GD Ch. 29

Chapter 29: Why Is She Going Mad?

The luminous green glow of the night pearl resembled a cluster of ghostly flames, or perhaps a pair of eerie green eyes, gazing intently at the two figures atop the tower. Outside, the raging wind howled, yet the windows were tightly shut, and the wooden planks were nailed firmly in place. No matter how fiercely the cold wind raged, it could not breach the tower’s interior.

Changying’s youthful yet indifferent voice was as abrupt as when she had casually uttered “give me more” that day in the snowy plains. If Zhuyou had been an ordinary human, such a voice would have certainly startled her. But she was a devil.

It’s mine, Changying repeated.

Surveying the top of the tower, there was nothing of interest besides the large night pearl hanging from the ceiling—except for Zhou Xizhao, who was seated on a meditation mat. But Changying couldn’t possibly mean that he was hers.

That wouldn’t do. Though Zhou Xizhao was in the Great Ascension stage, his hair had already turned gray, and he looked like he wouldn’t live much longer.

Zhuyou already found it exhausting to take care of a dragon. If that dragon were to bring along a whole family, her Grand Hall would surely struggle to sustain them.

It wasn’t entirely inaccurate to say that the Devil Realm was poor. Apart from the phoenix flames burning on the ceiling draped with shark silk, everything in her palace had been gifts from various big and small devils, who had nearly emptied their coffers for her.

Through the coarse burlap, Zhuyou pressed down on the violently trembling dragon inside the bag, scanning the tower top with a keen gaze. Yet, she couldn’t detect anything unusual.

Changying, however, continued to shiver, clinging tightly to her through the rough fabric. She was coiled in a tight circle, her body twitching violently, as though she were about to die.

Zhou Xizhao, seeing her remain silent, let out a light cough. Something seemed to be stuck in his throat, making his breathing uneven. He still hadn’t fully recovered from the internal injuries caused by spiritual energy backlash. His shoulders were thin, his frame gaunt—far too frail for a cultivator of the Great Ascension stage.

Zhuyou slowly reached into the cloth bag. Even through the thin fabric, she had already felt as though she were touching ice. But now, as her fingers made direct contact, the chilling sensation intensified. To her shock, the dragon’s scales beneath her hand were as cold as the mystical ice of the Heavenly Palace’s frozen pools.

Startled by the frigid touch, she instinctively recoiled her fingers, nearly losing all feeling in them.

Fortunately, she hadn’t allowed Changying to enter a mortal body again. If she had, the feeble human vessel would have been frozen stiff, and his internal organs rendered useless. Even the Purifying Elixir that had barely kept him alive wouldn’t have been enough. Once the mortal’s life plaque shattered, it would only bring unnecessary trouble.

She had never considered the sect master of Huacheng Sect to be of any real significance. But now, with Changying in distress, she found herself unable to spare the effort to keep up appearances.

She ran her fingers along Changying’s back scales. The body she currently occupied belonged to someone who had lived in luxury, yet it was still a man’s body—his fingers weren’t as slender or smooth as her original ones. As she stroked the dragon inside the bag, she twitched resentfully, as if trying to shake off her touch.

“Do you not remember what happened that day?” Zhou Xizhao remained facing away, his deep voice pouring from his throat.

Zhuyou tightened her grip on the cold dragon beneath her palm. The icy dragon scales felt like blades, cutting painfully into her fingers. Frowning, she pinched the dragon’s weak spot, as though she were gripping a snake, while simultaneously sifting through the disciple’s memories within her mind. She replied nonchalantly, “Of course I remember. How could I not?”

Zhou Xizhao sat with a straight back. “Tell me everything—what you saw and said after you entered Wuwang Ravine that day.”

Zhuyou grasped a spiritual thread in her consciousness and recounted the events as if reading from a script, “That day… I entered Wuwang Ravine with two junior brothers, carrying talismans given to us by the sect master. As soon as we touched the ground, the talismans in our hands ignited inexplicably, burning to ash in an instant.”

As soon as she finished speaking, Changying suddenly broke free from her grasp and bit down on her finger. 

Perhaps the roughness of the male body’s fingers ruined the texture, or maybe it was something else entirely, but Changying released her bite almost immediately, burying her head against Zhuyou again, still trembling violently.

“The deeper we went into Wuwang Ravine, the more demon beasts we encountered,” Zhuyou continued, unfazed. “There seemed to be a wind tunnel inside, with howling gales that made every step harder. Many of the demon beasts lunged at us, likely driven by hunger.”

She hooked her finger beneath Changying’s chin, lifting her head and pressing the lightly bitten finger against her lips as if in warning.

Changying, for once, obediently kept her mouth shut and did not bite again.

Zhuyou carried on, “My two junior brothers and I immediately summoned our life-bound swords and fought against the demon beasts, slicing open their chests and bellies. But we found no artifacts inside. One after another, we searched, fighting endlessly. Who knows how long we battled? We were utterly exhausted. We did not know what the artifact looked like or which demon beast possessed it. Our bodies were drenched in blood, but we found nothing, so we kept going. Then, suddenly, a beast’s roar shook us to the ground. A demon beast emerged, stepping on ice. Its form was like a horse’s, but it bore a lion’s head. Though it had not yet taken human form, it had already reached the Nascent Soul stage. My two junior brothers and I exchanged glances and knew instantly—this was the one. But our cultivation was no match for such a beast. When it let out an enraged roar, our chests trembled, and even our souls wavered.”

Zhuyou narrated slowly, her eyes narrowing slightly as she reviewed the memories within the spiritual thread.

The demon beast’s form was peculiar—it closely resembled an ancient demon beast that had not been seen in ages. However, it had only reached the Nascent Soul stage and had yet to take human form. While it had severely injured the three disciples, it was still too weak to truly bear the title of an ancient demon beast.

The three disciples, though not particularly diligent in cultivation, were not entirely untalented. Their spells were well-practiced enough that they managed to restrain the demon beast in a force field. The beast was left unable to move, its body covered in wounds, until finally, a sword pierced its chest. Blood spurted skyward like a crimson rain, staining the ground.

The three disciples, barely clinging to life, hurriedly retrieved the artifact—a bronze bell—from within the beast’s body and fled.

But the scent of blood spread, drawing countless other demon beasts toward them. Wounded and exhausted, they found themselves surrounded.

Seeing no escape, they took to their swords, attempting to fly out of Wuwang Ravine. But their spiritual energy was depleted. Their swords flickered and vanished beneath their feet, and the three of them plummeted from the sky, crashing near a bamboo grove.

Oddly, the surrounding demon beasts hesitated at the bamboo’s edge. After a few enraged howls, they dispersed.

Zhuyou traced the spiritual thread carefully, recounting the events in full. Speaking at length left her parched, and she was growing impatient with Zhou Xizhao’s questioning.

As she spoke, she absentmindedly stroked the dragon in the cloth bag. Strangely, Changying had stopped shivering—perhaps she was too tired.

Taking advantage of her stillness, Zhuyou spread her fingers slightly and measured Changying’s length. To her surprise, in just this short time, the dragon had grown another inch. No wonder the bag felt heavier.

“How did you return?” Zhou Xizhao pressed.

That, of course, could not be answered truthfully. After all, the three of them had been picked up by her—a devil.

Zhuyou stared intently at Zhou Xizhao’s frail-looking back and casually fabricated a story. “After the fall, we saw the demon beasts scatter, so we took out the bronze bell again. But unexpectedly, the artifact suddenly shattered into dust. In the process, the bronze bell released a vast surge of spiritual power, which carried the three of us out of Wuwang Ravine.”

As she mentioned the words “spiritual power,” she paused slightly and noticed that Zhou Xizhao, who was seated cross-legged on a meditation cushion, moved his shoulders ever so slightly.

“That spiritual power didn’t harm you?” Zhou Xizhao questioned.

“It did not,” Zhuyou replied curtly.

The surroundings glowed with a deep, emerald green light, eerie and cold.

Zhou Xizhao’s shoulders tensed slightly as if he was pondering something. After a moment, he asked again, “Did you hear anything? Any voices coming from the artifact?”

“No.” Zhuyou’s gaze remained cool. She was now inhabiting the body of a disciple, and with her thick brows and sharp eyes narrowed slightly, the expression looked oddly out of place.

As she spoke, an invisible wisp of spiritual energy drifted out from her and slowly moved toward Zhou Xizhao’s back. She wasn’t sure if Zhou Xizhao was concealing something, but Changying seemed to sense something of hers in this place.

If not for the Heaven-Observing Mirror in this room, she would have directly invaded Zhou Xizhao’s body to inspect his sea of consciousness. Possessing an ordinary person at the Great Ascension stage wouldn’t be too difficult.

The wisp of spiritual energy slipped into the slightly open collar of Zhou Xizhao’s robe. He seemed to notice something and subtly shifted his posture, but still did not turn around.

The spiritual energy swam through his collar like a fish, and in the blink of an eye, it slipped out through his sleeve, bringing with it a tiny, almost imperceptible speck of dust.

The dust carried only a faint trace of spiritual energy, barely lingering—but its scent remained unmistakable. 

Immortal energy.

Zhuyou was slightly taken aback. Wasn’t this speck of dust a remnant of the shattered artifact? She hadn’t expected Zhou Xizhao to be carrying it.

Her hand, hanging at her side, clenched slightly, gathering the speck of dust into her palm. Instantly, her hand felt as though it had been buried in ice and snow, sending a chill through her borrowed mortal body, making her involuntarily shudder. She shoved her hand into her pocket, tossing the speck of dust inside.

Changying stirred again—not a spasm this time, but a slow stretch of her coiled form.

Zhou Xizhao, unable to get any more answers, waved his hand dismissively. “You may go.”

As he moved, his palm was briefly exposed, revealing patches of frostbite. A thin layer of ice covered his knuckles, and his entire hand was frozen purple, like the stiffened remains of a corpse buried in snow.

Zhuyou was surprised—Zhou Xizhao must have handled the artifact’s shattered remains with his bare hands. Otherwise, ordinary techniques wouldn’t have been able to wound him like this.

Despite his gesture for her to leave, she lingered for a moment. Although she detested this green-glowing tower, she still hesitated before asking, “Sect Master, what exactly is the origin of that bronze bell? Why was it in Wuwang Ravine? And why is Wuwang Ravine a forbidden land of the Huacheng Sect?”

She wasn’t worried that asking too much would expose the fact that this disciple’s body had been possessed. If she couldn’t get answers here, she’d simply find another place to ask.

Zhou Xizhao lowered his hand, curling his frostbitten fingers into a loose fist. “The bronze bell’s origins are not your concern. As for why Wuwang Ravine is forbidden… that traces back a thousand years. It’s not something that can be explained in a short time.”

Zhuyou considered this carefully. A thousand years? That was quite a long time. She hadn’t expected the Huacheng Sect to have such ancient roots.

“A long time ago, it was a devil’s lair,” Zhou Xizhao said in a deep voice.

Zhuyou raised an eyebrow in doubt. She had spent a considerable time in the Devil Realm yet had never heard of such a lair existing outside its borders. Moreover, when she descended into Wuwang Ravine, she hadn’t detected any lingering traces of devil energy.

“There are no devils in Wuwang Ravine now,” Zhou Xizhao continued, “but the devilish aura remains. You must never enter it without permission.”

Seeing that he had no intention of elaborating further, Zhuyou left the tower with Changying in tow. As soon as she stepped over the threshold, the dragon, who had finally quieted down in the cloth pouch, stirred again. A cold voice echoed in her mind.

It’s mine.

“Go take it.” Zhuyou stopped in her tracks.

As soon as the words left her mouth, an eerie, chilling wisp of spiritual energy shot out from the pouch. The energy was so faint it was nearly undetectable, streaking toward the tower in a flash, swift as lightning.

If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, Zhuyou wouldn’t have been able to perceive that wisp of energy at all.

A moment later, the silvery-white energy returned to the pouch. Zhuyou had no idea what Changying had retrieved, but in that instant, the side of her waist went numb from the cold.

***

Inside the tower moments earlier, Zhou Xizhao had slowly opened his palm, his gaze dark as he stared at the layer of lingering frost on his skin. A deep chill churned in his stomach, and a breath of icy air escaped from his lips. His lungs felt frozen, his chest aching with cold.

Then, something unseen suddenly struck his back.

He lurched forward and caught himself with one hand.

The presence was strange—neither carrying devil energy nor resembling anything… human. It also lacked the aura of an immortal. It seemed to be something outside the Three Realms entirely.

His pupils contracted. Instinctively, he released a gust of force, attempting to disperse the presence. But to his shock, his spiritual power did nothing to it.

The eerie energy wrapped around his palm.

And in an instant, the unbearable cold vanished. A long-forgotten warmth returned to his fingers.

The moment the icy sensation left his body, Zhou Xizhao shuddered violently, clutching his hand tightly. When he opened it again, the frost was completely gone.

Whatever had carried the frost away had vanished without a trace.

***

Back in the courtyard, Zhuyou remained expressionless as she carried Changying inside. She still couldn’t understand how the dragon had managed to make herself so faint, as if she truly existed outside the Three Realms. Even the Heaven-Observing Mirror hadn’t been disturbed by her actions.

Zhuyou pulled Changying out of the cloth pouch, holding her head between two fingers, narrowing her eyes.

Something was off. There was no spiritual energy left in Changying’s body, as if that wisp she had released earlier had been completely depleted.

Changying’s body was icy cold. Her black scales had turned slightly pale.

Zhuyou brushed a fingertip across them, realizing that the pale patches were actually a layer of frost, speckled with traces of strange dust.

Changying’s crimson maw abruptly opened, and with a single inhale, she swallowed the frost and dust whole.

Zhuyou saw everything clearly. “Are both of those artifacts somehow connected to you? No wonder they both let out a dragon’s cry when they shattered.”

Changying, speaking near her ear in a childlike yet serious tone, corrected her, “It was a dragon’s roar.”

Zhuyou gave a perfunctory nod and rubbed Changying’s head twice with the pad of her thumb.

Back at the small courtyard, Hanzhu was watching anxiously. Seeing that Zhuyou had returned unharmed, she finally let go of her worries.

Zhuyou exited the mortal body and placed Changying onto the wooden table. Seeing Hanzhu’s unease, she chuckled and said, “Look at you, acting as if a mere Great Ascension stage cultivator could do anything to me.”

Hanzhu stammered, “You’ve been so occupied these past few days, Mistress. I was just worried you’d be too frustrated to bear it.”

“I’ve endured far worse. Pretending to be a mortal for a few days is nothing.” Zhuyou snorted.

Suddenly, Changying, who had been placed on the wooden table, shuddered. After reclaiming her possession, she inexplicably began to tremble again.

Hanzhu inhaled sharply, staring straight at the small dragon on the table.

The dragon, now longer than before and resembling a black hemp rope, spasmed as if in convulsions. Its mouth suddenly opened, releasing a low, broken growl.

The dragon’s body convulsed violently, and in the blink of an eye, it transformed into a young girl dressed in black.

Changying tumbled off the table, nearly hitting the ground with her back. A wisp of spiritual energy floated over, lifting her slightly. Her body froze mid-air for a moment before she slowly descended.

Zhuyou, despite appearing indifferent, had softened enough to catch the dragon with her spiritual energy.

Even in her human form, Changying continued trembling uncontrollably. Her pale lips parted slightly, and her breathing came in labored gasps. Her face grew even paler, drained of all color. Then, her eyes snapped open—her golden dragon pupils cold and terrifying.

“Just like before,” Hanzhu gasped, covering her mouth in alarm. “Soon… she’s going to go mad again!”

Zhuyou lowered her gaze to the frail, trembling little dragon at her feet but made no move to help her up.

Hanzhu wasn’t sure what her mistress was thinking, but she was truly afraid. She took a slow step closer—not to push Zhuyou in front of her for protection, but because if the dragon really went berserk, she wanted to be close enough to pull her mistress away.

Changying’s pale, delicate hand clutched the sheer fabric of Zhuyou’s long, smoky-gray robe, wrinkling the gossamer material. She lay on the ground, her expression hidden, but her muffled groans of pain were unceasing. Her grip on the fabric tightened further. Her thin, frail back trembled violently, long black hair cascading down like a waterfall.

She turned her head slightly, and a bead of sweat rolled down her chin, hitting the ground with a soft plop—immediately crystallizing into frost.

Standing nearby, the white-haired devil in black robes remained motionless, watching her struggle with an unwavering gaze. After a while, Zhuyou finally turned to Hanzhu. “Back then, on the Immortal Execution Platform, I must have looked even more pathetic. Hundreds of immortals stood around watching me, yet not a single one stepped in to help.”

Hanzhu pressed her lips together, saying nothing. Her eyes dropped, staring blankly at the dark jeweled ornaments in her mistress’ hair, her expression filled with silent pain.

Changying trembled for a long time but, contrary to Hanzhu’s fears, did not suddenly lash out. She simply shook and shook until, gripping the fabric tightly in her hand, she fell asleep. Her frail breaths grew even and steady, yet she did not loosen her grip.

Zhuyou bent down, giving Changying a light pat. It seemed she no longer had the strength to maintain her human form, for in an instant, she reverted back into a dragon.

Hanzhu watched, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest. Was Zhuyou really going to cook the dragon this time—to eliminate the problem once and for all?

But Zhuyou simply scooped up the dragon and lay down on the soft couch.

She curled up the soft-bodied dragon at her waist and absentmindedly flicked at it with her fingers, pondering whether or not to feed it a wisp of spiritual energy.

This dragon had taken so much from her today—she would have to demand repayment in full someday.