A Little First Love Shock for the Demon Lord - Chapter 7.2

“Today, we’re playing a special game,” Chen Wuxiu said with a smile. “Each of you will receive a bow and a single arrow. That child over there will be your target. A hit to the hands or feet earns fourth class. A hit to the body earns third class. A hit to the head is second class. But a hit to the heart—now that’s first class.”

As his subordinates began distributing the bows and arrows, a ripple of mixed emotions spread through the crowd. Some demons looked thrilled, while others trembled with dread.

Chen Wuxiu continued, his voice icy: “Those in third or fourth class will have all their limbs removed. Second class? Only your eyes will be taken. First class shooters can leave my Demon Palace unscathed. But if you miss…” He gave a chilling pause. “You’ll be tonight’s dinner.”

Panic spread instantly. The demons’ expressions shifted—fear and desperation clouding their eyes.

Chen Wuxiu turned his gaze to Minglou, smiling cruelly. “Minglou, I suggest you run fast. Otherwise, this game won’t be any fun.”

Minglou lifted his eyes to meet his tormentor’s. His fingertips trembled.

Only now did he understand: Chen Wuxiu had never intended to let him live. Healing his injuries had only been part of the setup—to make the hunt more thrilling, to watch him run in agony, utterly powerless.

The first arrow flew.

It missed.

Without hesitation, Chen Wuxiu lifted a finger. A flash of light—then silence. The demon who had missed was cleaved in two.

Bl00d spilled. And with it, the demons lost their restraint.

Driven by terror, they raised their bows. To live, they had to kill.

As dozens of arrows took aim, Minglou stood frozen. The light in his eyes dimmed.

He wanted to live.

But no one else wanted that.

An arrow whistled through the air and struck his shoulder. Minglou staggered back, pain shooting through his body. He turned his bloodshot gaze on the shooter.

“I hit the shoulder!” the demon cried with wild joy. “That’s fourth class, right? I only need to lose my eyes!”

Chen Wuxiu chuckled darkly. “Shoulder? That counts as a limb.”

The demon barely had time to scream. With a flick, Chen Wuxiu severed all four of his limbs. The torso flopped to the ground, stunned and silent.

Madness consumed the crowd.

Minglou fled the Demon Palace, arrows storming around him. One grazed his lower back, another tore through his ear, and one came terrifyingly close to piercing his heart.

He was bleeding everywhere. His vision blurred. But he didn’t dare stop.

He hated this. The pain. The fear.

But he still wanted to live.

After evading his pursuers, he broke off the arrows embedded in his body and collapsed into a storage cabinet in one of the side rooms. He hid there for hours. Only when night fell and silence returned did he crawl out, weak and trembling.

The corridor outside was shrouded in darkness. Minglou staggered down the hall, every step sheer agony.

He just needed to get out. Anywhere was better than here.

But as he turned a corner, a figure blocked his path.

A boy. Far younger than Minglou. His arms trembled under the weight of the bow he barely held. Tears streamed down his face, and the arrow in his hand wavered helplessly.

Minglou understood. The boy wanted to live, too.

But under Chen Wuxiu’s rule, there was no survival.

Minglou stepped closer, his voice low. “Do you want to live?”

The boy froze, then nodded through his tears.

Minglou looked at the arrow. Then at the boy’s pale, terrified face.

In one swift motion, he grabbed the arrow and drove it into his own chest—straight into his heart.

The boy stared, stunned.

From a distance, a shout rang out: “A heart shot!”

Guards rushed in and pulled the boy away. He was safe now.

Only Minglou remained, sprawled on the cold floor. Pain screamed from every inch of him. Even breathing was a struggle.

But he knew: he wouldn’t die yet.

Chen Wuxiu wouldn’t allow it.

There were more games waiting. Skinning. Poison. Torture.

He would live until Chen Wuxiu grew bored. Only then would death release him.

A shadow moved in the distance.

Minglou’s heart sank.

It had to be one of Chen Wuxiu’s men—here to heal him, drag him back, and begin again.

He closed his eyes.

Then a soft, unfamiliar voice spoke.

“Is it you? Lan… no, what’s your name again…”

He frowned, opening his eyes.

A woman knelt beside him, her eyes large and shining like pools of spring water. She studied him with gentle curiosity.

Minglou’s heart skipped a beat.

“You’re alive!” she beamed. “That’s wonderful!”

He forced a whisper through his cracked lips. “Who… are you?”

“I’m Ying Ning,” she said with a smile. “We’ve met, but I never told you my name.”

“Ying Ning…” Minglou murmured.

She smiled even softer now, wiping the bl00d from his face with her sleeve. “When I touched the dark aura clinging to you, I was brought here. One moment this place looked like a tall tower, the next like a palace.

And your wounds… they’d appear and then vanish again. It was strange.”

He didn’t understand. But her presence felt warm. Like flowers. Familiar.

After cleaning his face, Ying Ning tilted her head and studied him.

“Is this what you looked like as a child?” she asked softly. “At first, I wasn’t sure it was you. But your eyes—they’re beautiful. I knew it had to be you.”

Minglou’s heart pounded.

Had they met before?

Why did she feel so familiar?

He found himself asking, “Do you know me?”

Ying Ning nodded. “Didn’t you tell me your name before you passed out?”

She furrowed her brow, mimicking his earlier tone. “Listen carefully, my name is…”

Minglou leaned in.

“…Bastard,” Ying Ning finished solemnly.

His face instantly darkened.

“That’s what you said before fainting,” she said innocently. “Your name is ‘bastard’? It’s… unusual.”

Red with fury, Minglou sat bolt upright. “Idiot! My name is Minglou! ‘Bastard’ was what I was calling that nightmare demon!”

Ying Ning blinked, then laughed, her voice clear as a bell.

And for a moment, even in the depths of a nightmare, Minglou felt just a little closer to being alive.