GD Ch. 27 Part 2

Chapter 27: How to Enter the Pool

On Wendao Peak, a hundred disciples sat cross-legged in the wind and snow, each wrapped in heavy cloaks of beast fur. Despite the bone-chilling cold, none of them stirred.

Among them were Changying and Hanzhu, seated near the front. One looked restless, while the other appeared to be asleep.

The one sleeping was Changying. Her eyes were shut, but her eyeballs twitched beneath her lids, as if she were dreaming of something extraordinary. She sat upright, seemingly immersed in deep meditation, but Hanzhu—seated beside her—could see the truth. She was clearly asleep.

That was good. If she was asleep, she wouldn’t cause trouble.

Since arriving at Wendao Peak, Hanzhu had been on edge, constantly keeping an eye on the dragon beside her. While everyone else remained motionless with their eyes closed, she would crack hers open now and then, unable to relax unless she saw for herself.

Changying swayed slightly, as if about to be blown over by the wind.

Hanzhu, seeing that she had dozed off completely, begrudgingly reached out and pulled her back upright.

The dragon, now sitting straight again, kept her eyes shut. Even though she had changed bodies, her aura remained so weak it seemed she might breathe her last at any moment.

The surrounding disciples didn’t ask questions. When the three of them had returned covered in blood, the entire sect had heard about it. It was only natural for their conditions to still be frail—no one expected them to be up and lively overnight.

Hanzhu, however, was seething inside. She was a devil—how had she ended up pretending to be a mortal cultivator, sitting here listening to morning lectures?

Just as she was fuming, the dragon beside her suddenly swayed again.

At first, Changying had only been leaning slightly, but this time, she slumped abruptly, her waist tightening as if in a spasm. Her cheeks puffed slightly, but she didn’t vomit—she merely swallowed something back down, her throat moving subtly.

Hanzhu’s eyes snapped open. Without thinking, she grabbed Changying’s arm. Could it be that this fragile human body, already gravely injured, had worsened to the point where even the soul possessing it was being dragged halfway into the grave?

Changying’s eyelids lifted.

For a brief moment, her pupils were not human, but the brilliant gold of a dragon’s eyes.

Hanzhu’s breath hitched. Instinctively, she reached out, ready to cover those eyes before anyone else saw them.

Fortunately, with a single blink, the golden pupils faded, returning to normal.

The cultivator leading the morning lesson hesitated mid-sentence, glancing toward the distance. A disciple who had skipped the lecture was leisurely making their way up the mountain path, holding a paper fan with an air of utter nonchalance.

The lecturer merely sighed. He was long accustomed to this disciple’s lack of discipline.

The newcomer was Zhuyou.

She strode forward and pressed a hand onto Changying’s shoulder. Without drawing attention, she let a thread of spiritual energy seep out to probe Changying’s condition.

Only then did she realize—this fragile human body was already riddled with injuries. Now, with a dragon forcefully inhabiting it, it was even more broken, barely holding together.

Zhuyou’s expression darkened slightly. Then she spoke aloud, her voice steady, “My shidi isn’t feeling well. I’ll take him back.”

Several seated disciples raised their heads, none of them looking the least bit surprised—this kind of disregard for seniority was exactly what they expected from their shixiong.

Changying lifted her head, her gaze truly indifferent, and naturally reached out to grasp Zhuyou’s wrist.

Her palm felt even colder now, as if a layer of frost had formed over it.

Zhuyou let the dragon clutch her wrist bone, thinking that if this continued, the mortal body wouldn’t survive for much longer. She had never expected Changying’s spirit to be this formidable.

She lifted her hand from Changying’s shoulder, closed her folding fan, and turned slightly as if preparing to leave.

Changying immediately stood up, her five fingers refusing to let go. If there were fewer people around, she might have leaned half her body against Zhuyou already.

The surrounding disciples stared dumbfounded at their clasped hands, vaguely feeling that something about this was improper. Walking away was one thing—but why were they holding hands?

What kind of behavior was this?

Hanzhu followed behind them, wishing she could just sink into the ground. She had been a devil for so many years, but she had never felt this humbled—especially with the lecture instructor’s gaze burning into her back, making her feel as if she had committed some grave offense.

Zhuyou led the dragon toward the Suspension Bridge. Just as they stepped onto it, she suddenly noticed a group of figures ascending the mountain—one of whom, unfortunately, was Jing Kexin.

Jing Kexin put on a delicate, frail demeanor, smiling sweetly and innocently amidst a group of cultivators, speaking in a soft and gentle voice to her companions.

Beneath the bridge, white mist swirled, and despite the howling wind, the bridge stood firm and motionless.

Zhuyou’s expression darkened slightly. Without a word, she pried open Changying’s fingers and instead grasped her arm, walking past the group without even sparing them a glance.

This kind of blatant disregard was exactly the kind of attitude the disciple she had possessed would have displayed.

The passing cultivators didn’t think much of it, except for Jing Kexin, who turned her head slightly after they passed, a trace of suspicion flickering in her eyes.

Changying’s mortal body was nearing its limit—so much so that by the time they were close to the small courtyard, she coughed up another mouthful of blood. Yet she seemed utterly unbothered, her expression calm and indifferent.

Hanzhu was both shocked and delighted—shocked because this dragon was something her own mistress had gone through great lengths to steal from the Dragon Palace, and it would be a shame if it perished so soon. But at the same time, she thought it would be quite convenient if it did—less trouble for everyone.

The wooden door swung open with a pulse of energy, and in the next instant, two figures darted inside. Hanzhu barely managed to follow. Just as her back foot stepped through the threshold, a loud bang sounded behind her—the door had shut once more.

Had she been a second slower, she would’ve walked straight into it.

As soon as they entered, Zhuyou retrieved the dragon’s original body from her spatial storage, then promptly pulled Changying’s spirit out of the mortal shell. Turning back, she casually added another layer of restriction over the room.

Freed from the mortal body, she stood in a flowing black silk dress, pooling like ink on the floor. The sash around her waist was a blood-red ribbon, tied loosely.

A gust of wind from outside stirred her silver hair, making it ripple before settling in soft waves over her thin shoulders. The devil markings on her body were stark and vivid.

With a pale hand, she grasped Changying’s soul and pressed it back into the dragon’s body. The black-scaled dragon immediately began to move—not just a slight twitch, but a violent convulsion, its entire form shuddering.

Zhuyou swiftly gathered a wisp of spiritual energy, pried open the dragon’s tightly shut jaws, and directed the energy into its mouth.

Her white fingers were caught right at the edges of the dragon’s open maw, with two sharp fangs resting against her fingertips.

The obsidian-scaled dragon trembled for a long while. Even after swallowing the spiritual energy, it didn’t calm down immediately. It wasn’t until half a moment later that it finally stilled—and in just that brief time, the black dragon had grown several inches longer.

Zhuyou lowered her gaze, momentarily surprised. She reached out to touch Changying’s newly extended tail.

The black dragon’s golden eyes snapped open, and in the next instant, it transformed into a small child, soft and delicate, clinging to her side.

Changying’s tiny face was pale as snow. Frail and barely conscious, she hugged Zhuyou’s arm weakly and murmured in a whisper-thin voice, “Not enough.”

Seeing that she could still speak, Zhuyou coldly withdrew her hand. Straightening up, she looked down at the child who barely reached her waist. Her long-lashed, seemingly innocent eyes curved ever so slightly. “You need to learn to find food on your own. There are so many cultivators in Huacheng Sect—each one brimming with spiritual energy. If they won’t give it to you, can’t you just take it?”

Hanzhu, who had been silently observing from the side, subtly hunched her shoulders, utterly unprepared for her mistress to be teaching the dragon such things.

Changying looked up at her with hazy eyes. The golden color in her pupils gradually faded, and her pupils became rounder.

Seeing her confusion, Zhuyou elaborated, “You need to taste different kinds of spiritual energy so you can learn which ones suit you best.” With that, she retrieved some spiritual stones from her storage—ones she had taken from the Heart-Questioning Rock. “Though right now isn’t a good time for that. You can try something else later. For now, you’ll have to make do with these.”

Changying, expression cold but obedient, gave a slight nod. She reached out and took the spiritual stone. Despite her delicate and innocent appearance, her expression remained eerily indifferent. She stared at the stone for a long moment before saying, “It tastes like wax.”

Witnessing all of this, Hanzhu turned her back to them and silently rolled her eyes. She never expected this dragon to be so unafraid of death, let alone to still have the energy to be picky.

After a pause, Changying spoke again, her voice soft and drowsy, “Nowhere near as good as you.”