The immortals in storybooks always treat demons as filth, like water and fire—utterly incompatible. Who would put their own coffin in a prison meant for demons, afraid they wouldn’t rest in peace after death?

Or... is there another explanation?

Logan Barrett pondered this, reaching out to run his hand along the edge of the white jade coffin, studded with nails.

He’d had a bad habit since childhood. Most of the nobles in Que City loved rare things—mermaid pearls, prajna, world-illuminating lamps. The more extravagant the name, the better.

But not him.

He was old-fashioned, only fond of white jade. Whenever he saw it, he couldn’t help but touch it, to test its quality.

...

“If you ask me, it definitely isn’t a real coffin. Probably just a cenotaph.”

“A cenotaph isn’t strange? How is that any different from lying in it yourself?”

“True! Even a hideous stone statue in a ruined temple on a hilltop is said to carry the spirit of the original, let alone personal belongings? That’s not just carrying the spirit—that’s the original itself. City Lord, you—”

After Henry Collins finished his sarcastic remark, he turned his head and saw his own City Lord touching the coffin.

Henry Collins: “...”

Henry Collins: “???”

It was truly bizarre.

The scene was so eerie that several of the subordinates were stunned on the spot.

This demon lord was indeed unpredictable, always doing the unexpected. His smile didn’t mean he was pleased, and his gentle words didn’t mean he was praising you.

Serving him was truly difficult, and understanding him was even harder.

...

But that was Owen Fletcher, the one who nailed him into the northern region of Canglang. Why... was he touching it?

Henry Collins licked his lips. “City Lord, what are you doing?”

The group exchanged glances, then looked at Logan Barrett. The subordinate closest to Henry Collins suddenly moved his neck in a strange way. He extended a finger and wrote on Henry Collins’s hanging hand:

“Don’t you think...”

Before he could finish, there was a loud “bang—”.

Where Logan Barrett’s finger had touched, a black coffin nail suddenly shot out, over a foot long. The nail was still dusted with jade fragments, surrounded by a faint golden glow, as if it had been forcefully pulled out.

“...”

The writing subordinate froze, curling his finger back.

Then came a second bang.

Bang—

Another black coffin nail popped out.

Then a third.

A fourth.

...

With each nail that fell away, the entire white jade coffin would tremble.

Not just the coffin—the sword mound, the giant tree, even the whole wilderness would shudder along with it.

Henry Collins and the others, as if facing a great enemy, instantly retreated several yards, exclaiming, “City Lord, I thought... are you trying to open the coffin?!”

No, I’m not.

Logan Barrett thought, If I knew any magic, I’d be running faster than you.

Unfortunately, he didn’t. Not only could he not run, but his feet were rooted to the spot. The coffin seemed to possess some divine power; with each tremor, it was as if countless invisible hands gripped him tightly from below.

So, after the subordinates had all retreated, he was still standing by the coffin, watching helplessly as the nails fell away.

When the final “bang” sounded, the massive white jade lid scraped with a grinding sound and crashed to the ground.

Logan Barrett closed his eyes for a moment.

He didn’t smell any rot or decay—only the scent of cold snow and drifting dust at the tip of his nose.

It was a bit like the deep winter in Que City.

“It’s really open...” Henry Collins and the others murmured, “City Lord, what’s inside?”

Logan Barrett opened his eyes.

The white jade coffin was much taller than a normal one; from where he stood, he couldn’t see inside.

The grip at his feet had vanished at some point. He hesitated, then stepped closer. “Inside is...”

Owen Fletcher.

Logan Barrett moved his lips, then unconsciously pressed them together.

It was too unexpected.

Inside the white jade coffin actually lay that very Celestial Immortal. Just like the golden lotus projection from before, yet not quite the same.

The inner walls of the jade coffin were shrouded in a deep, chilling cold. Owen Fletcher lay within, his closed brows and the black mourning nails on his ear bones frosted over, looking colder than the jade itself, without a trace of life.

Logan Barrett rested his hand on the coffin, eyes lowered for a long time.

“City Lord, is it a cenotaph? Or did they place some personal item here as a ward?” Henry Collins’s voice came closer.

The subordinates, still waiting for an answer, hesitated and gathered around.

As soon as they peeked in, they saw Owen Fletcher’s face.

...

Henry Collins quickly retreated to his original spot.

The others were about to flee as well, when one of them said, “Hey? Wait, something’s off!”

Henry Collins: “I’d have to be crazy to wait!”

“The City Lord is right here—what are you panicking for? Look closely, the one in the coffin isn’t the real body.”

Huh? Not the real body?

Logan Barrett glanced up, then quickly looked down again, afraid to show too much surprise.

Fortunately, Henry Collins spoke up: “Not the real body?”

“Yeah. Did you forget? That’s what those Celestial Immortals love to do—send out some kind of flesh avatar, leave one here, another there.”

Oh, that’s how it’s written in the storybooks too—immortals traveling the mortal world.

Logan Barrett thought.

“How can you tell?” Henry Collins asked, half-believing, as he returned.