Investing in the Reborn Empress, She Actually Calls Me ‘Husband’

“What do you mean by this?”

The three visitors from the subterranean city stood up, their expressions dark as they glared at Li Mo. They had encountered resistance before—plenty of it.

Even Jiang Yu, the one who had issued the decree, likely never imagined that the subterranean cities, now under their rule, would exploit their authority so ruthlessly.

Wielding borrowed power as if it were their own, they dared to push the villagers of the human city to the brink of starvation.

And this arrogance? It came from the fact that, aside from occasional cravings, the Celestial Race didn’t even need to eat.

“I find your proposal… uninteresting.”

Li Mo refilled his teacup. “See them out!”

The doors of the ancestral hall were pushed open by the villagers inside, revealing a sea of dark, solemn faces staring in.

They were calm.

A decade ago, Dawang Village had been like any other ordinary settlement—terrified of demons and monsters.

But now? They had banded together to drive off or kill every stray fiend that dared approach their lands.

If they no longer feared those horrors, why would they fear a few stronger humans?

And Li Mo, their village chief, had taught them a lesson time and again:

The human city would inevitably face famine. If starvation struck, the desperate would sell their hard-tilled fields.

Those lands would fall into the hands of the well-fed subterranean city dwellers. Once the famine passed, the prosperous years to come would never belong to their descendants again.

Some principles might be hard to grasp, but not this one—not when it concerned the very soil that had nurtured them.

“After you. Once this door closes, it won’t open again just because you wish it.”

“……”

The young man from the subterranean city moved to make an example of them, but the older man held him back.

The middle-aged man clasped his hands toward Li Mo. “We’ll meet again.”

With that, he led the other two away.

“Uncle Deng, they’re just a bunch of peasants! Why stop me when they refused our goodwill?” the youth grumbled.

Deng shot him a glance and snorted.

“Didn’t you find the ancestral hall… unsettling?”

The tea table was carved from the roots of a Hundred-Vine Demon. The burning candles were made from serpent-men’s fat. The rug beneath their feet? The pelt of a Black Gale Bear.

What kind of madness was this? Despite all these demonic remnants, Dawang Village was eerily peaceful.

And the villagers—they all seemed to practice some crude, twisted form of martial arts!

“If we’d fought back there, we might not have left that hall alive…”

The woman from the subterranean city shuddered, then asked, “But if we don’t bring Dawang Village under control, how do we report back?”

“If we can’t handle Dawang Village, the Celestial Race certainly can.”

“Those villagers’ martial arts reek of demonic influence. They might already be colluding with fiends. This is serious—it must be brought to the Celestial City’s attention!”

The middle-aged man mounted his horse.

As the three galloped out of the village, a figure slipped down from a tree.

Dong Erniu—once a snot-nosed brat trailing after Li Mo, begging for a “cool sword”—had grown into a man of remarkable talent.

Hidden in the branches, he’d gone unnoticed even by the subterranean city’s warriors.

He hurried to the ancestral hall.

Meanwhile…

The trio had already passed through towering, majestic walls to seek an audience with the Celestial overseeing their region.

This Celestial took the form of a wild-eyed woman—sun-bronzed skin, raven hair swirling as if caught in an unfelt wind. She appeared to be in her early thirties.

Rumors said she was extraordinary even among her kind, born with violet auspicious light, capable of summoning storms with a mere gesture.

“Humans conspiring with demons?”

Feng Zhi frowned, her voice icy. “Such trivial matters are beneath my notice. Handle it yourselves.”

To her, humans and subterranean city dwellers were much the same.

“But the villagers of Dawang Village… they seem to have drawn power from demons.”

The three trembled, only the middle-aged man managing to speak.

The moment the words left his mouth—

Feng Zhi shot to her feet. A gust of wind yanked the man before her.

“Repeat that.”

“Every word is true!”

She nodded and flicked her sleeve.

This was too grave to ignore. She had to see for herself.

A tempest swept her and the three into the sky, hurtling across vast distances in mere moments.

Within a quarter-hour, guided by the trio, she arrived outside Dawang Village.

Her gaze swept over neatly tended fields and lush mountains.

Farmers worked the land; hunters stalked the woods.

But these were no ordinary laborers.

The farmers didn’t bend—they crouched low, like giant mantises, scythes flashing like bladed limbs, clearing swathes of weeds in single strokes.

One man, impatient with his ox’s pace, shoved the beast aside to graze, harnessed the plow himself, and tore through the earth.

If the fields were bizarre, the hunting was outright surreal.

A hunter jabbed a finger at a boar, curling it tauntingly.

“Come at me, you overgrown bacon!”

“Grunt?!”

No boar would tolerate such insult. It charged, tusks aimed to gut the man.

The hunter barked a laugh, braced, and slammed forward.

CRACK—

The boar flew backward, knocked unconscious mid-air.

“See? I told you Dawang Village wasn’t right!”

The subterranean city man pointed triumphantly.

Since when did farmers and hunters move like this?

“Mantis, Raging Ox, Ironhorn Rhino…”

Feng Zhi recognized traces of demonic techniques in their movements.

No demonic aura, yet undeniably imitating them!

And more…

Not only was there no taint—quite the opposite.

Was one of her kind living here?

Winds howled around her as her eyes gleamed jade-green. She descended, striding toward the source of that presence.

The Celestials were a scattered people; wanderers weren’t uncommon. But the human territories were vast—encounters rare.

Then she saw it: a humble farmhouse.

Through the gate stood a figure of startling grace—a woman with twin braids, rough-spun clothes, skin like frost, lips like rose petals. A beauty so stark she seemed displaced from another world.

Celestials were embodiments of nature’s perfection, each breathtaking.

Yet beside her, even their radiance dimmed.

Ying Bing hugged freshly washed garments, frowning at the sky.

“Since when did the wind grow so fierce?”

Li Mo stepped out to help gather the laundry.

“That’s him! The root of all evil—this village’s chief!”

The subterranean city man jabbed an accusing finger.

Li Mo: “?”

Village Chief Li pondered—since when was “Li” the surname of ultimate wickedness?