GD Ch. 66

Chapter 66: Why Not Be Done With It?

The Obsidian Dragon spoke in human language, its voice filled with a biting intensity. Despite its apparent weakness, it exuded an aura of undeniable authority.

With a thunderous crash, its massive tail slammed into the ground, creating several fissures. The grass beneath it was already scarred, yet not a single scale had fallen from the dragon’s body. Those scales were incredibly tough, akin to an impenetrable suit of armor.

Fireflies danced over the short grass, their glow faint and almost useless for illumination, resembling more the soft shimmer of moonlight.

Changying clenched her teeth, suddenly twisting her dragon body. She lifted half of her form into the air, only to come crashing down, her head colliding with the rugged, uneven ground below.

In that instant, it felt as though the mountains were crumbling and the earth splitting apart. Even the seawater above trembled, yet the barrier remained unbroken, steadfast and unmoved.

The Obsidian Dragon continued to pound its head against the ground, the deafening roar echoing endlessly. The water in the marsh splashed violently, and even the withered trees protruding from it creaked and bent under the force.

The dragon’s horns, now stained with blood, resembled two bloodied swords.

The surroundings were pitch black, and Zhuyou couldn’t see the blood, but the heavy scent of it filled her nostrils. She herself was unharmed, so the blood could only be Changying’s.

“You’re hurt,” Zhuyou murmured, her heart in turmoil. Her hands trembled slightly as she bit her lower lip. She flipped her palm, but nothing happened—she still couldn’t summon the Phoenix Fire.

She didn’t know where Changying was injured, but the overwhelming smell of blood grew stronger, as if it were dripping beneath her own nose.

Changying remained silent. Seeing Zhuyou attempt to approach, she relaxed her clenched jaw and let out another deafening roar.

As the dragon’s roar faded, the fish swimming in the Cold Eye darted away, and the ensuing gust of wind forced Zhuyou to slide back several dozen feet.

Zhuyou barely managed to steady herself, her lower back hitting a hard, dry branch. The branch snapped with a crack and fell into the rippling marsh.

Changying’s head throbbed with unbearable pain, the agony spreading from her skull to her very soul. Her fragile po soul teetered on the edge, as if it might vanish at any moment.

Yet, she refused to let herself become numb to sorrow and anger, or to joy and worry.

When she first regained her physical form, she was disoriented, unaware of the passage of time. Even after hatching from her egg, there was much she didn’t understand. Now that she had finally grasped the myriad emotions of the world, how could she simply let them go?

A surge of spiritual energy rushed toward her spiritual core, enveloping the fragile soul, nourishing and soothing it.

However, the injury to her soul wasn’t something that could be healed so easily. The pain remained unbearable, gnawing at her very essence.

Changying thrashed her tail, trying to mask the soul-rending agony with pain elsewhere. But she feared that if she let her guard down for even a moment, Zhuyou would step closer. Her eyes, already squeezed shut from the pain, refused to stay closed. She forced them open, catching sight of Zhuyou taking a few more steps forward.

Her dragon eyes, like enormous golden orbs, had vertical pupils as thin as blades. Though they gleamed with a golden hue, they radiated an icy coldness.

As she glared at Zhuyou with a fierce, almost predatory gaze, it was as if she were staring at a mortal enemy.

Zhuyou, under that intense stare, pressed forward against the cold, violent wind. No matter how much she tried to suppress the rising sorrow in her heart, she couldn’t push it back down.

Perhaps sensing her approach, the Obsidian Dragon lashed its tail more frantically.

With each strike against the ground, even the rock-hard black scales couldn’t remain unscathed.

Zhuyou placed a hand over her chest, her heart pounding so fiercely it felt suffocating. She could barely breathe, the sorrow welling up from her heart flooding her head, making her nose and eyes sting.

She felt like she might cry.

It was the same when she first became a devil, but back then, she was so filled with rage that she couldn’t shed a tear.

“Let me share your pain. Don’t be so stubborn,” she said.

But Changying wasn’t being stubborn; she simply didn’t want Zhuyou to bear a pain that wasn’t hers to endure. Whether it was the agony of having her bones gouged or her tendons severed, these were not pains Zhuyou should have to suffer.

Changying remained silent, her massive head dropping heavily to the ground. She lay still, her breathing so forceful it nearly uprooted the grass beside her.

She continued to glare at the approaching phoenix, her gaze icy and unyielding, as if she wanted to devour her whole.

Seeing that Changying hadn’t relented, Zhuyou stopped in her tracks, forcing herself to relax her shoulders and neck. She feigned nonchalance, glancing away as she said, “Fine, rest here for a few days.”

Only then did Changying let out a sigh of relief, slowly coiling her dragon body and resting her head on her torso, much like she did as a child.

It had been a long time since she had endured such pain. Three thousand years ago, she had eradicated the ancient Devil Clan. Because their bloodline was etched into their very souls, she had to hunt down every last fragment of their scattered souls and purge them.

Eventually, exhausted and overwhelmed, she fell into an ancient devil’s trap. Just before her annihilation, she split her po soul into seven parts and cast a spell to rebuild her physical form. The pain she endured then was far greater than what she felt now, but she had long since forgotten, her mind consumed by the present.

She suddenly looked up, confirming that Zhuyou hadn’t moved closer, and then closed her eyes, swallowing her groans of pain.

Just as she began to relax, a swift gust of wind brushed past her. She jerked her head up to see Zhuyou standing right before her.

Zhuyou bent down, placing her pale, soft hand on the dragon’s scales. Her fingers were slender and white, contrasting sharply with the hard, sharp scales beneath.

Changying’s heart jolted. She hadn’t expected Zhuyou to break her word so blatantly. She had acted as though she wouldn’t come closer, yet the moment Changying let her guard down, there she was.

Truly… a devil.

Changying was speechless, a lump of frustration stuck in her throat. How could this devil be so deceitful!

Zhuyou lowered her head, strands of silver hair falling onto the dragon’s scales. Though the scales should have been numb to such sensations, Changying felt an inexplicable itch.

The silver hair cascaded over the black scales like winding streams. As the strands brushed against her, Changying’s pain seemed to lessen ever so slightly, though she couldn’t understand why.

Having just reclaimed her seven souls, Changying had secluded herself for a century. She had only emerged a few days ago and hadn’t yet fully grasped the complexities of human emotions. So, she couldn’t comprehend why the touch of Zhuyou’s hair had eased her pain.

Was it because the strands were so soft? Or was it simply because Zhuyou had come so close?

Changying’s golden eyes widened, a mix of anger and helplessness in her gaze. Despite her majestic appearance, her silent fury made her seem almost pitiful.

Zhuyou gently moved her hand, feeling no guilt for teasing a dragon. After all, she had done such things countless times a century ago, back when Changying wasn’t so easily provoked.

The dragon scales beneath her palm overlapped neatly, their edges lightly grazing her fingertips. If she weren’t careful, they could easily slice her fingers, leaving behind several bloody cuts.

After a moment, she felt a damp spot. Lifting two fingers, she rubbed them together and sniffed—it was indeed blood.

However, she couldn’t tell where the blood was coming from; it wasn’t from the scales she had just touched.

Seeing that Changying didn’t retreat, Zhuyou grew even bolder, confident that the dragon wouldn’t harm her.

Compared to before, she now faced the dragon with much more composure. Though she still didn’t fully understand Changying’s feelings toward her, as long as she wasn’t dragged back to the Heavenly Palace, everything was manageable.

So what if she was the Nine Heavens’ Divine Venerable? She was still the same as a century ago, thrashing her tail and whimpering when in pain.

It was strange, though. How could a supposedly cold-blooded, emotionless dragon be so nostalgic?

Zhuyou leaned against the Obsidian Dragon, her current size not even matching one of its toes. She restrained her aura, afraid of startling the dragon that had finally allowed her to approach.

She followed the trail of blood, slowly moving upward. But Changying was coiled tightly, and the dragon’s massive form made it difficult for her to reach its head.

Changying’s golden eyes struggled to stay open, fluttering like heavy curtains, on the verge of closing but forcing themselves open again.

Zhuyou looked up at the dragon’s head and spoke softly, her tone almost enchanting, “Why don’t you make yourself smaller?”

Changying remained silent, too preoccupied with enduring the pain to respond.

Zhuyou stepped onto the dragon’s massive body as if climbing a staircase. Though it appeared she was stepping on the scales, she was actually floating lightly, her weight as insignificant as a feather. She was careful not to hurt Changying, her slender fingers gently brushing over the scales before finally pressing down. This way, even if Changying wanted to push her away, she couldn’t.

Calculating every move, she inched closer to the dragon’s head, her palm now wet with dragon blood.

Changying didn’t move, her trembling subsiding as she focused all her energy on suppressing the excruciating pain.

Zhuyou raised her hand, her thin sleeve slipping down to reveal her pale arm.

The slender arm swayed in front of Changying’s eyes. Despite the surrounding darkness, the arm seemed to glow, catching the dragon’s attention.

The devilish markings on Zhuyou’s arm resembled vines, twisting up to her shoulder before disappearing beneath her clothes.

Distracted, Changying didn’t notice Zhuyou grabbing hold of her horn until it was too late. She jerked her head violently, as if someone had stepped on her tail.

Zhuyou leaped into the air, landing lightly on the Obsidian Dragon’s head. She knelt, her knee pressing against the dragon’s forehead, and grasped the horn, her hand now drenched in blood. The horn, soaked in blood, felt as rough as mud.

Changying let out a low growl but remained still, afraid of shaking the devil off her head.

To her surprise, Zhuyou began channeling spiritual energy into her, the warm flow easing the pain in her skull.

Changying still hadn’t lifted the spell shielding her heart, unwilling to share her pain with Zhuyou. Her heavy eyelids drooped, and she nearly lost consciousness, but she managed to stay awake.

The pain in her skull lessened slightly, the continuous flow of spiritual energy warming her body as if Zhuyou were cradling her.

Zhuyou frowned, realizing that the dragon hadn’t changed much from her childish days—still like a bottomless pit, always ready to drain her spiritual energy. Fortunately, the poison in her eyes had been cured, so even if she expended a great deal of energy, she wouldn’t suddenly lose her vision.

Changying seemed to relax a little, her tightly coiled body loosening slightly.

Was the pain gone?

Zhuyou wasn’t sure if the dragon was truly free of pain, but seeing Changying’s breathing ease, she stopped and leaped down from the dragon’s head, landing back on the rugged grassland.

She remembered how, a century ago, she had asked Changying to give her the horn. Changying, perhaps unaware of its significance, had agreed without hesitation.

Now, the horn, which should have been perfectly intact, was bloodied from the dragon’s relentless thrashing. A few more hits, and it might break off entirely—then it really would be hers.

She couldn’t help but mutter, “You said you’d give me the horn, but you’d better keep it for yourself.”

Changying shifted slightly, though it was unclear if she had heard.

Above, the faint glow of the sea dimmed, signaling the concealment of the sun.

Zhuyou sat cross-legged on the ground, feeling uneasy. She pulled out a wisp of hun soul from her sleeve.

The soul showed no signs of fading, appearing stable.

But Zhuyou couldn’t relax. When she had grabbed it earlier, she had only managed to seize this single wisp. Without any markings, she couldn’t be sure if it was the one she was searching for outside the Turbid Mirror.

Still, having this wisp was better than nothing. As long as it remained intact, staying in the Turbid Mirror a little longer wouldn’t hurt.

Her brow furrowed. Perhaps it was because she was inside the Turbid Mirror, but she felt more fatigued than usual.

Just as she was about to close her eyes, she heard the dragon rustling the grass in the distance. She snapped back to attention, realizing she had let her guard down around the dragon.

It was as if they were meant to travel together, never having been apart.

Suddenly, she flicked her wrist, and a brush appeared between her fingers. The brush, made from phoenix feathers, was exquisitely crafted, its tip glimmering like starlight.

She tossed the brush into the air, her fingers forming a seal. The brush, as if aided by the wind, drew a perfect circle on the grass beside her. The circle, as round as the moon, enclosed Zhuyou completely, shielding her from even the slightest breeze.

Satisfied, Zhuyou put the brush away and closed her eyes to rest.

***

Outside the Turbid Mirror, Hanzhu stood in the corridor all night, her eyes wide open, not moving an inch, as if rooted to the spot.

The inn’s staff passed by frequently. The first time he saw her standing outside the room, he thought she had been locked out. But hours later, she was still there, unmoving.

The waiter, curious, cautiously approached, peeking around the corner to observe her.

At first glance, he was almost scared out of his wits—this girl didn’t even blink!

He mustered his courage and called out, “Miss!” 

Hanzhu finally turned her head, following the sound, and slowly let out a breath.

“Locked outside?” The young waiter quickly asked.

Hanzhu originally didn’t want to respond, but recalling that Mistress had instructed her to talk to the waiter, she shook her head. “I just like standing here. It’s cooler outside.”

The waiter frowned and asked in a hushed voice, “But I’ve seen you standing here for days. Aren’t you tired or sleepy?”

“Oh? Do you want to stand with me all night and see for yourself?” Half of Hanzhu’s face was illuminated by the moonlight. She curled her lips into a smile—one that carried an eerie chill.

The waiter spun around in a panic, as if a ghost were chasing him, and dashed down the stairs.

Hanzhu let out a brief chuckle, but in the next moment, her smile faded. She wasn’t afraid of being locked outside—what she feared was her mistress being trapped inside the Turbid Mirror.

What was it like inside the Turbid Mirror? Was it pitch black? And what would that dragon do to her mistress? A shiver ran down Hanzhu’s spine. Surely that dragon wouldn’t imprison her mistress, would it? That would be disastrous.

***

However, inside the Turbid Mirror, Zhuyou wasn’t imprisoned. It was just that the dragon, the only one capable of taking her out, seemed unable to wake up.

When she woke up, she saw that the protective circle beside her was still intact, and in the distance, the dragon remained coiled on the ground.

What an enormous dragon—so vast that the phrase “devour the heavens and drink the seas” wouldn’t be an exaggeration.

Zhuyou felt helpless, as if her bitter heart had been crushed. A wave of sourness surged to her nose and eyes. After much deliberation, she finally lifted her leg and stepped out of the circle, walking toward Changying. Reaching out, she placed her warm palm against the dragon’s scales within her reach.

Yet, Changying remained motionless.

It wasn’t until half a day later that the enormous dragon suddenly transformed into a human. The grassy field, once filled to the brim by its massive form, instantly became spacious again, leaving only a lone figure standing in its place.

Changying exhaled a long breath, tilting her head back. Her jet-black hair cascaded down her back. Her fair face was expressionless, her lips still deathly pale. In the instant she took human form, the overwhelming pressure around her nearly broke free, surging outward as a biting wind.

Immediately, the trees trembled, and their gnarled roots tore from the earth. A loud crash sounded from the distance—perhaps the marsh had suffered.

But in a blink, Changying abruptly raised her hand, and the wind ceased. The trees remained askew as if frozen in place. She retracted all the pressure, turning it into a soft, misty rain.

In that moment, the drizzle fell as gently as finely woven silk, as if tiny holes had been pierced in the sky’s barrier.

But if that barrier had truly been punctured, what would have fallen wouldn’t be a soft drizzle—it would have been a torrential downpour.

The misty rain slowly descended, shrouding everything in a veil of moisture, rendering the world hazy and indistinct.

Even the coldness on Changying’s face seemed to soften slightly. Strands of her hair clung to her face, damp with rain, turning into inky locks.

As the raindrops touched the ground, the previously flattened grass suddenly straightened, and the cracks in the earth gradually closed. The once-exposed soil was swiftly covered in a lush green, leaving not a single trace of barren land in sight.

In an instant, the land beneath them was restored to its original state, as if no scars had ever marred it.

Changying lifted her gaze. Her eyes, veiled in mist, were gentle and tranquil.

Zhuyou stood up and looked directly at her. But now, the dragon’s horns were no longer visible—was the wound completely healed?

“Does it still hurt?” she asked.

Changying nodded slightly. Her gaze fell on Zhuyou’s sleeves—she knew that within the mist-like folds lay a fragment of the Devil Lord’s soul.

That soul—she could not allow Zhuyou to take it out of the Turbid Mirror.

Zhuyou was just about to ask when they could leave when she suddenly felt another surge of spiritual energy erupt from Changying. The cold wind whipped outward, and she quickly raised her hand to shield her face.

Changying’s expression turned icy.

When she had returned to the Heavenly Palace, she had immediately summoned Jingyi and secretly left a wisp of divine consciousness attached to her. But now, that divine consciousness had been expelled and had returned to her.

Zhuyou, unaware of the cause of her sudden fury, frowned and asked, “Does it hurt again?”

Changying fell into silence, her lips pressed tightly together.

Zhuyou truly believed the dragon was in pain again. She stepped forward once more, pressing her palm against Changying’s forehead. If she remembered correctly, Changying’s horns should have been right there.

But beneath her hand, there were no dragon horns—only a string of golden beads hanging against Changying’s forehead.

The moment she touched them, Zhuyou suddenly snapped back to her senses. This action felt far too intimate. Her fingers trembled, and she was about to withdraw her hand when Changying caught her wrist.

Holding her firmly, Changying spoke in a cold voice: “It’s not pain.”

***

Outside the Turbid Mirror, the East Sea was anything but calm. The sky was thick with dark clouds, and a bolt of white lightning suddenly tore through the heavens, splitting the sky with a deafening crack.

The sea churned in fury, roiling as though it were boiling over.

Beneath the waves, Jingyi had locked herself away in a chamber. She curled up in the corner, covering her ears, trembling uncontrollably.

A voice whispered insidiously in her ear—a voice she hadn’t heard in a long time.

If you’re so afraid… why not just die and be done with it?