GD Ch. 59 Part 2

Chapter 59: Is It Really Her?

“Mortals dare not remain idle, yet the immortals of the Heavenly Palace stagnate, showing no ambition. If things continue this way, we may as well seek out capable mortals to cultivate into immortality,” Changying said. She rarely spoke at length, and it seemed that her long silence had made her words feel unfamiliar even to herself.

Kunyi hesitated for a moment, not expecting that the Divine Venerable’s decision to open the Cold Eye held such profound intentions.

Since the great battle a thousand years ago, the Devil Realm had been in decline, and the Three Realms had remained relatively peaceful. The Heavenly Palace had seen no change in ranks, and even the positions of the duty-bound immortals had gone unchallenged for ages. Restrictions guarding the sacred artifacts had also weakened over time.

“If the Heavenly Realm continues to rely on power and status while neglecting its duties, how is it any different from the Mortal Realm?” Changying said coldly, her gaze sharp.

Kunyi was momentarily stunned, confused by the accusation of “relying on power and status.” She quickly said, “I would appreciate the Your Divinity’s clarification.”

Changying turned her gaze toward her. “To the Three Realms, the Nine Heavens represent the Heavenly Dao. And the Heavenly Dao must be impartial.”

Kunyi’s eyes flickered, but her frown remained deeply etched.

“In time, you will understand,” Changying said softly.

Kunyi bowed her head slightly, though she usually found the Divine Venerable cold and distant, she now sensed the anger hidden behind her calm facade.

Indeed, Changying was truly angered—so much so that the oppressive force around her felt like a blade, causing Kunyi’s face to pale slightly.

Changying did not explain further and instead asked, “Is the Turbid Mirror something ordinary people can wield?”

Kunyi pressed her lips together slightly before replying slowly, “This Turbid Mirror, named ‘Zhuo’ (Turbid), can indeed reflect the past. However, it is influenced by the desires of the one using it. Human greed, anger, obsession, and hatred will all manifest within the visions it reveals. The user may become trapped, and without a guide, they might never escape.” Frowning deeply, she pondered for a moment before adding, “Moreover, reversing time itself defies the Heavenly Dao. Staying within it too long will inevitably harm the soul.”

Changying’s pupils shrank. “Harm the soul?”

Kunyi nodded slightly. “That is why this mirror cannot be considered a benevolent object.”

Abruptly, Changying rose to her feet. “Thank you for the warning, Queen Mother of the West.”

“Your Divinity, where are you going?” Kunyi asked urgently as she saw Changying preparing to leave.

“To retrieve the mirror,” Changying said.

She had arrived in haste and left just as swiftly. Before Kunyi could rise, Changying’s figure had already vanished.

Kunyi stood there in a daze for a long while, still mulling over the Divine Venerable’s words—”The Heavenly Dao is unjust.” Her brows furrowed deeply as she wondered to herself, Is the Heavenly Dao truly unjust, or did we do something wrong?

***

A black dragon streaked across the sky, swift as thunder. Its serpentine body undulated like a ribbon of midnight silk weaving through the heavens, its scales shimmering with a dazzling brilliance, as though the divine itself resided within.

Amid the clouds, Changying suddenly shifted back into human form, striding downward as if she were walking on an invisible staircase.

She recalled the omen cast at the Observatory Pavilion and the ancient prophecy of the fractured soul—this thought alone spurred her onward without delay. She dared not conclude whether Zhuyou was the other ancient god she sought. But if she was, then she would inevitably suffer the curse of a fragmented soul.

Changying herself had already endured the agonizing pain of a soul torn asunder, when only seven-tenths of her spirit remained. How could she bear to see Zhuyou suffer the same fate?

Leaping from the clouds, she descended swiftly, her robes billowing like the wings of a soaring bird.

During her century of seclusion, she had once considered bringing Zhuyou back to the heavens. But now, she no longer wished to. She felt that Zhuyou was free to follow her heart—if she wanted to ascend as an immortal, she could; if she wanted to fall into devilhood, no one could stop her. Why should she return to face those who only brought her sorrow?

A burning sensation welled up in Changying’s chest, her blood boiling so fiercely that it nearly stole her breath. She forced herself to calm down, suppressing the tumultuous thoughts rising within her heart. In a single blink, she buried those turbulent emotions deep inside.

What had she just thought?

She had actually—

She had actually considered locking that troublesome demon away in a place no one could ever find. That way, no one could hurt her, no one could anger her, and no one could distract her.

And then… wouldn’t Zhuyou belong to her alone?

But she couldn’t. She was the Divine Venerable of the Nine Heavens—such selfish acts were beneath her.

In truth, there seemed to be no profound connection between her and Zhuyou. In the chaotic dawn of creation, anything could become a god. Changying had bathed in blood, slaughtering devils and demons, nearly perishing in the process. Only through reconstructing her mortal form did she return—and it was then that she met Zhuyou.

If Zhuyou truly was the other star-soul indicated by the omen, then their reincarnation should have followed the will of the heavens—to descend and guard the world against devils. But who could have predicted that one of them would instead become a devil?

How…

Absurd.

***

Meanwhile, in the mortal world, a storyteller in a bustling tavern continued his long-winded tales. Yet, in the private room upstairs, the beautiful woman who often came with her maid to listen was nowhere to be seen.

After retrieving the sacred herb, Zhuyou returned to the inn. Once she shut the door behind her, she immediately laid down a restriction, preventing anyone from entering.

Seeing her return safely, Hanzhu let out a breath of relief. “Mistress, did you acquire the herb?”

Zhuyou flipped her palm over, revealing the sacred herb with its severed stem. Perhaps due to leaving the marsh, its petals and leaves had begun to wilt, but the faint, firefly-like glow still flickered softly.

The stem remained a striking crimson, and when its sap touched her palm, it gleamed as vividly as fresh blood.

Hanzhu froze for a moment before blurting out, “Why is the stem broken? And why have the leaves withered—won’t that ruin its effectiveness?”

Zhuyou chuckled coldly. “Fool. The most precious part of this herb is precisely the severed stem.”

“What about the petals and leaves?” Hanzhu pressed.

Zhuyou’s expression darkened as she remembered Changying’s indifferent face and the words she had spoken. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe her—but did Changying really have to treat her that way?

She herself couldn’t quite tell whether her feelings toward Changying were anger. The Divine Venerable wouldn’t appear in the world without reason—she must be a reincarnated ancient god. Two centuries ago, back when Zhuyou still resided in the heavens, she had been falsely accused of stealing an ancient god’s incarnation. Who would have thought that the ancient god had been by her side all along?

She had been lying to herself. Deep down, she had always known that only someone extraordinary could wield the art of reconstructing the mortal form—but she refused to believe it. If Changying was so powerful, why did she cling to her so desperately—holding her hand, sharing her bed—practically acting like a child?

Seeing her mistress lost in thought, Hanzhu grew anxious. “Did something happen in the Cold Eye?”

Zhuyou cast her a sidelong glance. She couldn’t very well say, I ran into the dragon you abandoned in the devil’s domain a century ago. That would sound too much like the dragon had come back for revenge.

A Divine Venerable seeking revenge? Who could possibly survive that?

What kind of power… what kind of cultivation would that take? Zhuyou fell silent, lost in thought. She couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of awe. To think that the little one who had no spiritual power back then was actually the Divine Venerable.

Back when she exchanged her heart’s blood with the dragon, she had already known she couldn’t defy the heavens alone. If someone else shared her burden, she might stand a chance at survival. It seemed the dragon had indeed grown stronger thanks to her blood—but in the end, it was the dragon who had suffered the greater loss.

After a long silence, Hanzhu, worried that the herb might wilt further, asked urgently, “Mistress, how should the stem be consumed?”

“I don’t know,” Zhuyou admitted candidly. The ancient texts said the Cold Eye sacred herb could heal wounds and dispel poison, but they never specified how to use it.

Hanzhu panicked. “What if you use it wrong and waste it?”

Zhuyou shot her a glare. “It’s a sacred herb. Even just sniffing it should work.”

Hanzhu, intrigued, almost leaned in to take a whiff.

Zhuyou’s face darkened. “Get out. Don’t you dare drain its spiritual essence.”

Without another word, she shoved Hanzhu outside the restriction.

The inn’s servant passing by stared in shock—had that girl just walked through a wall?

Inside the room, Zhuyou took out a porcelain vial, carefully crushed the herb’s petals and stem, and let the bright red juice drip into the bottle—wasting not a single drop.

She gazed at the vial for a moment, then lifted it to her lips and drank it all in one go.