What! The Wives in My Dreams Are Real? novel Chapter 883

Unknown how much time had passed before Yue Wanqiu finally broke the silence.

“Where is Ye Yu?” she asked.

“It’s none of your business!” Nangong Jingtang snapped.

She turned to leave, but Yue Wanqiu intercepted her once more and repeated her question.

“Where is Ye Yu? Tell me!”

News of the battle with the Peacock Clan had spread like wildfire through the demon realm. Even Luanyao City had been reduced to ruins—a testament to the strength of both sides. Upon hearing this, Yue Wanqiu was stunned. The Peacock Clan was Nangong Jingtang’s home—how could such a fierce conflict have erupted there? And what of Ye Yu? Was he safe?

Anxiety churned within Yue Wanqiu, but recalling Nangong Jingtang’s hostility the last time they met, she chose not to go herself. Instead, she had sent scouts to investigate. She had hoped beyond hope that Ye Yu was unharmed.

The reports that came back, however, sent her heart plummeting. A mysterious powerhouse had appeared, Ye Yu had fallen in battle, and Nangong Jingtang had not rebuilt her home but fled, searching desperately abroad.

He couldn’t be dead. He was so powerful—how could he have perished? Even with the intelligence laid before her, Yue Wanqiu refused to accept the truth. She had to hear it from Nangong Jingtang herself. Only then could she relinquish hope.

Her demand struck at Nangong Jingtang’s deepest wound. The latter’s face went cold. “Why does Ye Yu’s whereabouts concern you? What right have you to ask me? I am his demon spouse—who are you?” she replied.

Yue Wanqiu’s expression darkened. Indeed, she held no title or position here. Such was the sorrow of an unrequited love. In another time, faced with Nangong Jingtang’s rebuff, she would have slunk away in silence. But not now. She needed the truth, even if it meant confirming her worst fears.

Grasping Nangong Jingtang’s sleeve, she demanded, “Tell me—where is Ye Yu? Is it true that he’s gone?”

At her words, tears instantly filled Nangong Jingtang’s eyes. She cried out, “If you already know, why do you come asking me? Why?”

The calm aura around Yue Wanqiu shattered, replaced by a wild fury. “If he’s gone, why are you still alive? As his demon spouse, why didn’t you protect him?”

Nangong Jingtang shuddered as fresh pain ripped through her heart. Her eyes gleamed red as she yanked her arm free. “Who are you to question me in that tone? Who do you think you are?”

A century passed. Nangong Jingtang had risen to half-step Demon Emperor and discovered the path to ascend to the Divine Realm—much like humans’ ascension to deity. Once [N O V E L I G H T] one’s power surpassed the demon realm’s summit, one would enter the Divine Realm and become a god.

To reach that goal, Nangong Jingtang needed two more steps: to secure her place among the Demon Emperors and then to grow even stronger, until she shattered the demon realm’s ceiling. She shared this breakthrough with Yue Wanqiu, having witnessed her ally’s tireless efforts over the years. It didn’t matter who attained divinity first—what mattered was reviving Ye Yu.

There was one detail Nangong Jingtang had overlooked: when Ye Yu ventured alone to the Sacred Sanctum, he had left her a Memory Stone, urging her to open it if he ever was not there. At the time, she had rejected such morbid talk, and after his fall at the Peacock Clan, her grief and her search for the Divine Realm had pushed the stone into oblivion.

Blinded by obsession, she had buried that Memory Stone in a forgotten corner. Until now, she had been consumed by a single thought: to blaze her own path, ascend to Demon Emperor, then to the Divine Realm, and restore Ye Yu to life.

But life is seldom smooth. Some journeys require immense destiny, great fortune, and profound enlightenment. Impatience would not hasten her progress.

Over the next centuries, Nangong Jingtang’s cultivation stagnated. Then, in a mystical realm, she perished in a struggle over a cultivation manual, slain by a Demon Emperor.

At the moment of her death, her life’s journey flashed before her eyes. She felt no regret for her choices—only sorrow that she had not been strong enough. If only she had been stronger, perhaps everything would have been different.