GD Ch. 67

Chapter 67: What Consequences?

After death, one finds liberation, and no longer needs to live in constant fear, the voice continued.

Jingyi covered her ears, but the voice did not diminish; it remained crystal clear, as if someone were whispering directly into her ear. She suddenly turned her head, but saw no one. There was no trace of anyone hiding nearby. Who was it?

Who was speaking in her ear?

The voice was truly strange, as if several people were whispering in her ear simultaneously, making it sound neither distinctly male nor female.

A thought suddenly surged in her mind: if only she could cut off her own ears. The moment this thought emerged, she was terrified by it. Even more horrifying was that her hands had already gathered spiritual energy, as if she were about to harm herself.

She pressed her hands down forcefully, gripping the hem of her clothes tightly, afraid that she might be bewitched by the voice into taking her own life.

She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to die.

But the voice in her ear did not leave. Every word felt like a hammer striking her heart.

Her heart pounded wildly, and she couldn’t help but ask in a trembling, hushed voice, “Who are you?” If she spoke too loudly, she feared the maids outside might hear. She couldn’t let anyone know.

The voice, neither male nor female, replied, I am you.

Jingyi was horrified, nearly scared out of her wits. “You are not me! You are not me! Over two hundred years ago, you tried to seduce me like this, and now you’re doing it again. What are you plotting?”

“Had it not been for my help, you would have died long ago,” the voice whispered softly in her ear.

“But now that I’m living well, you want me to die!” Jingyi couldn’t help raising her voice slightly. As soon as the words left her mouth, she quickly covered it, her eyes darting nervously toward the door.

Outside, it was silent. No one should have heard.

She thought about casting a spell to trap the voice within the room, but as soon as she began to move her wrist, she stopped abruptly.

No, if she called for help and no one heard, what would she do?

Terrified, she stiffly turned her neck, scanning the room once more. There was indeed no one else besides her.

Suddenly, a mocking laugh echoed in her ear. Don’t deceive yourself. The Nine Heavens’ Divine Venerable has already noticed something strange about you.

At these words, Jingyi was instantly filled with shame and anger. She gritted her teeth and said, “What’s strange about me? I am a divine offspring of the Phoenix Clan, and now I am the wife of the Dragon Clan’s crown prince. What’s strange about that?”

You must have forgotten that over two hundred years ago, you went to Shenhua Mountain and saw a devil gate there. You almost walked through it, the voice said slowly, tugging at her memories.

Jingyi’s head throbbed with pain. At that time, her soul was incomplete, and she shouldn’t have been able to remember anything. But this voice kept whispering in her ear, making it impossible for her to forget.

As she recalled that day, her entire body trembled like a sieve. Unintentionally, she held her breath for too long, nearly suffocating herself.

Gasping for air, her face pale, she hurriedly said, “I don’t remember! Stop talking!”

You remember. How could you not? Back then, in that ravine, you violated heavenly law and killed a mortal!

Jingyi raised her arms again, covering her ears with her sweaty palms.

At the time, you didn’t believe you could pass through the devil gate unscathed, but you were seen by a mortal who had fallen into the ravine. The mortal was horrified and called you a devil, but you insisted he acknowledge you as a celestial.

“I… I…” Jingyi’s head felt like it was splitting open, and her hands trembled as they pressed against her ears.

When he refused, you flew into a rage and beat him half to death. Unexpectedly, the devilish energy at the bottom of the ravine obeyed your command and devoured the flesh on his legs, leaving only bones. After that, do you still think you’re not a devil?

“I’m not a devil! How could I be a devil?” Jingyi curled up in the corner, wishing she could bury herself underground. In her agony, she couldn’t help but say, “He was the one who insisted on calling a celestial a devil. He was the one with devilish thoughts. I didn’t mean to kill him. I was just eliminating a threat to the Three Realms!”

Was it him who had devilish thoughts… or was it you?

“Not me!” Jingyi quickly denied.

If you didn’t have devilish thoughts, why did you listen to me and frame the phoenix? If you didn’t have devilish thoughts, why did you steal her Burning-Heart Wood? Why did you deliberately take her feathers and stab them into your own back?

The voice spoke slowly, each word like a cold blade cutting into her heart.

“I was just tempted by you! I didn’t… I didn’t want to do those things!” Jingyi immediately retorted.

But you did them. You did them with your own hands. The voice let out a disdainful laugh, then added meaningfully, Even if you hadn’t done those things, you would still be a devil. Even if you were born in the Nine Heavens, you would still be a devil.

These words struck Jingyi like a bolt of lightning. She shuddered and buried her head even lower.

She often wondered why she was a devil. She was a divine offspring of the Phoenix Clan—how could she be a devil?

Her sister was born with a divine aura, beloved wherever she went. But Jingyi… it seemed she was born a devil.

Born with an incomplete soul, she had once thought she might be the reincarnation of an ancient god. But when her arm passed through the devil gate, she realized she was no reincarnated god. She was… a devil.

A devil who should have remained in the shadows but was instead born in the Nine Heavens.

What was this? Fate?

The voice seemed to hear her thoughts and sneered, It’s not fate. It’s because I wanted you to be reborn into the Phoenix Clan, to hide among them and survive. It’s because I wanted to divert disaster elsewhere.

“Who are you?” Jingyi demanded sharply.

Me? the voice drawled. Didn’t I already tell you? You are me, and I am you. I just didn’t expect that after you completed your soul, you would escape one calamity but become… less obedient.

“If you are me, then why do you want me to die? What good would my death do you?” Jingyi asked, her voice trembling.

Good? It would do a great deal of good. Even if you don’t seek death, the Divine Venerable will kill you. She will execute you on the Immortal Execution Platform, in front of everyone, exposing all that you’ve done. She will let everyone know that you… are the devil who deserves punishment the most.

Jingyi truly wanted to die. If that were the case, it would be better to end her own life.

When Zhuyou was being punished on the Immortal Execution Platform, Jingyi stood by and watched. The sorrow was palpable, and she felt it deeply.

How about it? the voice asked.

How about it?

Jingyi’s mind was in turmoil. She didn’t want to be executed on the Immortal Execution Platform, nor did she want to be condemned by others. If that were the case, she might as well end her own life.

She shook her head violently, like a rattle-drum, as if trying to shake these thoughts out of her mind.

After calming down a bit, she asked again, “You are not me. Who are you, really?”

Me? The voice chuckled. I am your… devilish thoughts.

***

Above the East Sea, dark clouds rolled in, as if a storm was approaching. Yet, within the Turbid Mirror, Cold Eye remained unchanged. Looking up, one could still see the sea.

After sunrise, the golden light spilled over the sea’s surface, but beneath Cold Eye, it was still pitch black, not even a glimmer of the shimmering waves above.

Zhuyou’s wrist was held gently but firmly by Changying, her slender fingers almost completely covering the back of Zhuyou’s hand.

“If it’s not pain, then what is it?” Zhuyou asked.

Changying shook her head, feeling as though a strand of divine consciousness had been plucked from Jingyi’s body and merged into her own. Her expression darkened, unsure how this strand of consciousness had escaped her control. It was impossible for Jingyi to have done this on her own.

Jingyi was unaware that someone else’s consciousness had been attached to her, so how could she have the ability to sever it?

“What’s going on? Has something gone wrong with the Turbid Mirror?” Zhuyou looked up toward the vast sea, which loomed like a dark cloud, immense and unfathomable. She frowned, thinking to herself that she couldn’t even escape Cold Eye, let alone the Turbid Mirror.

Everything within the mirror felt so real, almost indistinguishable from the outside world. If someone else were to enter, they might never want to leave.

“The Turbid Mirror is intact,” Changying said, still gripping Zhuyou’s thin wrist tightly.

The wrist was too thin, almost nothing but bone, as if it could break at any moment.

She lowered Zhuyou’s hand from her forehead, finally realizing Zhuyou’s earlier concern, and said calmly, “The dragon horn is fine now.”

Zhuyou had intended to withdraw her hand, but Changying suddenly tightened her grip. The moment her wrist was seized, the guard she had let down shot back up to her throat. Her breathing quickened, and she couldn’t help but look into Changying’s golden eyes.

Changying slowly lowered her gaze, her eyes landing on the mist-like hem of Zhuyou’s robe.

Zhuyou pursed her lips. She had been worried that Changying was in pain again, but now she realized that she should be worrying about herself. She had always known that Changying would never allow her to take that soul back, but the brief moments of their interaction had almost clouded her judgment.

Changying opened her mouth but didn’t mention the soul. Instead, she said, “We’ve been in the Turbid Mirror for several days now.”

Zhuyou didn’t want to respond.

“When my po soul was damaged, I nearly lost my mind. I kept reminding myself not to hurt you. I thought you might abandon me, but instead, you stayed by my side,” Changying spoke slowly, struggling to articulate such a long sentence.

Zhuyou was puzzled, her neatly arranged thoughts now in disarray. She calmly hid her free hand behind her back and said, “Your po soul was damaged because of me. How could I abandon you? I’m not that heartless.”

A devil claiming not to be heartless was, in fact, quite laughable.

Changying leaned closer, her gaze intense, as if trying to consume Zhuyou’s entire field of vision, forcing her to see nothing but herself. Changying’s eyes were cold and sharp, like blades. She didn’t want Zhuyou to stay out of mere guilt.

Zhuyou frowned, her emotions churning like waves. She quickly averted her gaze.

“Look at me,” Changying urged.

A hundred years ago, Zhuyou had summoned and dismissed Changying at will. Now that the tables had turned, Changying seemed a bit unused to it. She didn’t truly want Zhuyou to obey her every word. Zhuyou was fine as she was—just the sight of her was enough to make Changying’s heart flutter.

Zhuyou smirked but didn’t turn her head. “You’re quite domineering.”

“And what use is that domineering nature to you?” Changying retorted, sounding almost a little aggrieved.

Zhuyou thought to herself that it was indeed useless—she wasn’t swayed by such tactics. Her hidden hand slowly clenched, pressing against her lower back. She tried to pull her other hand free from Changying’s grip but failed. “Can we leave today?” she asked.

If they delayed any longer, her soul, separated from her body for too long, would suffer.

Seeing Zhuyou hide her hand behind her back, Changying guessed what she was thinking.

She knew what was hidden in the folds of Zhuyou’s robe—something Zhuyou couldn’t take out of the Turbid Mirror. It was a fragment of the Devil Lord’s hun soul, and touching it would bind one to ten lifetimes of karmic debt.

“Give it to me,” Changying said coldly.

Zhuyou had expected this. She raised her eyes, the phoenix patterns at the corners of her eyes seeming ready to take flight. Her eyes were innocent and glistening, yet there was no trace of weakness in them. “I need to take it out.”

Changying’s brow furrowed. “I will take you out of the Turbid Mirror, but there’s one thing you cannot bring with you.”

Though she didn’t say it explicitly, Zhuyou understood.

“Then you might as well leave me in the Turbid Mirror,” Zhuyou said, gambling on whether Changying would actually do it.

Changying stared at her for a moment, calm and cold, as if everything was under her control. “You know I won’t leave you in the Turbid Mirror. I want you to leave here unharmed.”

“But you also know that I entered the Turbid Mirror for that soul. If that’s the case, why did you bring me in?” Zhuyou met her gaze without fear, slowly pressing her point.

“You wanted to enter the Turbid Mirror, so I brought you in. But I only agreed to bring you in, not to take that soul out with us,” Changying said, her eyes icy and filled with a menacing aura. Her features, though beautiful, now seemed as sharp as a blade.

Zhuyou was stunned, feeling the vast spiritual energy radiating from Changying, like an endless tidal wave. The energy surged and churned, its sharpness overwhelming, instantly rendering her immobile. In that moment, she realized the vast gap between their power levels.

Since their reunion, she and the dragon had exchanged few words, mostly her asking questions and Changying answering stiffly. She had thought that after a hundred years in the heavens, Changying had become less articulate. But now, it seemed Changying had become quite sharp-tongued, leaving her momentarily speechless.

Zhuyou wasn’t flustered. In fact, she smiled. “Fine, then. You go ahead. I’ll find my own way out.”

Hearing this, Changying’s eyes narrowed sharply. “Do you know what consequences await after being trapped in the Turbid Mirror for too long?”

“What consequences?” Zhuyou remained indifferent.

“You know full well what happens when the hun soul and po soul are separated from the body for too long!” Changying felt a tightness in her chest, unsure whether this devil was truly feigning ignorance—deliberately causing her turmoil, forcing her to agree in the end.

Of course, Zhuyou knew. If the hun soul and po soul were separated from the body for too long, they would grow frail and fragile, easily torn apart. When that happened, she would suffer the agony of having her three hun souls and seven po souls ripped to shreds. But she would rather endure the pain if it meant taking this hun soul with her.

The pain of a fractured hun soul and po soul would only last for a moment, but if she didn’t bring this hun soul out now, she might have to wait an eternity—who knew how long—before she could do what she had set out to do.

She fixed her gaze on Changying. Before the dragon could strike first, a gleam of cold light suddenly flashed into her hands. The blade and sword tip were not smooth and continuous but jagged like outstretched branches, resembling sharpened, honed feathers.

With a swift downward slash, she aimed directly at the hands clasped together.

In that instant, Changying truly believed that Zhuyou had no regard for her own hand—such ruthless determination. Seeing the sword energy sweep toward them, she quickly let go.

Zhuyou’s mocking smile had faded to the point of near indifference. With a flick of her wrist, her sword spun, forming a dazzling arc of light. As the cold gleam slashed through the air, it was suddenly stained with a deep crimson—blood-red, as though an inferno was about to consume everything.

That scarlet sword aura surged in an instant, rising like a web in midair. With a sharp twist of the blade, it spiraled toward the dragon with ink-black hair and robes, accompanied by a humming wind that howled.

In that brief moment, Zhuyou had already retreated a hundred feet away, her silver hair whipping across her face. She sent a thought through the air:

She sent a thought to Changying. Earlier you mentioned that the Cold Eye Herb’s petals and leaves could heal spiritual and soul injuries. Has the herb bloomed after a thousand years?

When she had crushed the plant’s flowers, leaves, and roots into juice before, she hadn’t expected she would need those petals again one day. She had consumed them all without hesitation. But now, if she truly had to endure the pain of hun soul and po soul injuries, wouldn’t finding another Cold Eye herb here solve the problem?

With just a lift of her arm, Changying shattered the blood-red sword aura. The crimson light crumbled instantly, scattering like fragments of jade and falling lightly to the ground. She had not expected Zhuyou to say such things, her brows furrowing tightly.

Zhuyou continued, That being the case, whether inside or outside the Turbid Mirror, I have already consumed both the flowers and roots of this herb. Would it make much of a difference once I leave?

Why must you torment yourself like this? Changying’s brows were deeply knit, watching as the distance between them grew. That figure was nearly impossible to track.

She feared that if she moved forward an inch, Zhuyou would retreat another inch. After finally finding her again after a hundred years, how could she bear to see her slip away once more?

Frustration burned in Changying’s chest, an unbearable vexation that made it impossible to suppress the killing intent in her gaze. Did that single hun soul of the Devil Lord truly matter so much? If Zhuyou wanted something, she could have just told her.

It was like a hundred years ago all over again. Back then, her entire body ached so much she could barely move. She had fought to take dragon form and give chase, but still, she had fallen, her bones shattered as though completely broken. She couldn’t catch up, couldn’t even see her.

Her golden eyes burned as she watched Zhuyou’s figure grow ever more distant—almost disappearing entirely.

Should she give chase? Should she press forward, step by step?

After shattering that scarlet sword aura, she blinked—and Zhuyou had already vanished. Her breath caught in her throat, and she immediately leaped forward, the wind tearing at her robes. In the blink of an eye, she had crossed several dozen feet.

As she moved, the immense spiritual energy surged forward like a grasping hand. Wherever it reached, water erupted, grass and wood splintered, and even the boundless ocean behind the barrier roared with thunderous waves.

Zhuyou dared not stop for even a moment. If she could not escape the thousand-year-old Cold Eye, how could she possibly escape the one from a thousand years ago? If there was no way out, at least she could still hide.

The blood at the tip of Changying’s heart churned wildly, boiling over as if igniting her once-frigid limbs. She had not wanted to push Zhuyou too hard, but she was terrified of being left behind again.

Even though… Zhuyou had never truly taken her along in the first place.

She recalled a time when she had been just a child, when she could still cling to Zhuyou without hesitation. Back then, Zhuyou had always indulged her, even when annoyed, her displeasure no more than a few words of protest.

Changying’s golden eyes lifted, a sudden realization dawning—

If she clung to Zhuyou as closely as she had back then, without ever leaving her side, would Zhuyou stop trying to keep her at arm’s length?

Zhuyou flew over the wetlands, releasing the hun soul she had hidden in her robes. Only by holding it tightly in her grasp did she feel at ease. When she turned back, she saw Changying still close behind—her slender figure suddenly transforming into a massive dragon.

The Obsidian Dragon’s tail dragged across the earth, shaking the entire Cold Eye realm as though it would split apart. Its fearsome claws stretched wide, as if intent on trapping its prey within its grasp.