GD Ch. 24 Part 1

Chapter 24: To Abandon or Not?

The northern snow drifted down in a swirl, and the biting wind howled.

Zhuyou’s vision was filled with endless white—she could no longer make out the mountains or the pine trees, let alone whose hand was resting on her wrist.

It was cold, yet soft.

The bite mark on her wrist was healing quickly, and as the skin and flesh grew back, the spot itched intensely.

After Changying fell from her grasp, she didn’t know where she had landed—perhaps half her body was already buried in the snow.

Zhuyou no longer used her remaining spiritual power to suppress the poison mist clouding her vision. After a hundred years, not only had the poison failed to fade, but it had grown thicker—impossible to dispel and harder to contain. The poison mist was relentless. The more she suppressed it, the stronger it became, as if trying to consume her entire vision.

At this rate, she would eventually go completely blind.

Yet Zhuyou had never told anyone about this strange poison—not even the peafowl demon who stayed by her side.

The cold hand remained on her wrist. It was soft, with slender and delicate fingers—not like an adult’s hand but more like a child’s.

Zhuyou tried to probe the child with her remaining spiritual power but couldn’t detect any trace of energy. She… hadn’t even heard any footsteps. It was as if this person had appeared out of thin air. It happened so suddenly—just as Changying slipped from her grasp, this figure had appeared beside her.

Zhuyou frowned slightly and grabbed the hand resting on her wrist bone. It was indeed a child—a child with no warmth in their body, as cold as the falling snow. Within the range of her spiritual senses, there was no sign of a dragon—or even a snake.

“Changying,” Zhuyou said firmly.

The figure beside her did not respond. A hazy mist seemed to shroud their form, but the small, dark silhouette was clear enough—it was indeed the height of a child.

“Give me more,” the familiar voice sounded in her ear again. This time, it wasn’t distant or ethereal—each word was clear and distinct. The voice was soft and childlike, yet undeniably cold, with a calmness far beyond a child’s years.

Zhuyou held her breath. She had hoped for this dragon to take human form—but not by draining her spiritual power.

Just moments ago, she was worried the dragon would freeze to death in this bitter cold, and now, it had transformed into a human.

Ordinary divine offspring, upon first taking human form, would be like infants—swaddled and crying.

Changying had been strange from the moment she hatched, and now her transformation only deepened her suspicion—perhaps…

This was never an ordinary newborn divine offspring.

But she couldn’t afford to give more spiritual power. Over the past century, she had tried countless methods to suppress the poison mist in her eyes, but nothing worked—in fact, the blindness became more frequent. Most of her spiritual energy was consumed by controlling the poison mist. Without it, she wouldn’t need to concern herself with anyone else.

Now, with cultivators from all directions gathered here, the Dragon Clan likely sent people to retrieve their lost egg, and Jing Kexin was proving to be a persistent nuisance. If she fed this dragon any more spiritual power, she wouldn’t survive herself.

She had to admit—this dragon was the most unexpected thing she had encountered in all her years wandering the Three Realms.

“It’s cold,” Changying said again, her voice soft and childlike.

Zhuyou did not respond. Unable to see the dragon’s human form clearly, she reached toward the dark silhouette and wrapped her slender fingers around the child’s thin neck.

Before Changying could react, she tightened her grip. The pale fingers exerted slight pressure, and the fragile child’s face immediately flushed red—she seemed powerless to resist.

Changying’s golden pupils contracted sharply, the irises narrowing into vertical slits. Unable to see this, Zhuyou only sensed that the little dragon’s breath was growing weaker—it didn’t seem to be an act.

She flung her arm, and the child hit the ground with a heavy thud.

Changying gasped for air, her frail back rising and falling as she lay there trembling.

Zhuyou bent down, reaching toward the blurred figure, and scooped the child up, pressing her warm palm against her face.

Changying, still breathing heavily, instinctively closed her eyes as her heated touch covered her cold skin.

Like a blind woman feeling her way, Zhuyou traced Changying’s nose, eyes, and mouth. She had all the proper features—and from what Zhuyou could tell, they were well-formed and not distorted from a lack of spiritual energy. Judging by her size, she seemed like a mortal child around four or five years old—short and stocky, with messy hair and thin, flimsy clothing.

When Changying was still in her rope-like form, Zhuyou could carry her close and warm her easily. But now that she had turned into a human, there was no easy way to keep her warm. How could such a small child survive this bitter cold? Zhuyou worried she might freeze to death before they even reached their destination.

“You don’t have much spiritual energy left,” Changying said softly, her tone calm as ever, even as Zhuyou’s hand brushed against the corner of her mouth.

Zhuyou narrowed her eyes. “How do you know that?”

“I can see it,” Changying answered in a quiet, matter-of-fact voice.

If she could see spiritual energy, that meant she had immortal bones and a spiritual core. Zhuyou lowered her hand, pinching Changying’s thin shoulder.

Her bones were delicate, and her frame was frail—she seemed no sturdier than a mortal child.

For a newly hatched creature, transforming into such a form was strange.

What exactly was this thing? What secret did she hold that made the Dragon Clan guard her so carefully? Surely it wasn’t just for the sake of pride.

Changying looked up at the person before her. Her complexion was as pale as paper, and her lips were nearly devoid of color, resembling someone gravely ill. But she still maintained an air of composure.

Changying tilted her pale face upward, gazing at Zhuyou. Her lips were nearly colorless, and her complexion was deathly white—she looked like someone with only days left to live. But Zhuyou, unable to see her clearly, questioned coldly, “How did you take human form?”

She had intended to ask, What exactly are you?—but the words felt too harsh and were left unsaid.

Changying, calm as ever, replied, “I don’t know. My body felt warm, and my bones sprouted like buds, and suddenly, I turned human.”

It was something every spirit beast dreamed of—a spontaneous transformation, like a seed sprouting in spring, effortless and sudden.

Zhuyou tightened her grip on Changying’s shoulder. Even through the thin fabric, she could feel how icy the girl’s body was. “Warm? I don’t see how you’re warm anywhere.”

Changying raised her hand and lightly touched her chest. “Here. My heart is warm.”

Zhuyou spread her palm. “Give me your hand.”

Without hesitation, Changying placed her cold, soft hand into Zhuyou’s palm. Her fingers were so delicate they seemed like they would snap with a slight bend. Even her wrist was slender and fragile.

Zhuyou sent a strand of spiritual energy into Changying’s palm. The girl flinched slightly, her nose twitching as she instinctively tried to absorb it.

“Don’t swallow it,” Zhuyou warned sharply.

Changying immediately stopped moving, her brow furrowing slightly as if she were uncomfortable.

Zhuyou’s fingers probed deeper, sending a careful stream of spiritual energy through Changying’s fragile body. Surprisingly, she found no trace of dragon energy—only a thin and weakened constitution that seemed indistinguishable from that of a mortal child. Her bones were still soft, and her internal organs bore signs of decay, as if they had been damaged long ago. Each breath she took seemed laborious, and her frail body did not resemble that of a dragon in human form at all.

Yet as Zhuyou examined further, she suddenly froze.

This dragon—was missing a po soul.

If it had been a missing hun soul, Zhuyou might have suspected she was dealing with the Devil Lord reincarnated. But no, it was a po—the physical, earthly fragment of the soul—that was absent.

(T/N: Po refers to the physical, material aspect of the soul, often associated with vitality and instinct. It’s linked to the body’s life force and is considered more transient. Hun refers to the spiritual, ethereal aspect of the soul, associated with consciousness, intellect, and emotions. It is seen as more enduring and linked to one’s essence.)

“Do you know where you came from?” Zhuyou’s voice was cold as ice, her eyes narrowing.

Changying’s expression turned blank with confusion. “Didn’t you bring me here?”

Zhuyou’s lips curled into a thin smile. “Do you even know what you are?”

For a long time, Changying was silent, as if searching for an answer she could not find. At last, she shook her head slightly—but Zhuyou, unable to see the gesture, only heard her soft, indifferent reply: “I don’t know. But whatever you are, I suppose I am the same thing.” Her words had an odd, cutting sharpness—like a casual insult.

Zhuyou pinched her chin with an amused smile. If she had applied any more pressure, the child’s fragile jawbone would have snapped.

Her connection with this dragon was strange—deep and tangled—but before she became a devil, she had never crossed paths with any dragon.

That made it all the more bizarre.

Changying’s young face remained expressionless, as cold and indifferent as the snow-covered mountains around them. Yet, after a moment, she said softly, “It hurts.”

Zhuyou chuckled. “Good. At least you know pain.”

“Why?” Changying’s voice was quiet, almost soft.

Zhuyou’s lips curled slightly. “Because if you’re sick, you should feel pain.”

“I’m sick?” Changying still sounded confused.

Without changing her expression, Zhuyou lied smoothly, “Yes. You’re gravely ill—so ill that you don’t have much time left. But if I give you a drop of my heart’s blood, you might live a little longer.”

Changying showed no particular reaction. In that moment, she seemed like a newly hatched dragon, ignorant of everything. After a while, she simply murmured a quiet “Mm.”

The heart’s blood of a divine offspring was no ordinary thing. If two beings exchanged heart’s blood, it would bind them together like an invisible thread—impossible to sever for an entire lifetime.

Zhuyou lowered her hand. Even with the warmth of phoenix fire running through her veins, the cold was enough to make her fingers stiff. Just as she was about to pull her hand away, a small, icy grip caught her arm.

The dragon pressed herself against Zhuyou’s side, cold as a clump of snow. The chill seeped into half of Zhuyou’s body, nearly numbing her, yet the dragon snuggling against her let out a soft, contented sigh.

Zhuyou tried to pull her arm free, but Changying refused to let go. For someone who looked so weak and sickly, her grip was surprisingly strong, holding onto Zhuyou’s arm tightly.

She spoke like an old soul, but her innocent actions—clinging so earnestly—were almost childlike, as though she had lost her memories.

Beings whose appearance didn’t match their cultivation level weren’t unheard of in the Three Realms. Most of those cases involved immortals or devils struck by tribulation lightning, reverting them to a younger form. But no one had ever been struck back into an egg.

No wonder East Sea Monarch had guarded that egg so fiercely—there was clearly something unusual about it.

“When will we treat my illness?” Changying asked softly, coughing as though chilled. She clung even tighter to Zhuyou’s arm.

“Once we return to the Devil Realm, I’ll treat you,” Zhuyou said lightly.

Changying gave a quiet, dazed reply, as though she barely understood.

Zhuyou thought to herself—if this dragon wasn’t deceiving her, then she truly knew nothing at all. 

A dragon born defying the natural order should have exceptional talents. So why was she missing a piece of her soul? And why did she seem so… dull?

Zhuyou figured Hanzhu should be back soon, so she withdrew her hand and took a couple of steps away. Unexpectedly, she heard a soft thud behind her—the sound of something falling into the snow.

Since her vision was gone, she could only turn toward the sound. Amid the snow’s faint shadows, she made out a small figure lying there.

Changying had fallen face-first into the snow. She struggled to get up, but her body was too weak to lift itself. Even so, she didn’t make a sound as she crawled clumsily.

Zhuyou watched her flounder for a while before finally bending down and extending a hand. Changying grasped her arm, her legs trembling uncontrollably. It took great effort just to stand, and once she did, she couldn’t manage even a single step.

“What’s the point of having legs if you can’t even walk?” Zhuyou sneered.

Changying, unbothered by the mockery, replied obediently, “I don’t have much strength.”

“You’ve consumed so much of my spiritual energy, and now you’re telling me you have no strength?” Zhuyou lifted her with one arm. If she had used just a bit more force, she could’ve hoisted the child clear off the ground.

As soon as she loosened her grip slightly, Changying’s legs buckled again, as though she would collapse if left unsupported.

Frowning, Zhuyou pressed her fingers into the girl’s shoulder and sent a sliver of spiritual energy into her, probing her spirit sea. It was still broken—an empty, hollow space.

Changying coughed softly, her voice as sweet and delicate as glutinous rice.

Zhuyou let out a sigh, stretched out her arm, and scooped her up. “One day, I’m going to cook you into a stew,” she muttered.

Changying said nothing, her lips pressed into a thin line.

***

When Hanzhu finally returned from searching for shelter, she froze mid-step, rubbed her eyes repeatedly, and stared in disbelief at the sight before her. Seeing her mistress—her devilish, ruthless mistress—cradling a child left her stunned, as though the sky had fallen.

From the safety of Zhuyou’s arms, Changying turned her gaze toward the approaching peafowl demon. After a long moment, she remarked, “Your lowly servant has returned.”

The term “lowly servant” was practically ancient; even in the Devil Realm, no one had used it for ages.

Hanzhu stood there, still as a stone, struggling to figure out where this human-looking child had come from—and how she had the audacity to speak like that.

If anyone else in the Three Realms had seen her mistress like this, they would’ve been too shocked to speak. After all, mortals as beautiful as Zhuyou were exceedingly rare.

Although Zhuyou had concealed her devil markings and turned her white hair black, her imposing aura remained undiminished—just one glance was enough to make anyone’s knees go weak. Yet, the child seemed remarkably calm and composed.

When Zhuyou heard Changying say the words “lowly servant,” her brows lifted slightly. If she remembered correctly, neither she nor Hanzhu had ever mentioned such a term. This dragon seemed as if she had come straight out of the past millennium.

“That’s not what it’s called,” Zhuyou said casually.

Unexpectedly, Changying did not argue. Instead, she softly acknowledged with an obedient “Mm,” appearing unusually docile.

The snowflakes drifted down like cotton, landing on her hair and clinging to her shoulders and neck.

Zhuyou, unwillingly, brushed her hand across Changying’s figure, and the snow on her instantly vanished.

Hanzhu could not help but feel astonished—this child, wherever she came from, must have been incredibly fortunate. She was practically glued to their mistress’ side. If it had been Jing Kexin, she would have long been hung upside-down at the hall gates.