GD Ch. 28

Chapter 28: What She Remembers

Zhuyou couldn’t tell if this dragon was genuinely foolish or just pretending, but there was one thing she was absolutely sure of—Given the slightest encouragement, this dragon would climb straight up. She really did want to ascend to the heavens.

Hanzhu didn’t dare to interrupt. With one powerful demon on the left and a divine offspring on the right, either one was far more capable than she was. Silently, she muttered to herself—did this dragon treat her mistress like a rice jar, scooping out a handful from time to time? If this kept up…

Wouldn’t it empty her out completely?

“You’re awfully young to have such a big appetite,” Zhuyou remarked, relaxing slightly only when she saw that Changying could take a hint. Her gaze lowered, and though she didn’t immediately push away the small dragon nestled at her side, it was hard to tell whether she was angry.

Changying tilted her head up to look at her, coughing weakly as if she might collapse on the spot. Her expression was confused as she murmured, “I shouldn’t be… that young.”

She looked so delicate and fragile—like she was pouting.

“You call this not young?” Zhuyou raised her hand, pressing her palm against the crown of Changying’s head. Her long, slender fingers nearly covered the small girl’s entire skull.

Changying’s head drooped slightly under her hand, and the difference in their sizes became obvious. Her lips immediately turned down at the corners, her mood souring again. Her face remained cold, but her soft little hand crept silently up Zhuyou’s sleeve, inching further until it tried to encircle the warm wrist beneath.

Zhuyou sighed inwardly—no surprise, really. She had raised her personally, after all. Of course, she was clingy—always had to hold hands.

The little dragon leaned against her, soft and boneless, as if she had no strength left—like she’d topple over if pushed away.

Zhuyou lifted the hand resting on Changying’s head and simply wrapped the small, creeping hand into her palm. Tsk, her hand was icy cold.

“What’s this? Are you sulking?”

It took a while before Changying answered in a soft voice, “I shouldn’t be that young.”

The word “shouldn’t” was quite telling.

“Did you remember something?” Zhuyou led her toward the drum stool and shot a glance at the wooden bed nearby—clearly disapproving.

At her frown, Hanzhu immediately understood and hurriedly retrieved a soft couch and cushions from her storage pouch.

The redwood couch had a backrest embroidered with a mountain bird motif. The silk cushion beneath was stuffed with beast fur, warm and soft—completely out of place in the humble quarters of a sect disciple.

Once the couch was placed, the already-cramped room became even more crowded.

But since it wasn’t her house, Zhuyou didn’t care. In fact, she settled onto the couch with evident satisfaction.

Hanzhu let out a sigh of relief—honestly, her storage pouch contained everything from bowls to an entire bed.

Changying, still weak and pale, had her wrist held firmly. The one leading her was already reclining comfortably, while she could only stand there.

Hanzhu chuckled silently to herself—divine offspring or not, the treatment was the same. The master sat, and the subordinates stood. Keeping her voice low, she murmured, “Mistress’ been exhausted these past few days. It was my negligence—I forgot there was a couch tucked away a century ago.”

As she spoke, she glanced at the dragon, feeling oddly pleased with herself. But the dragon’s cold, indifferent eyes were filled with clear hostility.

Hanzhu was still a little afraid of her—but after several days out of favor, she was finally feeling at ease again and wasn’t quite as scared.

“Think carefully—did you remember anything?” Zhuyou, unaware of the little power play happening between the demon and the dragon, tilted her head toward Changying.

Changying shook her head. Her face was as pale as ever. Since transforming back into human form, she seemed slightly taller, but her clothes still fit perfectly.

Of course, they did—after all, they were made from dragon scales.

Zhuyou lowered her gaze slightly. With her phoenix-like eyes and ethereal beauty, she should have been bewitching, yet somehow, she looked innocent and otherworldly. Hooking a finger, she beckoned the dragon closer.

Obediently, Changying bent down, leaning toward her—only to be caught off guard when a warm hand pinched her chin. Her jaw was sharp and slender—just a handful of delicate bone.

Zhuyou’s fingers held her chin firmly, pulling her even closer.

Changying’s long eyelashes trembled slightly. Perhaps the proximity made her uneasy—her eyes fluttered shut halfway, quivering like butterfly wings before she slowly opened them again. In her human form, her golden pupils became a much paler shade, and the vertical slit of her irises softened into something rounder and gentler—no longer filled with a violent aura.

Only now did Zhuyou notice a tiny mole on the tip of Changying’s nose—small and easily overlooked, but strangely endearing.

Changying’s face remained puzzled, but she didn’t struggle. She was as obedient as ever, but still as cold—like a fierce beast wearing a collar.

After all, in the ancient primordial era, dragons were indeed considered ferocious beasts. In those days, when chaos gave way to heaven and earth, a dragon rising into the sky could block out the sun and stir the seas into a tempest.

Zhuyou didn’t dwell on that thought. Releasing Changying’s chin, she pressed her index finger against the dragon’s forehead and sent a stream of spiritual energy into her mind. It flowed smoothly—but revealed nothing.

A vast expanse of white mist stretched endlessly in all directions. Not even the faintest trace of memory remained.

Despite everything that had happened in recent days, it was as if none of it had left the slightest mark on Changying’s consciousness. Her mind was a blank scroll—clean and pure.

Unwilling to give up, Zhuyou pressed forward with her spiritual energy, trying to disperse the mist. Although she was used to being blind, this unrelenting white still unsettled her.

Just as her energy touched the mist, it recoiled like dragon claws, seizing her spiritual thread.

Suddenly, a chill shot through her finger.

Zhuyou yanked her energy back, her pale finger trembling slightly. The wisp of mist clinging to her fingertip scattered and slid back into Changying’s mind.

“What was that?” Hanzhu asked, having only seen the mist retreating into Changying’s forehead.

Changying, confused by Zhuyou’s sudden withdrawal, leaned in again.

Zhuyou placed her finger against the girl’s forehead once more—but this time, instead of probing, she used a bit of force to push that troublesome head away. “Whatever it is, only she would know.”

“I don’t know,” Changying answered softly, unfazed.

“Go sleep in the side room,” Zhuyou ordered, still unsettled by the strange mist. “I don’t want to see you.”

Changying took a step back but didn’t head to the side room. Instead, she turned and quietly sat down on the cold, hard wooden bed.

Hanzhu braced herself and grabbed hold of Changying’s dragon claw, saying, “Ancestor, you’d better come to the side room with me.”

Changying struggled slightly, a trace of anger rising on her cold face. Then, her chest trembled, and she coughed up a mouthful of blood, splattering onto the thin quilt curled up on the bed.

The crimson blood stood out vividly against her pale face.

Hanzhu, startled, immediately released her grip and turned to her mistress for help. “Mistress, th-this…” Was the dragon so angry she had injured herself?

Zhuyou, however, acted as though she hadn’t seen a thing and waved her hand dismissively. “Take her away.”

Without hesitation, Hanzhu lifted the bleeding dragon and carried her to the side room.

With a swirl of spiritual energy, the door to the side room shut with a loud bang, utterly merciless.

On the soft couch, Zhuyou relaxed her shoulders and leaned back lazily. Lowering her head, strands of silver-white hair spilled over her face and trailed down to the floor from the edge of the couch. The devil markings on her body faded faintly beneath her misty outer robe.

Her expression was unreadable. After a long pause, she opened her mouth slightly and exhaled a breath of cold air, which instantly froze the embroidered flower on the cushion beneath her with a thin layer of frost.

The chill coming from Changying was only growing stronger.

***

The next morning, a disciple from the courtyard knocked on their door and asked, “Shixiong, will you be attending the morning lecture today?”

Zhuyou lay on the soft couch, propping her head up with one pale arm. Upon hearing the question, she lazily lifted her eyelids. Her gleaming white hair spread across the couch, and she hadn’t even bothered to use the mortal body she was supposed to be inhabiting.

The three mortals whose bodies they had taken over were still unconscious, their spirits having been forcibly evicted, and they showed no signs of waking.

Although it was her own voice, when she replied, it sounded exactly like the shixiong’s voice to the disciple outside. “I’m not going,” she said, too lazy to bother with mortals. Pretending to be one was exhausting.

The disciple hesitated briefly, then continued awkwardly, “But shixiong, you’ll still need to visit the main peak today. The sect master sent a young servant with a message this morning. I sent him away to avoid disturbing you.”

Zhuyou raised an eyebrow in surprise. Why was the sect master suddenly paying attention to an idle and unskilled disciple like her? With a flicker of curiosity in her eyes, she asked, “Did the servant mention when the sect master wants to see me?”

“Before the morning lecture,” the disciple replied.

“Understood,” Zhuyou responded with unexpected politeness. As she stood up, she cast a glance toward the side room, where a faint silhouette of a head could be seen through the thin paper covering the wooden door.

Once the disciple left and the courtyard fell silent, Zhuyou curled her finger, and the side room’s thin door swung open.

Changying stood by the door, staring at her without blinking. Her pale face was cold and expressionless, lips pressed into a thin line, as though she were angry.

Zhuyou wasn’t sure what the dragon was so upset about—she was the one who had been chilled to the point of exhaling cold air, while the dragon was perfectly fine and even had the nerve to act aggrieved.

“Still can’t sleep?” Zhuyou asked with a faint smile.

Changying’s gaze was deep and unwavering. Her lips trembled slightly as she murmured, “You forgot to light a fire for me.” Her tone carried a hint of reproach.

“Cold?” Zhuyou asked, oddly amused by the dragon’s sulking.

“When I was inside the egg, it was just as dark and cold as this,” Changying said softly. At first, the words didn’t seem accusatory, but upon closer reflection, there was a trace of pitiful grievance in them.

Zhuyou had indeed driven her into the side room and shut the door herself, leaving her with a slight feeling of guilt. Still, as a devil, she wasn’t about to take responsibility so easily. “Can’t you light your own lamp?” she scoffed. “You’ve eaten so much spiritual energy, yet you can’t even generate a spark—how useless.”

Changying’s eyelashes quivered. Her lips curled downward, and her expression became as cold as the snow outside. In a soft voice, she said, “I would if I could, but I can’t.”

Zhuyou sighed inwardly. After so many days, she knew she wouldn’t get any real answers from the dragon. “Stay put,” she instructed. “Don’t run around, and don’t cause trouble.”

“You’re leaving again?” Changying’s eyes narrowed slightly, and for a moment, her pupils turned into slits.

What was the point of talking to this dragon? She was a mystery wrapped in enigma and still hadn’t regained any memories, despite everything they had been through. Her spiritual sea remained blank, without a trace of memory or energy.

Without explanation, Zhuyou turned to leave. She didn’t bother to say another word, but as she stepped toward the door, the sound of soft footsteps followed closely behind. Turning her head, she saw the little dragon girl, face cold, trailing after her.

“Go back,” she said flatly.

Changying tilted her head up. “I’m coming with you.”

“Don’t test my patience,” Zhuyou warned, her temper fraying.

But Changying stubbornly followed her to the door, watching as Zhuyou slipped back into the mortal body of the male disciple.

Panicked, Changying turned back inside and searched the room. Finding the unconscious body she had previously possessed, she crouched down and half-hugged it, confused about how to re-enter it. She had no idea how to manipulate her spiritual energy or separate her soul.

Zhuyou, exasperated, finally crooked her finger. Raising a child was proving to be far more troublesome than she had anticipated.

Changying walked over, only to have a warm hand press down on the top of her head.

“Turn into a snake,” Zhuyou instructed, her tone both casual and commanding, as she gently but firmly pressed down on the dragon’s soft hair.

Changying said coldly, “I’m not a snake.”

“Fine, not a snake,” Zhuyou replied in a rough, masculine voice.

Changying frowned, unaccustomed to hearing her speak in the voice of this cultivator. She transformed into a dragon covered in black scales and was promptly stuffed into a cloth bag.

The sect master, having sent a young servant to deliver a message, remained at the top of the main peak. The tower was difficult for ordinary people to climb—its narrow, steep stairs were shrouded in darkness, with only a large luminous pearl hanging from the ceiling at the very top.

Unfortunately, the tower was too deep. While the uppermost level was brightly illuminated, the lower levels were so dark that not a sliver of light could penetrate.

The last time Zhuyou had been outside the tower, she hadn’t been able to extend her hand into the walls and had almost been struck by the spiritual energy that burst forth when an artifact shattered. Now, inside the tower, she realized that all the windows had been boarded shut.

Though it wasn’t scorching outside, the sky was heavy and overcast due to the falling snow. If these boards were pried open, some light would surely filter in. Yet, the boards were sealed so tightly that not the faintest glimmer of daylight crept through.

Strange—what kind of proper cultivator of the mortal world couldn’t tolerate light?

Step by step, she ascended the tower. The dragon stuffed into the bag poked its head out, a pitch-black shape resembling a stick, protruding from the cloth sack slung across her back.

Changying’s golden eyes gleamed brightly in the oppressive darkness. The long, narrow pupils were cold and unfeeling. With a flick of her gaze, she looked elsewhere.

Zhuyou pressed the dragon’s head back into the bag and used a touch of spiritual energy to lift herself upward. Though she appeared to be walking, she wasn’t exerting any real effort.

The tower was eerie and still. Something seemed to be carved into the wooden planks sealing the windows. She ran her hand over the surface, tracing inch by inch until she uncovered a mess of tangled runes.

She recognized these runes—they were rather interesting. Such seals were unnecessary for someone at the Great Ascension stage, like the master at the top of the tower. These runes were meant to suppress devilish energy.

The disciple whose body Zhuyou inhabited had a clear sea of consciousness. Zhuyou had already scanned the spiritual threads within and knew the sect master’s name. However, the disciple’s knowledge of the sect master’s past was limited.

After all, the sect master had lived for several centuries, while this inner disciple was still quite young. Ordinary disciples could hardly know the depths of their master’s history.

Rummaging through the disciple’s sea of consciousness, Zhuyou found something intriguing.

A hundred years ago, Zhou Xizhao had forcibly entered Shenhua Mountain for the sake of a disciple. At the time, the mountain had been open for half a month and was soon to close. Yet, his personal disciple had not emerged.

No one knew what he was thinking, but with the mountain’s restrictions already lifted, he still broke through the gates. Three days later, he carried out a bloodied disciple. However, in just two days within the mountain, his cultivation plummeted from the Great Ascension stage to the Divided Spirit stage. It took him years of secluded cultivation to recover.

After leaving seclusion, Zhou Xizhao took up residence in this tower on the main peak and had not left since. No one knew what had happened during those two days in Shenhua Mountain or why he had shut himself away.

Zhuyou withdrew her hand and continued upward, pushing the dragon’s head back into the bag as it tried to poke out again.

The tower’s summit was bright, thanks entirely to the large luminous pearl at the top.

A white-robed cultivator with long white hair sat cross-legged on a meditation cushion, hands resting on his knees. His breath was steady, as though he were asleep. But at the sound of footsteps, he stirred slightly without turning around and simply asked, “Describe that day in detail.”

By “that day,” he was undoubtedly referring to the day when the three disciples descended into Wuwang Ravine.

Zhuyou sifted through the disciple’s sea of consciousness once more, preparing to speak. But just as she was about to, the black dragon in her bag suddenly twitched.

It jerked abruptly, as though startled.

Zhuyou frowned and pressed down on the bag—not too hard—while offering a few light pats to soothe it.

It’s mine, a faint, ethereal voice murmured in her ear. It was Changying’s voice, distant as though echoing from a faraway mountain. Why does he have my thing?

Yet, Zhou Xizhao, seated on the cushion, remained utterly still—as if he had heard nothing at all.