Chapter Ninety-Two: The Nine Holy Lord, Rakshasa Witch, Crescent Moon’s Lament

I need a different script!

The moment I tried to put on a lofty air, you little girl took it seriously. Can’t you read my face?

Unfortunately, the saintess did not dare look directly at Night Without End. In her view, it was deeply disrespectful to keep staring straight at a senior expert.

After some quick calculation, the saintess said carefully, “Senior, one bottle of Celestial Drunk costs one thousand six hundred and sixty-six spirit stones. I’ll round it down for you and count it as one thousand. Sixteen bottles comes to sixteen thousand spirit stones...”

When she finished, she stole a cautious glance at Night Without End’s face, terrified that the senior might be angered by it.

Yet she saw no change in his expression. He remained as composed as ever, serene and detached.

Outwardly, Night Without End was as steady as an old dog; inwardly, he was panicking like mad.

Spirit stones? What on earth are those? Did I walk into the wrong script? Where am I? Aren’t things supposed to be paid with gold coins?

A dumb trio of questions!

What do I do? What do I do? I’m about to be exposed. What do I do? Urgent help needed, online now!

Night Without End howled in his heart.

Then it came to him.

A flash of inspiration struck him.

“So, sixteen thousand spirit stones, is it?” Night Without End said calmly and with complete composure.

“Yes.” The saintess nodded softly.

“Put it on my tab for now,” he said.

The saintess: “...”

Were you messing with me? You made me do the calculation, and after all that you just say to put it on your tab? And...

At this point, the saintess was beginning to seriously doubt how much substance this so-called senior really had.

“I merely asked you to do the math. I never said I would pay, all right?” Night Without End laughed it off.

The saintess looked at him with a wounded expression, so pitiful that Night Without End’s heart tightened.

“It’s all right, Senior. Please consider it this junior’s token of respect.” Beneath her veil, she forced out a faint smile.

“I suffered an accident while in seclusion and went berserk in cultivation. I only just forced my way out, and now I’m practically a cripple. I suppose you can tell that much, can’t you?” Night Without End played the part of a great hidden master while casually testing the saintess of the Immortal Moon Sacred Land.

He had many doubts of his own. Since both Zhao Tianxiang and the assassin Shadow Fiend had been able to recognize him, why was it that the saintess of the Immortal Moon Sacred Land did not know him?

He looked at the veiled saintess before him and waited quietly for her answer.

The saintess did not react too strongly. In fact, she seemed relieved. No wonder this senior had become like this. Not only was his face covered in scars, even the palm of the hand he had revealed bore wounds.

“Senior, you...”

“Mm.” Night Without End waved a hand, stopping her from continuing.

Seeing him gesture for her to be silent, the saintess obediently fell quiet and waited for him to speak.

After a moment of silence, Night Without End asked in a cold voice, “Why are you following me?”

Hearing the change in his tone, the saintess hurriedly replied, “Senior, please do not misunderstand. I mean no harm. It’s only that your body carries my master’s aura, which is why I followed you all the way here!”

She answered honestly. Even if Night Without End had suffered a devastating qi deviation and was gravely injured, a starving camel was still bigger than a horse. She felt that this senior, whose true cultivation she could not discern, was not someone she could afford to offend.

“Oh? And who is your master?” Night Without End asked, suddenly remembering the time he had been inexplicably buried alive.

Could it have been left from that encounter? He said, “After I came out, I did indeed meet a few old friends.”

At that, the saintess grew delighted. So this senior really did know her master, and they had even met before. Since Night Without End himself referred to them as old friends, she no longer doubted him.

“Senior, my master is the Ninth Holy Lord of the Immortal Moon Sacred Land, the Rakshasa Witch Crescent Lament!” she said proudly, looking at him as she spoke the name.

Night Without End almost cursed aloud.

The Ninth Holy Lord of the Immortal Moon Sacred Land? The Rakshasa Witch Crescent Lament? The ninth wife of that blood-demonic power?

From the way the saintess said it, he actually carried the aura of the Rakshasa Witch Crescent Lament. Just hearing the name made it sound like some utterly wicked demon lord, didn’t it?

Crescent Lament had met him? And left her aura on him?

Cold sweat broke out down his back. Since when had all this happened?

Could it have been during the time he was buried alive?

If that was really the case, then she had seen him buried and still did nothing to dig him out. What was that supposed to mean? Had his identity already been exposed?

Or had she truly discovered that he was an impostor pretending to be the Blood Demon, and only because he had been buried did she refrain from killing him outright?

Night Without End felt as though a furious storm were raging in his heart. He was utterly unsettled. It even felt as if a bitter wind were blowing behind him, icy cold.

“I’m in such a terrible spot...” he thought with a bitter smile.

At this point, whether he liked it or not, he had to keep up the act. Was this what it meant to bluff as a fox wearing a tiger’s skin?

He coughed lightly to draw the saintess’s attention, though in truth he had no need to do so, since she had been watching him all along.

“So, you are Crescent Lament’s beloved disciple...” Night Without End nodded and said.

“Yes, yes, Senior. So you really do know my master.” The saintess was so happy she almost wanted to leap up. Even through her veil, Night Without End could feel the excitement in her, as if she had just heard news of a long-lost relative.

She looked at him eagerly and asked, “Senior, Senior, do you know where my master is? I haven’t seen her for four or five years!”

Four or five years? It seemed this Rakshasa Witch Crescent Lament did not care much for her disciple, vanishing for four or five years at a stretch. It was rare enough for a disciple to care so deeply.

“Half a year ago, I saw Crescent Lament. She was well, so you needn’t worry. If she wants to see you, she will naturally come to see you. Just focus on your cultivation. That is likely what she would want as well.”

Night Without End spoke nonsense with a perfectly straight face. He was deceiving this saintess, yes, but she had not seen her master in four or five years. What did he have to fear? So what if he pretended to be some senior expert? Wasn’t that all there was to it?

Besides, it was not as though he had never pretended before. He was already very familiar with this line of work. Not only did he have to play the part, he had to play it well.

After all, now that he wore the name of the Blood Demon, there would be plenty of chances for him to keep acting in the future. For the time being, he might as well get some practice in. From this day on, he would be the image of a majestic senior expert. As for anything else, whenever he encountered something he had never seen before, he would be sure to stay rational.

He was a senior expert, and he had to have bearing.

It was much like a cat constantly telling itself that it was a tiger...

“Yes, thank you for your guidance, Senior. Do you have any plans now?” the saintess asked with a smile.

“Me? I plan to roam the world, travel through the Eastern Wastes, and find a way to restore my cultivation.”

Night Without End lifted his chin at a forty-five-degree angle and gazed up at the sky, feigning profound mystery as he sighed.

The saintess looked at him. Although his features were far from pleasing, the sweeping grandeur of his presence still left her staring in a daze...