Great Demon - Chapter 102 Part 1

Changying didn’t respond, her eyes dark and intense as she stared at her, as if she were about to grind her teeth to dust.

She’s really angry, Zhuyou thought.

Changying stood at the lakeshore she had carved out herself. Just one step forward, and she would be standing in the Liqueur Spring, drawn from Mount Danxue. Her hand trembled slightly at her side as she spoke in a cold voice, “Something as precious as a reverse scale—most people wouldn’t even dare to hope for one.”

“It is indeed valuable,” Zhuyou said, twirling the crimson sash around her waist between her fingers. “But it shouldn’t be with me.”

“My reverse scale can keep you safe.” Changying spoke slowly, her golden eyes fixed on the Vermillion Phoenix perched in the parasol tree. She was already slender, but now, with every muscle tensed, she looked even more like a sharpened blade.

Zhuyou placed her whole palm over her lower abdomen and refused to back down. “I do not seek safety.”

At these words, the barely restrained look in Changying’s eyes grew even colder. She opened her mouth like a fish gasping for air, exhaling slowly.

Zhuyou had never seen Changying like this before—her entire presence brimming with lethal intent, as if she were ready to tear her apart and swallow her whole. For a moment, Zhuyou hesitated, unsure whether she should accept or reject the reverse scale. She stayed silent for a long while, unwilling to meet Changying’s piercing gaze. Only after forcing herself to suppress a shiver did she feign composure and say, “I understand that you gave me the reverse scale to protect me. But at the time, you had yet to regain your original form, and neither had I. Now that I can protect myself, there is no need for it to remain in my spiritual sea.”

Changying did not speak. Her hand, hanging by her side, clenched tightly, as if she were holding something back. Her once round pupils unknowingly shifted into vertical slits, and a small patch at the corner of her eye darkened.

It wasn’t ink—it was dragon scales.

One by one, the scales emerged at her eye’s corner and along her temples, slowly creeping across her delicate face, which was pale and smooth as jade.

Yet, even with dragon scales, her face did not lose its beauty. Instead, it stripped away some of her distant coldness, leaving behind something more eerie, more enigmatic.

Three thousand years ago, the Slayer God who crushed the ancient devils must have looked like this—never some delicate flower clinging to a cliffside. She was no delicate bloom; she was black to the core.

Changying had been restraining herself all this time. That was the only reason she had not revealed this side of herself in front of Zhuyou before.

This… this was who she truly was.

Zhuyou froze for a moment, then, unable to hold back any longer, averted her gaze. It felt as if she were forcing Changying into doing something terrible. Her lips parted slightly, and she toyed with the sash around her waist, saying, “Everyone has a weakness. For dragons, it’s their reverse scale. If I find myself in danger, I do not wish for you to turn back for me.” She paused, then added, “Don’t turn back.”

The dragon scales at Changying’s eye corner spread wildly across her cheek, creeping like vines. Sensing the growing hostility in her own gaze, she lowered her head slightly and said in an indifferent tone, “The moment you began restoring your spirit form, you had already abandoned the idea of keeping yourself safe, hadn’t you?”

Zhuyou didn’t answer. This time, she was the one who fell silent.

“Do you think Guanshang can take your life? Or are you afraid I’ll lose my mind?” Changying’s voice was eerily calm, as if she were discussing something trivial. She took a slow step forward, hovering above the Liqueur Spring.

Zhuyou’s grip on her sash loosened slightly. “I do not act for the sake of the Nine Heavens. But the duties I took on when I first entered this world are etched into my spirit like an obsession—I cannot retreat. I do not seek safety; I seek peace for the Three Realms.”

“I seek peace for the Three Realms as well,” Changying said coldly.

Zhuyou had wanted to ask: If that is so, then why won’t you take back the reverse scale? Why leave your weakness in another’s hands?

But before she could, Changying suddenly spoke. “Do you know why I saved you three thousand years ago?”

“Why?” Zhuyou had an inkling but didn’t want to say it aloud.

Changying raised a hand and ran a fingertip over the dragon scales at her eye’s corner. The dark scales slowly faded, but her eyes did not return to normal. Lifting her gaze, she said, “Because in my eyes, the Three Realms cannot be without you.”

Zhuyou’s fingers finally slipped from her sash. She had long known that this dragon harbored such feelings for her, but…

But Changying was too serious. So serious that every time she looked at her, it was as if she were afraid she would vanish like smoke the moment she blinked.

Zhuyou’s breath hitched. She inhaled sharply, then exhaled in a hushed voice. “I will not disappear so easily. This life is yours—given by you. Even if the Heavenly Dao decrees my death, I will ensure that my final breath belongs to you.”

Changying shot up into the air as if she were about to explode from rage.

A tree branch suddenly dipped under weight—Changying had landed on it.

Zhuyou’s wrist was caught in an unrelenting grip, her bones nearly crushed. Yet, Changying was still holding back. If she weren’t, there was no way Zhuyou’s hand could still rest idly on her sash.

A sudden sense of unease settled over Zhuyou. Her eyelashes trembled as she felt Changying’s heavy breaths against her neck.

Right beside her ear, Changying’s voice was cold and sharp. “Fine. Then I’ll take it back.”

Zhuyou froze.

With a sudden motion, Changying flung out her hand, sending ice and snow swirling through the air, burying the unconscious Su Wenqing beneath a thick layer of frost.

Zhuyou watched her without moving. Seeing the fury burning in her expression, anyone who didn’t know better would have thought she was the Vermillion Phoenix instead.

She herself wasn’t sure what she felt now, so she couldn’t fully empathize with the dragon’s emotions. All she could think was that an angry dragon… looked quite fierce.

Then, after a moment, another thought struck her.

Why is she getting mad at me? All I did was ask her to take back her reverse scale. It’s not like I was asking for her life.

Changying released Zhuyou’s wrist and even pushed aside the hand she had placed on her sash. Taking hold of the sash herself, she slowly pulled it loose.

Zhuyou felt a little embarrassed, but since this was only a physical body, she forced the strange sensation deep down.

It was like peeling husks off an ear of corn—layer by layer, stripping it bare. Once peeled and steamed, it was ready to be eaten.

Even though most of her clothing had slipped off, with the embroidered gauze robe now hanging precariously on the parasol tree, swaying in the fierce wind as if it might fall at any moment, she did not feel cold. It was as if a fire had ignited within her, a phoenix flame threatening to steam her through and through.

The howling wind and heavy snowfall filled the surroundings, yet the snow never managed to cover the parasol tree like a wintry canopy. The flakes melted before they even touched the branches, as if the tree itself was a steaming furnace, steadily releasing waves of heat.

The parasol tree was warm. Zhuyou was warm, too.

So warm that even her fingertips and the corners of her eyes seemed tinged with rouge, pink blooming beneath her pale complexion.

Her skin was as white as jade, and the slightest touch of red made it all the more striking.

Zhuyou had never understood how the reverse scale had embedded itself in her spiritual sea, nor did she know how to remove it. If she had, she would have done so long ago.

Changying’s gaze was dark, as if she truly intended to devour her. When she parted her lips, sharp teeth flashed—though the dragon scales on her face had receded, her fangs had emerged instead.

Zhuyou, afraid this dragon might bite her throat, reached out with one delicate, pale finger and pressed it against Changying’s lips. If she pressed any further, her fingertip would brush against those sharp teeth.

Changying lowered her eyes and, without warning, took that slender finger into her mouth, her dragon fangs grazing the soft pad of Zhuyou’s fingertip in a teasing bite.

This wasn’t grinding her teeth—it was stoking the fire in Zhuyou’s heart.

Zhuyou abruptly withdrew her hand and, realizing that Changying was about to pull at her silk dress as well, quickly pressed down on her wrist.

The fingers pressing against Changying’s hand were burning, as if they had caught fire.

“How do you remove it?” Zhuyou held her hand in place.

“I’ve never taken it out before. Let’s try.” Changying’s voice was indifferent, making it impossible to tell whether she was truly intent on removing it.

Zhuyou had the vague feeling she was being deceived, but she couldn’t quite accuse Changying outright. Narrowing her eyes slightly, she said, “Then hurry up. Once it’s out, I’ll take Qiao Fengsheng to the Demon Realm. Shangxi City has already become a devil’s lair—I’d rather not bring him into the city, and I may not be able to keep him safe. You’d best be quick.”

“I will be.” Changying spoke the words, but her fingers were still lightly toying with the fabric of Zhuyou’s dress.

Zhuyou’s lips felt parched. She swallowed hard and asked, “What are you trying to do?”

Changying didn’t respond, but the dragon scales at the corners of her eyes flickered in and out of sight, as if she was losing control.

Zhuyou suddenly realized something and awkwardly said, “That scene wasn’t in the painting.”

Changying blinked her golden eyes and replied in a calm, frosty tone, “I must have remembered wrong. In the painting, the two figures were pressed together, the woman below with her skirt lifted high, while the other woman reached inside, as though playing with the petals of a flower, teasing the one beneath until her legs tensed, her jade toes curling tight.”

Zhuyou’s eyes widened in shock. She raised a hand and firmly covered the dragon’s endlessly chattering mouth.

Changying didn’t move to remove her silk dress. Instead, she placed her hand over Zhuyou’s abdomen, the warmth seeping through the soft fabric.

Zhuyou finally lowered her hand and said with some difficulty, “Stop looking at those strange things in the future.”

“What’s strange about them?” Changying asked.

Zhuyou pursed her lips and didn’t answer. At that moment, the silent reverse scale within her spiritual sea seemed to stir, suddenly releasing a wave of chilling energy.

Yet that energy belonged to Changying, and naturally, it could not harm Zhuyou in the slightest.

Zhuyou closed her eyes, sensing the faint tremor of the scale within her. With each quiver, it was as though a blade was being sharpened inside her spiritual sea. The edges of a dragon’s scale were already sharp—now, its reverberating energy cut through her like a curved blade, scraping against the walls of her spiritual sea.

Her tightly shut eyelids trembled as she furrowed her brows and urged, “Hurry up.”

Changying’s hands moved slowly, gliding from Zhuyou’s abdomen up to her chest, until finally, it felt as though the scale had lodged itself in her throat.

Zhuyou frowned. The sensation of something stuck in her throat was unbearable, and the corners of her eyes turned red, the phoenix markings deepening in color.

But just as suddenly, Changying withdrew her hand.