GD Ch. 46

Chapter 46: Who’s That?

No wonder the wooden planks sealing the windows of this tower were inscribed with runes meant to suppress devilish energy. It was also no surprise that the sect master of Huacheng Sect, despite having reached the Great Ascension stage long ago, had yet to attain enlightenment.

He never dared to look directly at the Heaven-Observing Mirror and even placed such an important artifact behind him, refusing to meet its gaze. So this was the reason—he had already fallen into devilhood.

Falling into devilhood was not uncommon. When one harbored inner devils, clung to obsessions, and failed to let go of narrow-mindedness, they could easily succumb. For mortals and even many demons, it was far easier to fall into devilhood than to ascend to immortality.

But why had Zhou Xizhao suddenly entered Shenhua Mountain a hundred years ago? What exactly happened there? Zhuyou had no answer, but she was certain it must have had something to do with his descent into devilhood.

She recalled the events from when the mountain had been opened. The Heaven-Observing Mirror had already indicated the presence of devilish energy within the sect, yet Zhou Xizhao insisted on verifying it again. As a result, the celestial beings withdrew the cold pool’s restrictions, allowing Shenhua Mountain to be unsealed.

Zhou Xizhao seemed eager for the mountain gates to open. Was he hoping to enter again? His demeanor… almost suggested he had an appointment with someone.

Shenhua Mountain was not a place just anyone could enter. Even for demons and devils, it was an arduous task. Zhou Xizhao was merely a mortal—why was he so determined to open the mountain? Who had led him down this path?

If he wasn’t deceived by someone, then whatever awaited him in Shenhua Mountain—aside from devils like herself—could only be an immortal. Otherwise, who else would allow him to come and go freely?

Zhuyou’s gaze darkened. The timing of all this felt too coincidental.

A hundred years ago, Zhou Xizhao forcibly entered Shenhua Mountain. And just over a hundred years ago, she herself had fallen into devilhood. Before that, she had undergone a tribulation—when a phoenix endures a tribulation, it is reborn through fire. Rolling thunder raged, heavenly flames roared, and the sky was ablaze.

As the fire surged, she had no choice but to reveal her true form. Her feathers, more brilliant than the flames themselves, flared around her.

The fire enveloped her completely, searing through her being like a shedding of skin. It felt as if the blazing flames had ignited deep within her heart.

The parasol tree she nested in was struck directly by heavenly lightning, yet the tribulation fire did not reduce it to deadwood. Within the heart of the tree, something suddenly glowed brightly—the Burning-Heart Wood, a divine gift granted to phoenixes undergoing tribulation.

Burning-Heart Wood was an invaluable treasure, capable of enhancing cultivation and repairing the three hun and seven po of the soul.

The tribulation fire burned fiercely, yet at that moment, a hand suddenly reached into the flames, attempting to seize the Burning-Heart Wood.

It was a thin and frail hand, and as soon as the fire licked it, the flesh burned away, revealing white bones beneath. Blood and flesh dissolved into mist, dispersing into the tribulation flames.

She recognized that hand—it belonged to Jingyi.

Then, a poisonous mist blinded her eyes, rendering her unable to see. That tribulation…

She had never been able to overcome it.

To this day, she believed Jingyi was the reason she lost her sight, the reason her cultivation plummeted, and the reason she was ultimately led to the Execution Platform.

Yet one thing had always puzzled her—how could a mere bird have wielded such an unfamiliar and potent poison?

She had searched tirelessly for a hundred years but never found a cure. Her only hope lay in the Cold Eye, a legendary sacred relic recorded in ancient texts. If the Cold Eye truly contained the power to neutralize all poisons, then her sight could be restored.

The poison mist was an anomaly. She had scoured the Three Realms yet never found anything similar. Where had it come from?

Everything had happened a hundred years ago. Could these two events truly be connected? Zhuyou pondered.

Zhou Xizhao’s body was tense, as if consumed by fear. His shoulders trembled slightly. He was undoubtedly terrified of being discovered. Even his once-straight posture had unconsciously hunched.

It seemed he desperately wanted to bury his head, to hide his eyes from view.

Perhaps it was the suppressive power of the runes within the tower, combined with his own reluctance to fully embrace devilhood, that kept his body free of devilish energy. There were no devilish markings on his hands or neck either.

However, these runes were not particularly complex; they were only effective against lesser devilish energy. If he fully embraced his descent, abandoning all remnants of goodness, these runes would be utterly useless against him.

He must have been resisting devilhood with all his might—yet his heart remained conflicted, his obsessions unresolved.

Zhuyou raised her hand, unexpectedly feeling a sense of admiration for Zhou Xizhao. To think he had managed to conceal this for so long.

She placed her fingertip against his forehead, channeling a wisp of spiritual energy into him. She truly wished to know what Zhou Xizhao had encountered in Shenhua Mountain a hundred years ago.

If he had met an immortal, then surely they would never have allowed a mere mortal to fall into devilhood. That could only mean… he had encountered a devil.

The spiritual energy swiftly entered Zhou Xizhao’s mind. The moment it did, his entire body trembled, his face flushing hot, as if flames had ignited within him.

His jet-black eyes, devoid of even the faintest trace of white, snapped shut as he shouted harshly, “Who dares play tricks? Show yourself at once!”

The words had barely left his lips when he clenched his jaw, his teeth chattering violently.

He had intended to force out the invading spiritual energy, but to his shock, his cultivation was not nearly strong enough to resist it.

Within moments, beads of sweat covered his forehead, and his white robes were drenched.

Zhuyou’s spiritual energy found its way into his sea of consciousness, where countless strands of spiritual threads intertwined like tangled vines.

Compared to the male cultivators she had possessed before, Zhou Xizhao’s spiritual threads were densely packed and utterly chaotic.

The invading energy moved like a delicate hand, gently unraveling the knotted strands, carefully examining each one.

A hundred years ago…

Zhuyou searched carefully and finally found a thread from a century past.

But to her surprise, it was fractured, covered in cracks as if it had been deliberately damaged—on the verge of snapping yet stubbornly held together.

Perhaps Zhou Xizhao had refused to forget that day, forcing his own spiritual energy to keep the thread intact.

Zhuyou’s heart pounded. For some reason, she felt a sudden urgency. How much memory remained within that broken thread?

If Zhou Xizhao still remembered, then she, too, might be able to see the past through it.

However, as she examined the strand of spiritual memory, she found that most of the scenes she could see were fragmented, as if that entire day had been cut into pieces, with many parts missing.

Closing her eyes, she immersed her consciousness into the strand.

Zhou Xizhao, seated cross-legged on a meditation mat, suddenly shuddered and then froze in place, unable to move.

***

When Zhuyou opened her eyes, everything before her was a vast expanse of white. In the distance, snow-covered mountain peaks pierced the clouds, and the sky was an endless gray. Snow blanketed the land, stretching as far as the eye could see. There was no trace of any living being, only the howling wind, echoing like the growls of beasts.

This was inside Shenhua Mountain, a hundred years ago. Zhou Xizhao had indeed entered.

Her consciousness was attached to Zhou Xizhao’s spiritual memory strand, so she could only follow him step by step as he moved forward.

It seemed that Zhou Xizhao had forced his way into Shenhua Mountain. His spiritual consciousness was injured, his steps were unsteady, and his mind was in turmoil. Anxious and helpless, he glanced around frantically.

He was searching for someone—his first disciple.

That disciple was either his grandson or perhaps even his great-grandson; the lineage traced so far back that even Zhou Xizhao himself was uncertain.

As he trudged through the snow, his thoughts were consumed by a single purpose: the mountain would soon close, and he had to take his disciple out.

Suddenly, the ground cracked open. A deep chasm split the mountain, right at his feet.

The earth trembled violently, and a deafening roar filled the air.

Zhou Xizhao nearly lost his footing. Stumbling, he hastily summoned his life-bound sword and drove its tip into the ground, barely managing to steady himself.

The fissure had appeared without warning, stretching into the distance like a jagged, black scar marring the snowy landscape.

Following Zhou Xizhao’s gaze, Zhuyou peered down into the abyss—but she couldn’t see the bottom. It looked eerily similar to the rift that had formed when Changying fell from the heavens. If her guess was correct, there was a devil gate at the bottom.

At that moment, the disciple’s nameplate, which Zhou Xizhao carried at his side, suddenly glowed. A flicker of hope lit up his face, and without hesitation, he leapt down.

It was the fifteenth day of the twelfth lunar month, a time when mortals performed rituals to honor the Heavenly Emperor and pray for peace. The Heavenly Realm was hosting a grand banquet, with all the immortals gathered.

If Zhuyou recalled correctly, that day was half a month before her failed tribulation. She had not only failed to transcend but had lost much of her cultivation, been falsely accused, and eventually ended up on the Execution Platform.

As Zhou Xizhao landed, he immediately split his consciousness, sending it out in all directions like smoke, desperately searching for his disciple.

At last, at the very end of the chasm, he sensed his disciple’s weak life force. Heart clenched with pain, he rushed forward, only to find the ground stained with blood as red as winter plums.

His disciple lay dying in a pool of blood.

Beside him stood a shadowy figure, shrouded in mist, their features completely obscured.

Perhaps this was the person who had damaged Zhou Xizhao’s spiritual memory, Zhuyou thought.

Whoever they were, they clearly wished to remain unknown. After committing such an act, they even tried to erase themselves from Zhou Xizhao’s mind.

Unfortunately, Zhou Xizhao refused to forget. Though he couldn’t recall their face, he remembered their words with absolute clarity.

The devil gate still stood at the bottom of the chasm, its surface wreathed in devilish energy. Thick, black tendrils of smoke writhed like grasping hands, clawing at the surroundings, trying to drag the wounded disciple into its depths.

The devilish aura surged outward like razor-sharp claws, extending several feet, nearly touching the disciple’s robes.

Zhou Xizhao immediately cast a spell, barely managing to force the devilish energy back a few feet.

But he was already gravely injured. Resisting the diabolic force drained the last of his strength.

Then, the shadowy figure spoke. “Do you dare to speak of what happened today?”

Perhaps due to the damage in the spiritual memory strand, Zhuyou could barely make out the voice. It was likely a woman.

Zhou Xizhao didn’t understand her intent. His mind was entirely focused on his disciple. But upon hearing those words, he knew—this person had harmed his disciple.

He raised his sword and lunged, his voice cold and furious. “What manner of demonic filth are you?!”

But his blade never met its target.

As if striking an invisible barrier, the sword came to an abrupt halt in midair, unable to advance even an inch.

On the blood-soaked ground, the disciple trembled weakly, his labored breathing barely audible. With immense effort, he clenched his hands into fists and forced himself to speak.

“It’s not a demon… it’s a devil!”

A devil.

Zhou Xizhao’s pupils contracted. His gaze snapped toward the pitch-black devil gate in the distance, an overwhelming sense of helplessness washing over him.

The monstrous devilish aura surged forth once more, suddenly latching onto the disciple’s leg.

In an instant, his pant leg disintegrated, and the flesh beneath it vanished—leaving behind only stark, white bone.

“Ah—!” The disciple’s scream tore through the chasm, his fingers clawing into the dirt with such force that his nails scraped bloody lines into the ground.

Zhou Xizhao’s eyes burned red with fury. He swung his sword, unleashing a powerful gust of energy that scattered the devilish aura and forced it back into the devil gate.

The shadowy figure took a step forward. Their form remained indistinct, their expression unreadable.

Yet, as they moved, their hesitation was palpable—as if they feared something.

Slowly, they raised a hand and reached into the devil gate.

But the devilish energy did not devour their arm, did not strip their flesh to the bone.

Abruptly, they recoiled, staggering backward, panic flickering through their movements.

Zhou Xizhao, guarding his disciple with what little strength remained, watched as despair overtook him.

His disciple sobbed in agony, his voice hoarse and broken, “She’s a devil. She’s a devil!”

The staggering figure took two steps back before suddenly turning around, unleashing a fierce palm strike. The force sent the already frail disciple on the ground coughing up a mouthful of blood.

The disciple’s chest convulsed, blood filling his mouth. His eyes widened—and then, he was no longer breathing.

Zhou Xizhao let out a furious shout, his eyes crimson like freshly spilled blood. Clutching his sword, he slashed at the figure before him.

But the person merely let out a crazed laugh, reaching out to clamp down on the sword’s tip with their fingers before clawing toward Zhou Xizhao’s face, intending to destroy the spiritual threads in his consciousness.

Zhou Xizhao struggled violently. His pupils, dark as ink, suddenly rippled—

He had fallen into devilhood.

The attacker seemed startled. Zhou Xizhao, unleashing his full strength, wielded his Great Ascension-stage spiritual power like a blade, striking down upon her with deadly force.

After a brief but intense battle, the shadowy figure suddenly seemed to hear something. She abruptly looked up at the sky, then shoved the mortal in front of her away.

“If you seek revenge, come find me the next time Shenhua Mountain opens!” she declared.

If Zhuyou remembered correctly, at this very hour, celestial music should have been playing in the sky—signaling the heavenly banquet.

Zhou Xizhao, severely wounded, was sent sprawling backward, his vision plunging into darkness.

Snowflakes drifted down from the heavens. Shenhua Mountain was unbearably cold.

Zhuyou withdrew her spiritual consciousness, lowering the fingertip that had been hovering midair. She clutched the Heaven-Observing Mirror tightly to her chest, her expression dark as she pondered the shadowy figure lurking in Zhou Xizhao’s spiritual threads.

She had spent a long time in the Devil Realm, yet she had never encountered such a devil before.

Who was it?

Only after Zhuyou retracted her spiritual consciousness from Zhou Xizhao’s spiritual threads did he finally regain his breath. His body, rigid for so long, was finally able to move.

Zhou Xizhao’s expression shifted abruptly. A surge of spiritual energy erupted from within him, lashing out in all directions. The force sent books and cups crashing to the floor.

Zhuyou waved a hand, effortlessly dispersing the chaotic energy rushing toward her.

No wonder Zhou Xizhao had been suppressing his devilish aura. No wonder he had been so desperate for Shenhua Mountain to reopen.

He didn’t want to become a devil—yet the thought of it had already taken root in his heart.

How easy mortals were to deceive. Did he really believe that devil’s casual words? That person would actually wait for him at Shenhua Mountain so he could take his revenge?

Most likely not.

Changying, coiled around her wrist, had been ignored for too long. Dissatisfied, she suddenly bit down on the slight protrusion of Zhuyou’s wrist bone. She barely used any force, just a light nibble before letting go.

Zhuyou narrowed her eyes slightly. The sharp spiritual energy unleashed by the mortal beside her howled through the air like a raging storm, but she paid it no mind. Instead, her thoughts drifted to that fateful night on the fifteenth of the twelfth lunar month, when she entered Shenhua Mountain.

Why had that devil wanted to silence witnesses?

And why did they seem so unwilling to hear others call them a devil?

Unfortunately, Zhou Xizhao’s spiritual threads had been damaged. She couldn’t make out that person’s face, and their voice had been terribly muffled—distant, hoarse, as if something were stuck in their throat.

Tsk. Unpleasant.

Zhuyou sent a telepathic message, deliberately asking, Do you remember the fifteenth night of the twelfth lunar month in the 170th year of the Guangsu calendar?

Zhou Xizhao’s eyes widened, madness flashing through them. “Was it you? You… you came out of Shenhua Mountain?”

Zhuyou smirked. So, he had mistaken her for that person?

She had no intention of shouldering such a heavy accusation. Without another word, she tightened her grip on the Heaven-Observing Mirror and walked straight through the wall.

Once she left Huacheng Sect, she withdrew from the body of the female cultivator she had been possessing. The moment she did, the woman collapsed onto the snow with a dull thud.

This female cultivator was truly soft-hearted. Even in such a state, she was still preoccupied with thoughts of her junior brother. As soon as she regained a sliver of consciousness, before even opening her eyes, she murmured his name.

Such a sentimental person would never amount to much.

Zhuyou silently lowered her gaze, observing the woman.

This mortal seemed rather pitiful.

Half-conscious, the woman barely managed to make out a silver-haired, black-clad figure standing nearby—a stunningly beautiful woman, almost like an immortal from the heavens.

Was she a celestial being? Had she died? Was an immortal here to take her soul?

But before she could fully comprehend the situation, the celestial woman spoke only one sentence while stroking something on her wrist: Your shidi is gone.

The mortal froze for a long time, her eyes widening in disbelief. Only then did she notice what was coiled around the celestial woman’s wrist.

It was a black snake.

Zhuyou turned and walked away.

Indeed, he was gone. Gone—perished in the Devil-Suppressing Tower. His remaining soul had been taken back to the Devil Realm by her.

Your shidi… is going to become the Devil Lord.

The female cultivator’s eyelids grew heavy. She reached out toward the corner of the celestial woman’s trailing silk robe—but failed to grasp it.

As Zhuyou walked further away, she lightly patted the dragon coiled around her wrist. “You don’t need to stay wrapped around me anymore.”

The black dragon suddenly lifted its eyes. Its golden pupils bore into her for a long moment before it finally let its tail droop. Then, with a sudden thud, it collapsed into the snow and transformed—into a sickly-looking young girl.

Changying’s expression was cold, her demeanor listless. “What did you see in that mortal’s spiritual consciousness?” she asked. “Why did you ask him about that night?”

“Which night?” Zhuyou raised an eyebrow. She was starting to think this dragon was asking too many questions. The bigger it grew, the more inquisitive it became.

“The fifteenth night of the twelfth lunar month, in the 170th year of the Guangsu calendar,” Changying repeated, her memory impeccable.

Zhuyou dismissed it casually. “Naturally, because that night seems to be connected to someone who offended me.”

Changying fell silent for a long time, then lifted her gaze, eyeing the mirror Zhuyou was clutching tightly. Frowning, she muttered, “That bronze mirror is hard as a rock. What’s so good about hugging it?”

Zhuyou looked down at her, noticing the slight puff of her cheeks. “What, should I be hugging you instead?”

Changying said nothing.

“You’ve grown so much, and you still want me to carry you around?” Zhuyou scoffed lightly, though inwardly she thought—if this dragon were to act spoiled, she might still indulge her.

Changying lowered her gaze, cold and indifferent as ever.

“Ever since we left the Devil Realm,” Zhuyou paused mid-step, “you’ve been acting like you’re sulking. Tell me, what exactly are you upset about?”

Only then did Changying lift her small face. Her pursed lips parted slightly. “You don’t like Jing Kexin, do you?”

Zhuyou indeed didn’t like Jing Kexin, but she didn’t see how that was relevant to Changying’s apparent sulking.

Changying’s voice was chilly. “Then why did she know exactly where the devil marks on your body were when she transformed into you? How is she so familiar with you?”

There was no one else around. No houses in sight. No chimney smoke in the distance.

And yet—

The air was thick with the scent of vinegar.