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Qiao Ranran sucked in a sharp breath.

Pei Ling smiled. "Anyone else want to try?"

A Demonic Cultivator immediately spoke up. By the sound of his voice, it was the black-robed one who had brought them in yesterday. "Still as arrogant as ever, little brother. I like that fire." Yesterday, he had barely given them the time of day; today, he was calling Pei Ling "brother." That was quite a change.

As he spoke, he tossed over a Storage Bag. "You've earned this." He glanced at Qiao Ranran and said with interest, "I didn't expect you to be hiding your talents too, miss. Your skill with poison is truly astonishing!"

With a flick of his hand, he pulled another Storage Bag from the dying Demonic Cultivator, whose body had shriveled until only skin remained. "This is your spoils, miss. As for your own share, I'll make sure you get it tomorrow."

The Storage Bag flew toward her. Qiao Ranran, who loved money but had her principles, took a step back in disgust. It landed on the ground with a smack. "No need. I have no interest in any of that."

Qiao Ranran had plenty of experience putting on an act. Her haughty gaze even carried a trace of Pei Ling's usual expression, making his pupils quiver and his smile deepen. She truly had no interest in those things. Without even looking, she knew they were cultivation resources suited to Demonic Cultivators. To her, they might as well have been poison. She had no intention of tormenting herself, much less turning demonic on the spot.

The Demon Realm did not suit her. She preferred a leisurely life among green hills and clear waters.

As for Pei Ling—Qiao Ranran tugged at his fingers. No matter how hard she tried, she never seemed