GD Ch. 38 Part 2

Chapter 38: Are You Afraid?

Startled, Hanzhu instinctively stepped back, her pupils constricting in a sharp tremor. She immediately turned to look at Zhuyou.

Zhuyou, seeing her panic, lazily lifted her gaze and caught sight of the First Lord, Xuanjing, standing at the entrance.

Xuanjing was a figure who came and went without a trace. His cultivation was unfathomable, and he was rarely in the Devil Realm, seemingly always out searching for someone or something. She hadn’t met this First Lord many times, but perhaps because of that, compared to the other devils in the realm, she found him rather agreeable.

So long as these devils weren’t rushing toward their own deaths, she could manage to like them a little.

Xuanjing was dressed in black, his long, unbound black hair billowing wildly in the wind, giving him an air of madness. His features were strikingly sharp, not the kind to belong to someone with a steady temperament—he looked much more like a lunatic.

Zhuyou had seen many devils like him before. He was certainly someone clinging to an obsession he refused to let go of.

But at that moment, Xuanjing, standing outside the hall, wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at the dragon beside her.

Could there really be some connection between them?

Zhuyou found it amusing. One was a sword always searching for something, the other a dragon that had reconstructed its physical form yet seemed to know nothing. What kind of connection could there possibly be?

She had heard that this sword had been roaming outside even before the Devil Lord perished, once rampaging wildly—slaying ghosts on sight, slaying gods on sight. Only later did he calm down somewhat, no longer appearing quite as mad as the rumors made him out to be.

And yet Changying didn’t glance aside, her golden eyes not shifting in the slightest. That cold, piercing gaze remained locked solely on her.

“Does the First Lord have some business?” Zhuyou asked, neither warmly nor coldly.

Xuanjing raised a hand and pointed at Changying. “Who might this be?”

Zhuyou didn’t smile. Instead, she coaxed, “Her? A hatchling I hatched a few days ago. What, does the First Lord not think she looks like me?”

Xuanjing’s pupils trembled slightly, as if in disbelief. He looked her over again and again, hesitated as if wanting to speak, then simply cupped his hands in a quick salute before turning and leaving.

Once he was gone, Hanzhu, still trembling, shut the doors behind her, locking herself outside as well. She thought to herself that there was no longer any way to clear up the origins of this “hatchling.”

With the doors closed, the chill in Changying’s expression faded slightly, seeming particularly directed at Hanzhu.

Zhuyou watched her with great interest. Just now, when Xuanjing had been sizing up the dragon, her aura had briefly fluctuated in disorder. Zhuyou wasn’t worried that Xuanjing would recognize Changying’s true form—after all, despite those golden eyes of hers, they were more serpent-like than dragon-like, and without the presence of dragon energy, there was no reason for her to be identified as one.

Changying averted her gaze, her eyes flickering slightly. Her terrifyingly cold vertical pupils constricted, then returned to their usual shape.

“Are you afraid?” Zhuyou asked abruptly, standing up.

Changying shook her head and calmly said, “No.”

Zhuyou laughed. Seeing no resistance in her eyes, she raised a slender arm.

The misty sleeves of her robe draped down to her elbows, and with a flick of her hand, a mass of gray-black devil mist materialized in the Grand Hall—just like the smoke that had caused such chaos in the Dragon Palace before.

Changying stood up, looking at it with confusion.

The dark mist thickened, spreading like ink spilled from an inkstone, swallowing the light from the wall lanterns into a dim, murky haze.

This was the Devil Mist Boundary—a separate domain within the mist, much like the hidden paradises of the other two realms.

Zhuyou crooked a finger at Changying. “Come here.”

Changying wasn’t worried about being tricked and immediately walked over. As she approached, she asked, “What is this for?”

Zhuyou saw her puzzled expression—this dazed little look that didn’t seem fake—and suddenly found her even more endearing. Slowly, she said, “You’re afraid of dying, aren’t you? I’m here to save you.” She said it so casually, as if she weren’t about to do anything serious at all.

Changying truly had no idea if she was being led into a trap. She stepped unhurriedly toward the gray mist, and when it reached toward her face like grasping claws, she simply leaned back slightly.

Zhuyou’s eyes curved in amusement, and without the slightest pity, she pressed a hand to the back of Changying’s head and shoved her straight into the devil mist. The next moment, both of them vanished from the Grand Hall.

***

When they opened their eyes again, they were surrounded by a landscape of piercing cold. Everything in sight was white, with a dense forest of snow-laden pines, and thick snow cascading like a waterfall. Beside them, a pool of warm water steamed gently.

This place looked familiar to Changying. The sky was overcast, and on the ground, a small bald patch of land exposed a yet-unsealed fissure.

A long, thin crack, winding like a black dragon.

Wasn’t this the edge of Shenhua Mountain? How could it exist within the Devil Mist Boundary?

Changying’s steps faltered, a trace of bewilderment flashing across her still-immature face. Her icy eyes shifted slightly. “You dug up Shenhua Mountain.”

Zhuyou didn’t bother to deny it. “Just pried off a corner. Without all this ice and snow, when it comes time to exchange heart’s blood, you’d probably be cooked alive.”

Changying knew well that devils were often searing hot, but not quite to the extent of cooking someone alive.

“You don’t believe me?” Zhuyou glanced at her.

Changying gave a small nod. When facing Hanzhu earlier, she had been full of killing intent, exuding arrogance and pride. Yet now, she was as docile as a lamb.

Zhuyou assumed it was because the young dragon had formed an attachment to the first person she saw after breaking out of her shell. And in any case, having a clingy little one wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

“Sit on the snow and take off your clothes.” Zhuyou sat cross-legged on the ice and snow. The devil-patterned legs beneath her silk dress pressed into the frost, and the snow beneath her seemed to melt ever so slightly. Her silver hair draped over the ground, blending seamlessly with the snow. She should have been a noble and untouchable celestial phoenix, yet she was steeped in devilish energy, her delicate features laced with an air of innocence.

Changying stared unblinkingly at the devil sitting cross-legged before her. After a moment, she sluggishly sat down in front of Zhuyou, grasping at her collar in hesitation. “Why… must I take off my clothes?”

“If you don’t, how am I supposed to draw your heart’s blood?” Zhuyou’s tone was languid as she slid her outer robe halfway down, revealing the devilish patterns etched onto her shoulders and arms.

Changying’s golden eyes were fixed on her, unmoving. She stared for a long moment before her heart suddenly pounded hard against her ribs. Before her, the devil who should have been as pure and pristine as snow took on a strangely intoxicating allure the moment her robes slipped down. An inexplicable urge crept up on Changying—she wanted to brush away the devilish marks tangled across Zhuyou’s skin, to make them stop winding around her.

Her beauty was haunting, enough to steal a soul.

Changying quickly averted her gaze, sensing that this was not something she should be looking at for too long.

As Zhuyou shed the sheer fabric, a long, jagged scar winding down the inside of her arm was revealed. The scar was grotesque, as if the flesh had been forcibly torn open and something had been extracted from within.

At her level of cultivation, neither celestials nor devils should retain scars like mortals would. This wound, however, was a horrifying exception—undeniably caused by divine power.

Changying’s gaze darkened. Her bloodless lips moved slightly. “Who left that wound on your arm?”

“Oh? Thinking about avenging me already?” Zhuyou teased, showing not even a trace of vulnerability.

Changying did not respond. She was still toying absently with her collar, contemplating how to answer, when she caught a glimpse of Zhuyou’s pale hand reaching toward her out of the corner of her eye.

In the next moment, her outer robe was yanked open, and the frigid wind rushed against her chest.

Changying froze for a second, instinctively raising a hand to cover herself—only to realize that it was only her outer robe that had been removed. Her inner garments remained securely in place.

She hastily lifted her gaze, only to meet Zhuyou’s teasing stare.

Her expression turned frigid. The way she had been abruptly undressed made her seem like a delicate flower on the verge of being sullied. Yet despite this, she did not resist, nor did she struggle. After a brief moment of hesitation, she even adjusted her own inner robes, sliding them down slightly.

“What, afraid I’ll eat you?” Zhuyou sighed, her warm fingertip tapping lightly against Changying’s still-slender chest.

“I’m not afraid.” Changying answered stiffly, unwilling to show weakness. Though she still had the appearance of a child, her demeanor carried the weight of someone who had endured far too much, cold and resolute—someone who did not seem capable of being moved.

That worked just fine. Zhuyou thought.

“Once the exchange is complete, you might feel like you’re burning alive. If it’s too much, just roll around in the snow. I won’t be able to help you.” Zhuyou had spent too long among devils, and now, seeing Changying hesitating and covering herself up, she couldn’t help but tease her further. “Why so shy? Looking at you, you’re nothing but a scrawny little sprout. Even if you begged me to, I wouldn’t want to look.”

Changying’s head jerked up, and she stared at Zhuyou in stunned silence before hesitating again. She opened her mouth as if to speak but stopped herself, lowering her gaze. For the first time, she looked down at herself.

Somewhere deep inside, an odd thought surfaced—this body of hers…

It shouldn’t be like this.

She shouldn’t look like some scrawny little sprout.

Zhuyou assumed she had simply been startled and chuckled softly. Divine beings like her were never good at hearing such comments about themselves. Then again, Zhuyou wasn’t either, though she had long grown used to them. She had always enjoyed making a mess of things that should have remained pure and untainted.

If this little dragon fell into devilry, now that would be truly interesting.

“You’re really not afraid?” she asked, noticing the hesitation in Changying’s expression.

Changying shook her head. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Zhuyou lowered her gaze, leisurely tugging her silk skirt further down. Her skin was white as the surrounding snow, as if she were a distant mountain peak draped in frost. Yet beneath the fabric, darkness consumed her lower body, ink-black against the pale skin. A crimson sash was tightly bound around her waist, unyielding.

“Watch closely.”

Zhuyou traced a single pale finger across her own chest.

Immediately, her veins seemed to surge, and intricate crimson lines bloomed like a spider’s web, spreading outward from where her fingertip had passed.

Changying’s cold, detached eyes were locked onto the devil before her, her heart stirred by something unspoken. She had an almost irrepressible urge—to reach out and wipe away those red marks.

The web-like lines suddenly contracted, condensing into a single, small red point at the center of Zhuyou’s chest. Her shoulders trembled slightly, and a droplet of blood as red as vermilion lifted from her skin, hovering above her fingertip.

“Your turn,” Zhuyou said, her face a shade paler than before.