City—that she had swiftly orchestrated everything, spiriting Cheng Yi away right under everyone’s noses.
"Investigate," Qiu Shi commanded, her fingertips cold as jade as she pressed them to her temple. "I want every detail of Cheng Yi’s years with the Black Dragon Clan. No matter how trivial, leave nothing out."
"And before my ten-thousandth birthday, when I was injured at White Cloud Ridge and secretly taken in by Cheng Yi—have your men pay special attention these next few days. See if you can find any witnesses."
As soon as the words left her lips, Qiu Shi let out a soft, humorless laugh, her lashes lowering. "Never mind. The Black Dragon Clan betrayed the demon realm and fled, clinging to the coattails of the Celestial Clan. They were never kind to begin with, and now that they have powerful backing, they’ve grown even more arrogant."
"Focus on Cheng Yi for now."
Chong Ying nodded and sliced a hand through the air. This time, not even the faintest ripple marked his departure before he vanished without a sound.
Qiu Shi walked to the table and idly flipped through the musical score she had left there two days earlier. Her eyes scanned the pages rapidly, but her mind refused to settle.
In ancient times, the Eight Wastes were divided, and the Four Seas were restless. After countless wars and conflicts, the various factions finally reached a delicate equilibrium.
The Celestial Clan had always deemed themselves superior. With close ties to the mortal realm, they drew power from human faith and blessings, bolstered by the Hall of Enlightenment left behind by three ancient ancestors. Favored by heaven and earth, they faced few limitations, producing an endless stream of prodigies and geniuses, ensuring their dominance never waned.
In contrast, the demon tribes and the Netherworld faced greater constraints.
For demons, bloodline was everything. Great families intermarried to preserve the purity of their lineage, while the spirits of the Netherworld cultivated at a sluggish pace, with few ever rising to prominence.
The demonic tribes, however, were a headache for all. Gifted by nature, they mastered everything with terrifying speed, yet their cruel and ruthless tendencies led them to slaughter without remorse. The infamous Great Demon Rift, still requiring constant suppression and purification to this day, was the handiwork of the previous Demon Lord—a fact that never failed to incense the other clans.
On the surface, the realms coexisted without interference, but beneath the veneer of civility, tensions simmered. Rivalries flared among leaders and rising talents alike, fueling endless comparisons.
Take, for instance, the Celestial Clan’s three Little Immortal Kings—the brightest of their generation, dominating the top three spots on the Six Realms Ranking, groomed to inherit power.
After millennia of strife, the younger generation had grown into leaders themselves, only to watch history repeat with their own successors. At some point, they’d realized: if they couldn’t win, it was better to avoid conflict altogether—lest they suffer humiliation in full view of their rivals.
Yet the fire of youth often burned too fiercely to heed such wisdom. Forbidden only made them more determined.
Qiu Shi was no exception.
Fresh from her ten-thousandth birthday celebration, her impulsive nature had led her to accept a challenge from Yun Xuan, the most unruly of the three Little Immortal Kings. They’d agreed to duel at White Cloud Ridge.
She’d kept it secret, using a visit to Liugi Mountain to see Qin Donglin as cover before slipping off alone.
Midway through their clash, the earth had split apart, the skies darkening without warning—White Cloud Ridge’s mountain lord was undergoing a heavenly tribulation.
Lightning struck indiscriminately, a storm of annihilation.
Yun Xuan, trained in the Celestial Clan’s Thunder God Canon and stronger than Qiu Shi, had managed to tear through space and escape—though not before coughing up blood and sacrificing a dozen protective artifacts.
Qiu Shi hadn’t been so fortunate.
Demons were already disfavored by the heavens, and lightning, in its purest form, was the bane of all cultivators. Despite her array of life-saving treasures, she’d been battered into unconsciousness within her shield.
When she awoke, she found herself in a modest courtyard, her meridians shattered and her spiritual sea in ruins.
She’d considered contacting her family immediately—then thought better of it. The scolding would be inevitable, and her lies would be hard to spin.
It was then that Cheng Yi had entered, carrying a bowl of cooling dew.
The boy had lips like roses, teeth like pearls, and a smile that pooled warmth in his eyes. "Don’t be afraid," he’d said, voice gentle. "You’re safe here. Rest and recover."
The courtyard was encased in barriers, the scent of black dragons making Qiu Shi cautious. Fortunately, she had artifacts to conceal her aura and the sense to stay in bed, venturing only to the yard once she’d regained some strength.
Ten days passed before Chong Ying and the others finally tracked her down. Seizing the chance, she slipped away without a word.
After returning to Qin Hai Main City, Qiu Shi tried to search for him, but with the frequent interactions and covert maneuvers between the Black Dragon Clan and the Celestial Clan, both the Main City and Liugi Mountain exerted pressure simultaneously. When her efforts yielded no results, she had no choice but to set aside the matter—and the debt of gratitude—for the time being.
She never expected their reunion to unfold in such a manner.
At the time, she wore a veil over her face, never removing it even on the day of their departure. Cheng Yi didn’t recognize her. After rescuing him and bringing him back to Qin Hai Main City, she didn’t rush to explain the circumstances, only hoping he would stay peacefully and recover from his injuries.
The demon race was naturally open-minded, seldom bothered by idle gossip. Someone of Qiu Shi’s status, having grown up amidst the murmurs of others—whether kind or otherwise—had long learned to remain composed and indifferent.
What truly unsettled her were the actions of her parents and elder brother.
Even now, closing her eyes, Qiu Shi could still feel the overwhelming resentment and suffocation from the dream.
Her closest family, bound by blood—yet after just a few angry words from her, Cheng Yi was secretly condemned to death. No one had considered her feelings when making that decision.
It made her realize that even if she explained the past, they would only doubt her, question her, and assume she fabricated the story to save Cheng Yi.
If that was the case, then there was no point in saying anything at all.
Yet the person who had stormed off in a fit of anger never imagined that, years later, due to a series of circumstances, she would become estranged from her family, so hesitant to return that she dared not set foot in Qin Hai Main City again.
Nor did she foresee that this debt of gratitude, repaid step by step, would eventually lead her into a dire predicament.
Qiu Shi paced to the red-lacquered wooden cabinet beside the screen, her slender fingertips resting on the gilded hollowed edge of a small incense burner. Her skin was porcelain-pale, her fingers delicate, and when her shoulders relaxed slightly, she exuded an air of lazy elegance.
Regardless of how the dream had come to her, since it aligned so closely with reality, her priority now was figuring out how to change the current situation.
She couldn’t take the dream entirely at face value—she owed Cheng Yi a great debt, and she couldn’t let him lose his life here.
But she wouldn’t act on impulse as she had in the dream, letting momentary anger drive her to decisions she’d later regret.
======
Qiu Shi didn’t sleep all night.
She stood by the bookshelf for a long time, skimming through each volume before carefully replacing them. After much contemplation, she called Ming Yue, who had been waiting outside the door.
“Young Mistress, you mustn’t go out.”
Ming Yue fretted, afraid Qiu Shi still intended to visit Cheng Yi, and lowered her voice. “Our courtyard is now surrounded by the Flying Fish Guards. All necessities are handled by them, and none of the maids or attendants can come and go freely.”
Qiu Shi had no intention of leaving. If there were any disturbances outside, Chong Ying or others would naturally report to her.
Right now, she was preoccupied with something else.
“Go to the library in the west tower and find the records of the past Demon Lords.”
Ming Yue exhaled in relief—as long as it wasn’t a trip to Dongheng Courtyard to see Cheng Yi, anything was fine.
The west tower was located within Baitang Courtyard. Qiu Shi loved reading, so Song Chengshu had commissioned the library and filled it with rare, one-of-a-kind volumes. However, the demon race was notoriously elusive, their temperaments unpredictable, their actions erratic. Records about them were scarce.
After searching for two full hours, Ming Yue and two other maidservants found only two books.
The yellowed parchment pages were worn, the handwriting uneven and difficult to decipher.
Qiu Shi read intently. When she finally closed the last page, her lashes fluttered, and her fingers lightly traced the book resting on her lap. She had gained some understanding.
The current Demon Lord was a born demon, ascending from Young Demon Lord to Demon Lord without a hitch—nothing particularly noteworthy.
What caught Qiu Shi’s attention was a mention of one particular Demon Lord in the records. Originally a human cultivator, this man had been steadfast in his daoist heart, devoted solely to the sword. But after suffering a grave injury, his mind became plagued by inner demons. His temperament warped, his sword intent twisted into demonic energy, and he rose to the throne through ruthless slaughter.
“Qin Donglin.”
Qiu Shi uttered the all-too-familiar name, then added in a whisper, “How could he become a Demon Lord?”
In that dream where only the beginning and end were clear, why had others referred to Qin Donglin as the Demon Lord?
He had been born the Young Demon Master, destined to inherit the title of Demon Master of Liugi Mountain.
They had both cultivated the demon race’s most elite techniques, their minds steadily refined alongside their power. By all reason, it should have been impossible.
And more than that—this was Qin Donglin.
What kind of overwhelming obsession, what kind of devastating inner demons, could have driven Qin Donglin to fall into darkness?
Qiu Shi couldn’t fathom it.