GD Ch. 39

Chapter 39: Why Does She Look Different Again?

Changying did not close her eyes. As Zhuyou reached out, her gaze was immediately captured by that slender, pale finger.

She felt a searing heat in her chest, followed by the sensation of blood and flesh being twisted together. Beneath her cold, white collarbone, an identical crimson web spread out, with thin, long blood threads creeping outward, completely covering her heart.

It felt as if a knife was carving into the tip of her heart, as though a gaping hole had been pierced through it. Something deep inside seemed to have been gouged out. A violent tremor ran through her body, and she nearly cried out.

The chill from a fragment of Shenhua Mountain beneath her feet was bone-piercing, yet the fingertip pressed against her chest burned like boiling water.

So hot.

Hot and agonizing.

Just moments ago, she had watched Zhuyou draw blood with such indifference, thinking it would be no more painful than an insect bite. She hadn’t expected it to be so unbearable. She couldn’t begin to fathom how Zhuyou had endured it.

Zhuyou noticed her growing pallor but did not stop, showing no trace of pity in her eyes.

Changying’s body was already frail. As soon as the blood at her heart was disturbed, her organs seemed on the verge of collapse. Her once-straight back suddenly arched, and even her bones groaned audibly. In that instant, her pupils turned vertical.

A terrifying pressure burst forth from her, and though she did not cry out, Zhuyou felt as if she had heard waves crashing against the shore—a deep, rumbling sound that closely resembled the roar of a dragon, ringing in her ears.

Zhuyou froze for a brief moment, instinctively wanting to pull away, but she managed to restrain herself.

It wasn’t the sound of water—it was the vast surge of spiritual energy rising around her.

At last, she could sense the immense power within Changying’s body, as well as the icy dragon aura within her—though it lasted only for a fleeting moment.

In the blink of an eye, all that spilled-out energy was retracted, transformed into nourishment for the fragile body it inhabited.

It was only then that Zhuyou truly understood: Changying wasn’t lacking in spiritual energy. She had merely channeled all of it—along with her dragon aura—into rebuilding her physical form, allowing her to resemble a mere mortal.

Zhuyou’s gaze darkened. If it had been anyone else, they would never have been able to sustain such a technique. Who else could wield such terrifying spiritual energy?

The silent dragon trembled slightly, two fingers still gripping the lapel of her robe, the veins subtly protruding on her delicate hand.

Zhuyou was struck by the overwhelming pressure. A sharp, metallic taste surged in her throat, and she nearly coughed up blood. Pressing her lips together, she swallowed it back down. The hand resting on her knee trembled slightly, and even the drop of blood on her fingertip quivered faintly.

The dragon’s entire body was shaking violently, her thin shoulders tensed to the extreme. She truly looked like a helpless, bullied little flower.

Zhuyou saw her loosen her grip on her robe, thinking she had succumbed to the pain. But to her surprise, Changying instead reached out and grasped her index finger.

In that moment, Zhuyou’s pupils contracted sharply. Her strength drained from her limbs, and her already-blurred vision turned completely hazy.

Now she could see nothing at all.

Yet Changying still held onto her finger—whether intentionally or not, Zhuyou couldn’t tell.

As her spiritual energy was drained away, her spiritual sea constricted violently. A crushing pressure, like a tidal wave, crashed down upon her.

She was so close—just a little more, and she could extract a single drop of the dragon’s heart blood!

The loss of heart blood sent an icy chill flooding through Zhuyou’s chest. She frowned, unable to see the slight narrowing of Changying’s eyes or the cold, ruthless gleam lurking within them.

“Changying,” she called out, her voice steady yet firm.

At that, Changying suddenly released her hand, as if waking from a trance. Dazed and disoriented, she murmured, “What?” Though her tone remained as cold as ever, there was now an eerie weight to it. Each word was slow and deliberate, as if she were about to tear someone apart and devour them whole.

Zhuyou’s unfocused eyes shimmered faintly, giving her an air of fragility, as though she were someone easily bullied. Her silver hair was whipped into disarray by the wind, and her lips parted slightly in hesitation. After a moment, she called again, “Changying!”

Changying’s head throbbed as if splitting apart. Her lips trembled—she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

“Changying—”

Abruptly, Changying’s eyes snapped shut, withdrawing all her overwhelming pressure. She swayed unsteadily, nearly collapsing.

Zhuyou swiftly extracted the dragon’s heart blood. As the single drop was drawn out, she felt as though she had been swallowed by an icy tide. A nearly invisible layer of frost coated her entire body.

Fortunately, the phoenix divine power within her still remained. In an instant, it burned away the frost.

As the ice melted, her jet-black silk robes became soaked through, and water droplets trickled down her face, neck, and arms.

Changying’s eyes fluttered open weakly. She felt a gnawing hunger, an overwhelming urge to swallow the droplets of water sliding down Zhuyou’s throat.

She must be starving, she thought.

Her expression did not change much—her face remained cold and indifferent—but a deep restlessness stirred within her. She was nearly at her limit.

Yet Zhuyou, her vision now completely clouded in white mist, had no way of knowing that Changying, like a famished beast, was grinding her teeth ever so slightly.

Changying lowered her gaze, staying silent. Her breath was feeble, and she no longer had the strength to move.

The silver-haired, black-clad devil let out a slow breath. With quiet resolve, she pressed Changying’s heart blood into her own chest. The blood-red web on her pale chest gradually faded away, leaving not even a single wound—only… an even thicker layer of frost forming over her body.

As the ice settled, even her eyelashes turned white. Her face, her legs, her arms—all looked as if they had been sculpted from ice.

She pressed her lips together, and as she reached out a hand, the ice on her arm cracked and shattered with a crisp snap.

And then, the single drop of heart blood that had been carved from her chest was placed before Changying.

After the vermillion blood merged into Changying’s heart, Zhuyou trembled as she stood up, her legs unsteady. Without a word, she stepped into the hot spring beside her.

Changying had received her heart’s blood. Though the pain was unbearable, seeing her stand up, she instinctively reached out, trying to hold onto her. Yet, before her fingertips could even brush the devil’s robes, the sound of water splashing reached her ears.

She sat alone in the snow, while that devil entered the water with her back turned.

Changying furrowed her brows, feeling utterly aggrieved.

The warmth of the spring water washed away the cold from Zhuyou’s body, but it also soaked her clothes. The silk dress, once wet, clung heavily to her, threatening to slip off—fortunately, a crimson sash at her waist held it firmly in place.

Zhuyou couldn’t see anything. Her vision was a vast expanse of white, even her own fingers blurred beyond recognition. She didn’t bother adjusting her clothes. She had never cared much for her physical body, and apart from those audacious devils, no one would dare covet it.

Besides, aside from her, there was only that little dragon who knew nothing of such matters.

Sensing the lingering chill on her shoulders and face, as if frost had yet to fully melt, she simply sank lower into the water, submerging the crown of her head.

Strands of silver-white hair spread through the water, while the floating silk robe unfurled like dark petals.

Changying remained seated on the shore, staring fixedly at the devil in the water, unmoving, enduring the searing heat of the blood within her heart. All of her spiritual energy had been used to reconstruct her body, leaving none to suppress the searing pain that burrowed deep into her chest. Unable to hold on, she finally collapsed to the ground, letting out a muffled groan.

The great demon in the water forced herself to endure it, still maintaining her human form. But on the shore, the young girl suddenly transformed into a dragon. Her massive tail swung fiercely, smashing into the ground, carving deep trenches across the land.

The black dragon’s golden eyes locked onto the steaming pool, as if trying to trap the figure within its gaze. It opened its maw, unleashing a roar that seemed capable of shattering the sky—yet the sound never escaped, instead sealed within this separate realm.

Its razor-sharp claws dug into the snow, scraping away layers until the dark soil beneath was exposed.

The black dragon writhed in agony, its massive body rolling across the ground, shaking the very earth.

Yet, the devil in the pool never emerged, her silver hair and hem of her robes drifting motionlessly, as though she had perished beneath the water.

The sky of this separate realm remained perpetually overcast. Even as hours passed, the darkness never deepened.

***

Three days later, the black dragon still trembled, its body inexplicably having grown larger. Its black scales had become even more resilient and sharp, and its once-immature horns had fully developed. Its golden eyes gleamed with an icy, fearsome light.

Then, in an instant, it shifted back into human form.

A cascade of black hair fell loosely down its back, and its clothing shifted with the transformation of its dragon scales.

Still clad in black, but now the collar was edged with gold, and intricate dark patterns adorned the fabric—regal and striking.

She wavered slightly as she stepped toward the pool. Lowering herself, she reached toward the submerged figure, her voice cold yet urgent.

“Come out.” As if realizing her words were too harsh, she amended them, adding, “Come out and look at me.”

The great demon beneath the water did not stir. Her face remained hidden beneath the veil of silver hair, lifeless.

Changying grabbed a handful of snow, her voice—now stripped of its childish tone—rang out with urgency, “Zhuyou!”

At that moment, a dragon’s roar split the heavens, reverberating through the isolated realm.

Only then did the figure in the water slowly surface. 

Her silver hair, now drenched, clung to her neck and cheeks, but her eyes had regained their clarity.

Changying stared in stunned silence. She had missed the sight of the devil’s blind, bewildered expression. For a fleeting moment, she thought—perhaps it was better when she was blind.

Zhuyou surfaced and, at last, reached to adjust her silk robe. When she raised her eyes, she noticed that the dragon she had raised had changed once more.

The tiny mole at the bridge of her nose was still there, and though her features had yet to fully mature, her face had lost its childish softness—undeniably a beauty in the making.

Still, she carried that same distant, indifferent air—like a creature incapable of being tamed.

Zhuyou thought, truly, this one could never be raised into obedience.

“Why didn’t you come out earlier?” Changying, finally able to breathe, frowned as she questioned her.

Zhuyou chuckled. Though the dragon’s face remained stern, her grievances were as plain as day. She reached out and flicked Changying’s forehead with a teasing scoff. “You have no manners.”

Changying wasn’t angered and simply continued, “How do you feel?”

Zhuyou climbed out of the water, her clothes thoroughly drenched. The soaked fabric clung to her, revealing her bare shoulders and the curve of her chest. Unconcerned, she cast a spell, instantly evaporating the water from her body before slowly adjusting her garments.

Changying stood up as well. Though they had only been apart for three days, she had already grown tall enough to reach Zhuyou’s shoulder—no longer soft and delicate as before. More than that, the garments she now wore were more regal, the embroidery exquisitely done—fitting for a dragon maiden.

At least, Zhuyou noted with some relief, the dragon still had to look up at her. That alone made her feel somewhat at ease.

She responded leisurely, “Not bad. Nothing serious.”

As she spoke, she discreetly examined her own spiritual sea. After all that had happened, her cultivation had not advanced in the slightest—in fact, it had regressed, and some of her spiritual energy had been drained.

No need to guess—this was undoubtedly the dragon’s doing.

Still…

Zhuyou raised a hand to touch the corner of her eye. The poisonous mist that once clouded her vision seemed to fear Changying’s heart blood, now huddled into a small, motionless mass, no longer daring to stir.

Just as she was about to retract her spiritual awareness, she noticed something foreign in her spiritual sea—something peculiar.

It resembled a shard of metal.

But how could a piece of iron find its way into her consciousness?

Wasn’t this—one of Changying’s dragon scales?

So, after exchanging heart blood, she had also grown dragon scales? Could it be that the dragon’s heart blood came with a dowry?

Zhuyou initially intended to dissolve the scale, but the moment she tried, a terrifying pressure emanated from it, resisting her spiritual energy.

She’d have to find a way to remove it.

Changying, now taller and healthier, had shed her previous frailty. At the very least, she no longer looked as if she would collapse at the slightest breeze.

Zhuyou flipped her palm over, tilting her chin slightly in indication. “Give me your hand.”

Changying didn’t hesitate and placed her hand in Zhuyou’s palm. 

Her once-cold hand was now warm, feeling alive for the first time. Zhuyou found this quite satisfying. At the very least, the dragon wouldn’t always be clinging to her anymore—after all, she wasn’t cold now.

“Let me see your spiritual sea,” she said.

Changying gave a small nod, obedient yet indifferent. “Go ahead.” Her wrist bones were no longer as delicate as before; the slight protrusion of bone was distinct, giving her hands a more defined structure. Even her fingers had become longer and more slender.

Zhuyou channeled a strand of spiritual energy, gently sending it into Changying’s spiritual sea—only to feel immediate disappointment.

The dragon’s spiritual sea was still empty, devoid of any trace of spiritual energy. She wasn’t sure if it was because the body had yet to fully form.

Retracting her hand, she pressed a fingertip to Changying’s forehead. “And your sea of consciousness?”

Changying’s icy eyes held no emotion. When Zhuyou’s fingertip approached, her gaze lowered, making her appear even more obedient.

Zhuyou liked this docile demeanor. If only she could always be this well-behaved.

Inside Changying’s sea of consciousness, the once-dense white mist had thinned slightly, revealing a small corner where a single thread of spiritual energy trembled faintly outside the mist.

That silver-white thread was fragile—almost as delicate as a spider’s silk, yet far more luminous and beautiful.

Zhuyou’s heart leapt. This thread carried memories—memories of a person’s past. Wrapping the thread in her spiritual energy, she wondered what lay hidden within. Was it sorrow? Joy? Anger? Resentment?

What kind of memory was so precious that it warranted such careful protection?

Changying didn’t resist in the slightest. So what if she had grown taller? She was still only putting on a front—when it came time to obey, she obeyed.

However, just as Zhuyou was about to probe deeper into the thread, she realized it was sealed by a restriction.

Restrictions on spiritual threads weren’t uncommon. Many sealed away their own memories to forget their past.

But this was Changying’s sea of consciousness, and beyond the mist lay countless more threads—hundreds, thousands of them. If every single one was sealed with restrictions, then that was truly frightening.

How much spiritual power would that take? What kind of cultivation level was required to place such intricate restrictions on every thread of memory?

Zhuyou didn’t know. She had never tried. She was self-aware enough to understand—this was beyond her capabilities.

She withdrew her finger and lowered her gaze to the dragon girl before her, eyes still closed.

“Do you remember anything?” she asked.

Changying opened her eyes, looking puzzled. “I never forgot anything, so why would I suddenly remember something?” Her expression was calm, no different than usual, showing no signs of deception.

Zhuyou remained silent.

Changying then asked, “After exchanging heart blood, you truly don’t feel anything?”

Zhuyou sighed inwardly. Of course—the dragon never considered herself to have lost her memories. She feared Changying would press further, so she answered dismissively, “It’s fine. Just cold.”

Changying looked confused.

Zhuyou found her expression amusing. “I took half your coldness into myself—of course I feel cold.”

Changying finally made a sound of understanding but then muttered, “Then why don’t I feel any warmth?”

Zhuyou nearly choked in frustration.

Without another word, she grabbed Changying’s shoulder and soared into the sky. This time, there was no need to break through the barrier—with a single movement, she had left the separate realm.

Forget it. Let her stay clueless. At least she could still say nice things when necessary.

A little foolishness was best. Easier to fool.

The two returned to the Grand Hall. The doors remained tightly shut, and the phoenix fire at the center of the suspended shark-silk canopy still burned brightly.

Zhuyou lazily reclined on the soft couch, feeling much more comfortable. Before, she had been unbearably warm, constantly reminded of those phoenixes in the heavens. The thought of certain birds made her heart burn with rage.

Now, with half of Changying’s coldness within her, she felt as if she had cast away the past—almost like a form of revenge. Even if it was just self-deception, Zhuyou still found it satisfying.

Three days had passed. By now, the Three Lords should have brought that seed into the Heart-Questioning Rock.

Of course, fusing that stray soul into the Crystal of Law was impossible—after all, her phoenix energy was entwined with it. No ordinary person could break through that easily.

Without proper fusion, and given how long the soul had been separated from its body, it was likely to dissipate.

Sure enough, just as she returned, a knock sounded at the door.

Hanzhu’s voice came from outside. “Mistress.”

Zhuyou flicked a finger, and the hall doors opened just a crack—wide enough for only one person to enter.

Hanzhu squeezed through with some difficulty, quickly shutting the door behind her. Only then did she cautiously glance at her mistress. Seeing that Zhuyou was unharmed, she let out a relieved breath.

“Mistress, the Three Lords have been waiting outside for a long time,” she reported.

As she finished speaking, her gaze flicked sideways—where she caught sight of the black-clad dragon girl standing beside the soft couch.

Who was this?

Why did she look different again?

Hanzhu quickly lowered her eyes as Changying’s gaze swept over her.

Hurriedly, she withdrew her glance, but in doing so, she caught sight of Changying’s hand resting on the couch—so pale and elegant that from a distance, it almost looked as though it was placed on her mistress.

Unbelievable.

The dragon had only been gone for three days, yet she had grown even bolder in claiming closeness to her mistress. If this continued, where would there be any place for Hanzhu at her mistress’ side?

Though Changying hadn’t done anything overt, her posture made it abundantly clear—she intended to claim the devil on that couch as her own.

Hanzhu dared not say a word, only hoping she was imagining things.