GD Ch. 62 Part 2

Chapter 62: Real of Fake?

The snake was incredibly clingy. After biting her wrist, it coiled around her arm, refusing to let go. No matter how hard she tried to pull it off, it clung tightly, as if nailed to her wrist. If she tried to remove it, it would open its tiny mouth, threatening to bite.

What a temper! Others might think she had adopted a pet snake, but she knew better—this was no pet; it was a little tyrant.

The snake’s body was icy cold, as if it had been raised on ice. If it weren’t for her phoenix blood protecting her, her wrist would have gone numb from the cold.

“Why won’t you leave?” Zhuyou raised her wrist, narrowing her eyes at the snake, half-hoping it could understand her. When the snake remained motionless, she sighed and added, “I already threw you away once, yet you insist on clinging to me. Do you want to be tossed again? Is being thrown into the air really that fun?”

The snake seemed to understand. It shook its head and bared its tiny fangs again.

“Oh, I’m so scared,” Zhuyou said flatly.

The snake lowered its head, pressing it against her wrist bone, and stopped moving altogether, not even baring its fangs anymore.

Outwardly, Zhuyou appeared calm, but inside, she was in turmoil.

Her soul felt as if it were being split in two. One half wanted to throw the snake away again, while the other half wanted to cradle it close and never abandon it.

She racked her brain but couldn’t find any clues as to why she didn’t want to see the immortals, why she didn’t want to return to Mount Danxue, or why… she didn’t want to keep this snake by her side.

It wasn’t resentment or disgust—it was simply that she didn’t want to keep it.

How annoying. She didn’t want to see anyone or get close to anyone, yet this snake had barged into her life and insisted on clinging to her.

The snake’s temper was truly terrible. It ignored her when she spoke, but the moment she tried to pull it away, it would coil tightly around her, its golden eyes glaring fiercely, looking utterly ferocious.

Such a tiny creature, and it dared to act so fierce?

Zhuyou wandered aimlessly until her eyes caught sight of a sign that read “Lianchun Tower.” Her gaze was drawn to it, and her heart seemed to follow. She turned on her heel and walked toward it.

Inside the tower, a storyteller snapped his folding fan shut and tapped it against a wooden table, proclaiming loudly, “Speaking of that day, it was truly earth-shattering! Even the ten thousand ghosts wailed in terror. The Devil-Suppressing Tower—crack—shattered into dust in an instant!”

Zhuyou didn’t know what event the storyteller was referring to, but hearing about the Buddhist tower being reduced to dust filled her with an odd sense of delight. She thought to herself, Oh, how impressive.

After taking a seat, the snake on her wrist slithered onto the table. A waiter soon brought over a dish.

When the waiter lifted the lid, the dish inside emitted no steam and looked rather peculiar.

What… was this pile of spirit stones?

Zhuyou looked up in surprise, but the waiter had already walked away.

This couldn’t be right. Mortals wouldn’t eat something like this. Was she the one who had gone mad, or had the mortals lost their minds?

It seemed the snake’s brain might also be a bit off, as it kept lunging toward the spirit stones. What kind of snake eats spirit stones?

Zhuyou panicked and quickly flipped the bowl over, trapping the black snake underneath, afraid it might get sick from eating something so unnatural. 

The rim of the bowl nearly crushed the snake’s tail, but luckily, the snake curled its tail in just in time, avoiding disaster.

Zhuyou couldn’t help but feel a pang of frustration. It felt as if she had done this before—trapped something under a bowl. But… she had never kept a snake before.

She turned her gaze toward the private room across from her and noticed that the people inside had blurry faces, as if they lacked eyes or noses. Yet, the dishes on their table were ordinary, nothing like the spirit stones.

This was strange. The human world was far too strange.

Suddenly, Zhuyou’s head began to ache violently. She propped her head up with her elbow, her thoughts muddled. Was she really in the human world?

Was this truly the human world? Was the human world supposed to be like this?

As the pain in her head intensified, the world around her seemed to spin. She lifted the overturned bowl and saw the black snake staring at her with icy, indifferent eyes.

She thought to herself, This shouldn’t be happening. I don’t crave this fleeting comfort.

This wasn’t what she wanted. This wasn’t… the human world.

At this realization, her heart turned cold, as if all her resentment and longing had frozen into ice, numbing her pounding heart.

The surroundings twisted as if caught in a whirlpool. The buildings contorted, and the figures of mortals tangled together. People and objects blended like pigments stirred into a dye vat, becoming indistinguishable.

Zhuyou’s mind suddenly cleared. She remembered—this wasn’t the human world. She was inside the Turbid Mirror. The mirror had clouded her vision and confused her senses, nearly trapping her in this false tranquility.

No wonder the mirror was named “Turbid.” Its surface was murky not because it reflected the outlines of objects, but because it reflected—

The human heart.

Greed, anger, obsession, and resentment were all mirrored within. Those with weak wills would be trapped forever, unable to wake.

If she hadn’t been slandered two hundred years ago, if her immortal bones hadn’t been stripped and her meridians severed, perhaps the magpie immortals and auspicious grass would still be by her side. Perhaps she would have been the one waiting on Mount Danxue for the Dragon Clan to propose marriage. But whether she would have met Changying… that was uncertain.

None of this was what she had wanted. But since it had already happened, there was no turning back.

Zhuyou quickly stood up, only to find the world around her once again plunged into chaos. She couldn’t find her way out.

As she rose, the wooden table in front of her sank into the ground, and the bowl on it clattered to the floor.

Zhuyou looked down and saw the black dragon lying on the ground. Unlike the bowl, it hadn’t shattered. Instead, it lifted its head to look at her. The snake looked exactly like Changying when she had first hatched. Even Zhuyou couldn’t tell the difference.

“You…” Zhuyou hesitated, remembering that Changying had entered the Turbid Mirror with her. She couldn’t be sure if this black dragon was really Changying.

Suddenly, the snake on the ground grew longer and transformed into a tall, slender woman. It was indeed Changying.

Her hair was ink-black, her robes dark, and her face pale, with cold golden eyes.

Changying lifted her gaze, the golden ornament on her forehead swaying slightly, softening her otherwise cold expression. She was too aloof, like a god high above the Nine Heavens, indifferent to the sufferings of the human world, concerned only with cause and effect.

Zhuyou came to her senses. No, it wasn’t just an impression—Changying truly was like that.

A century had passed, and the dragon she had raised had become a Divine Venerable of the Nine Heavens. This Divine Venerable carried her heart’s blood within her.

The dragon, which had been lying peacefully on the ground, had now taken human form, her aura sharp and imposing. Zhuyou couldn’t help but take half a step back.

Seeing the confusion in Zhuyou’s eyes and her cautious retreat, Changying softened her gaze slightly and said, “That was your heart’s demon, an illusion within the Turbid Mirror. I was caught in it and have only now regained my form.”

Zhuyou was momentarily speechless. So that pitch-black creature really had been Changying. No wonder she couldn’t shake it off.

Changying spoke calmly, “I thought… that was what you desired.”

“No,” Zhuyou turned her head to glance at her. “That wasn’t what I wanted.” It was the Turbid Mirror’s trick to cloud her vision. Though she had once been filled with resentment and confusion, her heart was now clear.

After this ordeal, she would no longer foolishly cling to the past.

“Then when you took me with you earlier, was that not what you truly wanted?” Changying asked, her gaze unwavering.

For a moment, Zhuyou wondered if Changying would feel pain if she nodded. She didn’t want to admit that, in the midst of the chaotic illusion, she had followed her heart and taken Changying with her.

Seeing her hesitation, Changying lowered her eyes and said calmly, “I understand.”

Zhuyou frowned slightly, feeling a pang of discomfort. She forced a smile and teased, “Even a Divine Venerable of the Nine Heavens can be trapped in the Turbid Mirror?”

Changying lifted her golden eyes, her expression indifferent. “I wasn’t trapped. I simply chose not to leave. If you were lost in the illusion, I would have brought you out.” She added. “You know I haven’t changed. If I say I won’t harm you, I won’t.”

Perhaps it was the intensity of Changying’s gaze, but Zhuyou’s pupils trembled slightly. “What hasn’t changed?” she asked.