GD Ch. 60 Part 2

Chapter 60: What She Wishes to Obtain

Zhuyou lifted her gaze and said calmly, “I will enter the mirror to investigate.”

As expected, Hanzhu’s eyes widened in shock. Though she had anticipated this, hearing it out loud still filled her with dread.

She didn’t want her mistress to take such a risk—not in the slightest. Over the past century, that feeling had only grown stronger, consuming her heart. She longed for Zhuyou to do nothing—simply to stay with her in the human world. Whether they traveled to see the mountains and rivers or settled down somewhere quiet, it didn’t matter.

Why—why did she have to risk her life?

Hanzhu no longer remembered the heavenly affairs Zhuyou often spoke of, not since her reincarnation. But she knew that Zhuyou must have fought desperately to survive in the Devil Realm, barely grasping a moment’s respite.

Zhuyou urged her to cherish her own life—yet she did not do the same for herself.

Biting her lower lip, Hanzhu asked again, “Mistress, are you truly going to enter the mirror?”

Zhuyou’s voice remained even. “If I do not emerge within five days, you must draw out my hun and po souls.”

“Like when you extracted Third Lord’s divine soul?” Hanzhu asked quickly.

“Precisely,” Zhuyou affirmed with a nod.

Hanzhu dared not respond. What was her own cultivation compared to her mistress’? Zhuyou had been able to pull Jing Kexin from the Turbid Mirror—but could she?

“But…”

“No buts,” Zhuyou interrupted with a frown. “If you cannot do it, seek out Luo Qing and have him come. I am searching for the remaining soul of the Devil Lord—he will not stand idly by. He will find a way to help.”

Hanzhu was deeply troubled, but she dared not refuse. Bowing her head, she said softly, “I will do as you command, Mistress.”

Zhuyou stepped toward the round table and placed the Turbid Mirror upon it. “Leave me,” she said.

“Mistress, are you going to enter the mirror right now?” Hanzhu asked, startled.

Zhuyou nodded, casting her a sidelong glance. “Or should I wait until the celestial soldiers descend to seize this artifact? Wouldn’t that be clever—stepping into the mirror just in time for them to capture me like a turtle in a jar?” She paused briefly before adding dryly, “Or rather, a turtle in a mirror.”

Hanzhu shook her head fervently. That was certainly not her intention.

Zhuyou smirked faintly but did not rebuke her. Instead, she warned, “Remember—if I am not out within five days, you must find a way to pull me back.”

“If you can’t come back… will it…” Hanzhu’s voice trembled, her eyes reddening. “Will it endanger your life?”

“No,” Zhuyou replied calmly. Now that she knew the one who had exchanged heart’s blood with her was a celestial deity, there was no way she could die so easily.

As long as Changying did not cut out that heart’s blood, she would not perish.

No wonder. No wonder that after leaving the Devil Realm a hundred years ago, the pain Zhuyou suffered was far less than the injuries she had endured. During that time, not only did she not step through death’s door, but she also advanced in her cultivation as if aided by the heavens themselves.

It seemed that this fortune was meant for Changying—but somehow, Zhuyou had taken the Heavenly Dao’s favor for herself.

“Are you sure it won’t cost you your life?” Hanzhu hurriedly asked again.

Zhuyou couldn’t understand why this peafowl demon had become so nagging and remarked coldly, “Has no one spoken to you these days, and now you can’t stop talking?”

Hanzhu immediately shut her mouth and shook her head.

“If you’re so idle, go talk to that innkeeper. I’ve seen him watching you with a puzzled expression—he probably has a stomach full of questions for you,” Zhuyou said lazily.

Hanzhu stiffly nodded, remembering how she had scared the innkeeper off the night before. No doubt the mortal had even more questions now. Her eyes wavered, and her tightly closed lips parted slightly. “Mistress, are you sure—”

Before she could finish, Zhuyou cast a cold glance at her.

“I’m sure,” Zhuyou said, her tone filled with impatience. She spoke with certainty, but how could she be truly sure that entering the Turbid Mirror would not harm her life?

To enter the artifact, one had to extract the hun soul. If the hun and po souls were separated from the physical body for too long, disaster would inevitably follow.

Hanzhu bit her lip, took a deep breath, and bowed her head. “Then I will take my leave.”

Zhuyou nodded wordlessly, waving her hand dismissively. Her slender wrist flicked through the air, flashing briefly before Hanzhu’s eyes.

Hanzhu withdrew at once. The moment she closed the door behind her, unease crept into her heart. A deep and all-consuming unease.

Suddenly, the world around her seemed to freeze in place. Even the innkeeper, who was descending the stairs with a wooden tray, remained motionless. One foot hovered mid-air, suspended indefinitely, while his expression grew dull and vacant.

Hanzhu froze in confusion. Something was wrong. She meant to glance out the window but found that her legs would not move. They were locked in place—no, her whole body was rigid. She couldn’t raise her arms or make a sound, her throat clogged as if sealed shut.

The silence was absolute. Even the wind through the window seemed to still. A young leaf, caught mid-fall, hung motionless in the air.

What was happening?

A chill surged through Hanzhu’s heart, a terror like an ocean tide flooding her chest and skull—an instinctive fear that her very life was being held in someone else’s grasp.

Then, an invisible hand seemed to press against the top of her head. Though she couldn’t move, the oppressive force bent her forward, her neck feeling as though it were being strangled. She struggled to breathe.

Hanzhu’s face turned pale. She desperately wanted to cry out, but no sound could escape her throat.

At that moment, she thought—I am going to die.

The overwhelming pressure made her tremble uncontrollably, as if all the hidden fears within her heart had been dragged to the surface. She felt exposed—stripped bare under this oppressive gaze.

She wanted to hide, but there was nowhere to escape. It was terrifying. 

Tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill over. Not even the great conflict a century ago had brought forth such a fearsome presence. Her pupils shrank in terror as a dreadful thought crept into her mind—could the Heavenly Emperor have come personally to reclaim the sacred artifact?

Yet, what appeared before her was not the Heavenly Emperor.

It was an immortal clad in black robes with black hair cascading down her back—but whether to call her an immortal or an otherworldly divine being, Hanzhu could not say.

The black-robed woman appeared suddenly, the world still frozen around her. Only the strands of her dark hair and the thin fabric of her robes stirred slightly in the lingering currents of spiritual energy.

Just one glance, and Hanzhu’s eyes burned in pain. It was as though she was gazing upon something mortals were never meant to see.

What kind of cultivation realm was this? It seemed far beyond even her mistress’.

Hanzhu had heard rumors that the Divine Venerable had returned to the Heavenly Realm. Could this woman be her?

The divine figure’s face was pale—her lips devoid of color. Her brows and eyes, naturally arched, should have been strikingly beautiful, yet her pallid complexion and detached expression stripped her of any warmth.

Her gaze was cold, devoid of feeling. There was not the slightest trace of mercy or compassion for the living.

Was this truly the Divine Venerable?

Hanzhu wanted to avert her eyes, but she couldn’t. Not only was she unable to move, but even her vision remained fixed on the figure. Her eyes throbbed with pain.

Who… was she?

The woman’s face stirred a distant memory—something familiar—but no matter how hard Hanzhu searched her mind, she could not place her.

She shouldn’t know this woman. If she had met her before, how could she possibly forget?

***

It was Changying.

She had told Zhuyou she would come later—and indeed, she had come.

Changying’s gaze swept coldly toward Hanzhu but did not lift the oppressive force upon her. At this moment, she seemed more devil than the devils themselves.

Mortals believed that heavenly beings should be compassionate and benevolent—but she was not. After all… she was the Slayer God.

Hanzhu was truly afraid. She wanted to speak—to ask—but her throat seized up with panic, and no words would come.

Changying’s voice was calm and distant. “She used the Turbid Mirror?”

Hanzhu froze, torn between shock and fear. This woman knew about the Turbid Mirror—she must be here to seize it!

But as if reading her thoughts, Changying added, “I was the one who gave it to her.”

Another shock hit Hanzhu like a bolt of lightning.

Changying’s cold gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before she asked, “You don’t recognize me either?”

Hanzhu trembled. Should she… remember?

Suddenly, an image surged into her mind—a frail, pale dragon. 

Was it her?

A hundred years ago, Hanzhu had left Changying behind of her own accord. She never expected that the abandoned dragon would return one day—with such terrifying power.

Would Changying now take her life—punish her with a fate worse than death?

But Changying withdrew her gaze and pressed forward. Without a sound, she passed through the restrictive barrier on the door and entered the room.

Inside, Zhuyou immediately sensed the stillness around her. Alarmed, she sharpened her focus. The instant the barrier was breached, she snapped, “Who’s there?”

But before she could turn around, a warm hand seized her wrist—slender, deathly pale fingers pressing her hand against the Turbid Mirror. The person behind her stood close—so close they nearly touched, yet they maintained a deliberate distance, refusing to close the gap.

“If you seek something, let me help you,” Changying said, her voice hurried and breathless, as though afraid she had arrived too late.