Great Demon - Chapter 106

Pretty good, you’ve even learned to complain.

Although Changying’s expression remained impassive, as if she were indifferent to all emotions, the way she pressed her lips together made her look truly pitiful.

However, Zhuyou could see Changying’s true form at a glance. That Obsidian Dragon, with its golden eyes gleaming coldly, was baring its claws in an aggressive display—utterly fierce and menacing. Hardly some delicate little white flower clinging to a cliffside, battered by wind and rain.

Zhuyou gave a faint smile and said, “I ordered her not to expose my whereabouts, so of course, she had to deceive you.”

Changying’s hand twitched at her side, and with two slender fingers, she lightly pinched the edge of Zhuyou’s sleeve.

This dragon was not one to brazenly act pitiful. She simply held onto Zhuyou’s sleeve without a word, eyes lowered in silence, making it impossible not to feel sorry for her.

The Nine Heavens’ Obsidian Dragon shouldn’t have to suffer such grievances. But with her lips pressed together like that, it was as if she had fallen from the clouds—so much so that one couldn’t help but want to reach out and catch her.

“I’m not taking her side,” Zhuyou had no choice but to say.

Only then did Changying give a slight nod, still sulking. She looked pale, her brows tightly furrowed, and she remained silent, as if she were enduring something.

Zhuyou couldn’t tell where Changying had placed the Reincarnation Pool’s water, but seeing her in apparent pain, a thought suddenly arose. Her lips parted slightly, her breath caught, and she asked in a low voice, “Where did you put the water?”

“On me,” Changying said calmly.

Zhuyou frowned. “Take it out.”

Changying said nothing more. Instead, she breathed in restrainedly beside Zhuyou’s ear, enduring the tightness in her abdomen, and said slowly, “Enter the mustard seed space. Give me Qiao Fengsheng.”

Zhuyou narrowed her eyes. The hand that had been pushing Changying away suddenly grasped her shoulder, pulling her into the mustard seed space.

Inside, it was barren—vast and desolate plains stretched out, with wild grass and withered trees growing chaotically. Looking around, there wasn’t even a single river.

Yet, with just a glance, Changying spotted Qiao Fengsheng lying in the dirt.

His breathing was steady, eyes tightly shut—clearly still unconscious. But perhaps because he had been inside the mustard seed space for too long, his life force had weakened significantly.

A mortal’s body could not endure prolonged exposure to such a spiritual space. If left too long, it would consume him entirely.

Changying’s gaze darkened. She hadn’t been able to see clearly before in the Mortal Realm, but now she could take in Qiao Fengsheng’s features.

Although he had reincarnated as a human, his face still carried traces of the crane immortal—handsome and refined, with a gentle elegance.

Zhuyou wasn’t particularly interested in when Qiao Fengsheng would wake up. What she cared more about was that Changying was recklessly gambling with her own body. She didn’t get angry—perhaps because she no longer knew where anger should stem from. She only felt as though a fire was burning inside her, scorching her with frustration.

“The water?”

Changying placed a hand over her abdomen. “I swallowed it.”

Of course. Zhuyou clenched her jaw, momentarily at a loss as to how to make Changying understand that she was angry.

Changying remained silent, deep in thought, her gaze fixed on Qiao Fengsheng lying on the ground, as if she were still enduring something.

“I should be angry,” Zhuyou said coolly.

Changying lifted a hand and reached for Zhuyou’s brow, as if to smooth out the frown creased between her eyebrows.

Seeing that pale hand reaching toward her, Zhuyou instinctively leaned back, but she still ended up being pressed right in place.

Changying’s hand was cold—perhaps due to discomfort. A thin layer of cool sweat clung to her fingertips.

Zhuyou grabbed her hand and asked, “What are you planning to do?”

Though she posed the question, her gaze had already drifted to Changying’s slim waist, tightly bound by a sash. She had long known that dragons were like bottomless pits—forget just a Reincarnation Pool, an entire river or sea could be swallowed whole.

The Dragon Clan was born this way—insatiable, indulgent, never content.

“Watch and see,” Changying said softly, and the moment her words fell, she transformed into the Obsidian Dragon.

As she assumed her true form, a violent wind erupted, forcing Zhuyou back a step.

Her long silver hair whipped in the wind. Lifting her chin, she looked toward the Obsidian Dragon coiling in the air, letting out a low, guttural roar.

The dragon curled slightly, its massive body seemingly vast enough to blot out the sky. Its golden eyes gleamed as bright as the moon, vertical pupils sharp and frigid.

Zhuyou spared a glance at Qiao Fengsheng. The fierce wind pressed her black robes tightly against her frame, causing the collar to lift slightly—revealing a single dark, inverted scale embedded against her pale collarbone.

She stepped back, putting a distance of ten feet between herself and Qiao Fengsheng.

Suddenly, the Obsidian Dragon’s jaws widened. The raging winds surged upward, twisting into the sky—so strong that even Qiao Fengsheng, lying on the ground, was lifted into the air.

The wind, carrying dust and debris, howled as it rose. Suspended in midair, Qiao Fengsheng was drawn toward the dragon’s gaping maw. Compared to the colossal creature, his fragile mortal body was like a mere speck of dust.

In the next instant, he plunged into the dragon’s mouth. The Obsidian Dragon’s sharp fangs snapped shut, sealing him inside as its blood-red maw closed completely.

Qiao Fengsheng was… swallowed into the dragon’s belly.

Zhuyou immediately understood—so the Reincarnation Pool had truly been placed inside Changying’s stomach. This dragon had used its own body as a vessel to carry the water.

The reason the Reincarnation Pool could not leave the Nine Heavens was that nowhere else contained such abundant divine power. Without the nourishment of divine power, the water would lose its effectiveness and become even less potent than ordinary dew in the mortal world.

Zhuyou frowned, staring intently at the Obsidian Dragon suspended in the sky.

The Obsidian Dragon, having swallowed a mortal, did not descend but instead hovered in the heavens like an ink-colored silk ribbon. Its golden dragon eyes were wide open, staring unblinkingly at the Vermillion Phoenix standing below.

The Obsidian Dragon clenched its jaws tightly, revealing no discernible emotion in its icy gaze.

Zhuyou stood beneath it, bearing that frigid gaze, and suddenly thought—perhaps this was how mortals felt when looking upon the gods of the Nine Heavens.

She silently counted the time, moment by moment, thinking to herself—if the reincarnation of Hua Lingjun were to suffocate inside the dragon’s belly, that would be disastrous.

But Changying surely knew what she was doing. She didn’t even allow others to come close to her—how could she possibly let Hua Lingjun remain inside her stomach for long?

Just then, the Obsidian Dragon suddenly opened its mouth and abruptly expelled the mortal body it had swallowed. With a fierce flick of its tail, it transformed into human form and descended from the sky.

The newly released Hua Lingjun did not crash heavily to the ground; instead, a fierce wind wrapped around him, lowering him slowly and gently.

Changying clutched her abdomen, her face turning even paler. The moment she landed, her body wavered, almost unable to stand. She furrowed her brows, the pain in her stomach twisting like a knife. She raised a hand and formed a seal, forcefully suppressing the pain.

Zhuyou hurried forward, about to extend a hand to support her, but Changying lifted her hand to stop her.

“I’m fine.” Changying shook her head. Sweat glistened on her forehead and at her temples, as if she had been caught in the rain. After speaking, she lifted her gaze and cast Zhuyou a calm, indifferent glance, thinking to herself—she should have leaned toward Zhuyou’s side earlier.

Zhuyou simply grabbed her arm, only then realizing that the dragon had once again sealed off her heart’s blood. No wonder she didn’t seem to be in much pain. She reached out with one finger, intending to press it against Changying’s chest, but before she could touch her, her fingertip was caught.

Changying spoke in a cold voice, “If you reach out again, next time it won’t be my hand wrapping around you.”

Zhuyou smirked, about to retort, What, are you going to use your mouth instead?

But the words reached her tongue and were forcibly swallowed back down. Then again… this dragon really might.

Qiao Fengsheng lay on the ground, soaking wet, his face deathly pale, brows still tightly furrowed as if he had drowned.

“Enter his sea of consciousness?” Zhuyou bent down, about to press a finger against Qiao Fengsheng’s forehead.

Changying leaned forward and grabbed her wrist, moving so suddenly that she nearly lost her balance. She said coolly, “Don’t rush. His soul threads haven’t fully formed yet.”

Zhuyou frowned. How could she not be anxious? Changying still had the Reincarnation Pool inside her.

“If we wait for his soul threads to fully form, we’ll have to wait until he wakes up,” she said.

“Then we wait.” Changying straightened, lowering her gaze to the mortal lying there like a drowned corpse. Perhaps, at this moment, he could no longer even be called a mortal. He should now be addressed as “Hua Lingjun”.

The body of Hua Lingjun remained motionless. Beneath his thin eyelids, his eyes darted back and forth, as if trapped in a nightmare.

Zhuyou stood up, studied Changying for a moment, then said, “Spit out the Reincarnation Pool. I’ll handle it—”

“You’re not disgusted by that?” Changying’s voice was indifferent.

Zhuyou said nothing, but her gaze instinctively flicked toward Changying’s pale lips. If I was disgusted, I wouldn’t have endured being kissed earlier.

Changying didn’t respond—clearly, she was unwilling.

Zhuyou had no choice but to ask, “Did you discover anything in the heavens?”

“Xuanqing does indeed know what Hua Lingjun saw. Two hundred years ago, he must have deliberately cast him down to the Mortal Realm. As for the details, only when Hua Lingjun awakens will we know for sure,” Changying replied calmly.

“So we wrongly blamed Xuanqing,” Zhuyou mused.

Just as she finished speaking, Hua Lingjun suddenly opened his eyes.

His hair had come undone, and his black locks clung wetly to the sides of his face. If he remained in the mustard seed space any longer, the deathly pallor of his complexion would deepen even further.

The moment he opened his eyes, he abruptly coughed up a mouthful of water. His gaze remained fixed upward, staring at the sky. But the sky within this mustard seed space was an illusion—though bright, it held no true celestial radiance.

Hua Lingjun stared at the sky for a long time before finally sitting up and glancing at his own shoulder. Unfortunately, now that he was in a mortal body, he had no spiritual power whatsoever—he couldn’t even see his own life flame.

Memories from his past lives tangled chaotically in his sea of consciousness. He lowered his gaze, silent for a long time.

Zhuyou understood this feeling all too well. When she restored her divine aspect, the burdens of three thousand years of the past had weighed on her in the same suffocating way.

But she wasn’t worried about Hua Lingjun. Since the Heavenly Emperor had chosen to protect him, he would not be allowed to seek death on a mere whim.

Changying was also waiting. She watched in silence, saying nothing, simply waiting for Hua Lingjun to speak.

Hua Lingjun raised a hand to his forehead, veins bulging at his temples. His breathing was rushed, and he did not lift his head for a long while. He seemed too preoccupied to even notice who was standing beside him.

Zhuyou took a step back. It was only then that Hua Lingjun’s peripheral vision caught sight of a pair of black embroidered shoes.

He turned sharply, coming face to face with the luminous, moonlike Vermillion Phoenix. In that instant, his eyes widened in shock, and his hoarse voice rasped, “I’ve seen you before.”

Two hundred years ago, Zhuyou had still been in the Nine Heavens—how could he not have seen her? Two hundred years had passed, yet her appearance had not changed in the slightest.

Hua Lingjun was stunned for a long time, staring intently at the goddess before him as though he wanted to bore a hole through her. His hand remained pressed against his forehead, and for a long while, he couldn’t utter another word.

Zhuyou looked down at him and finally spoke, “Do you remember your past life?”

Two hundred years ago, when Hua Lingjun served as the crane immortal in the Nine Heavens, he had always been calm and aloof. Even now, though reincarnated as a human, his temperament remained unchanged. Instead of panicking and asking who he was, he lowered his gaze in thought. At first, he shook his head, then he nodded.

“Then do you know who I am?” Zhuyou asked.

Hua Lingjun furrowed his brows deeply. The memories of his time in the Nine Heavens surged through his sea of consciousness like crashing waves. Not only those celestial memories but also the fragments from his previous reincarnation flooded his mind. He couldn’t immediately distinguish which memories belonged to this life and which belonged to the last.

“No rush,” Changying said coldly. “You’ve soaked in the Reincarnation Pool once again—no matter what, you won’t forget.”

At the sound of her voice, Hua Lingjun finally realized that another person was standing nearby. He turned his head in surprise, but the moment he saw Changying, his reaction froze—not out of fear, but because he had no memory of ever seeing this person before.

No… was she human, or… a god?

Noticing his thoughts, Changying said indifferently, “It doesn’t matter who I am.” She bent down and pressed her index finger against Hua Lingjun’s forehead.

Zhuyou frowned at the sight. “His sea of consciousness is still in chaos.”

“I will smooth it out,” Changying replied.

Having lost most of her divine power to the Reincarnation Pool, Changying’s fingers were cold as ice. To a mortal, her touch was too chilling, making Hua Lingjun shiver involuntarily.

Only then did he clearly see her face—stunningly beautiful, but utterly devoid of emotion. Her eyes held neither joy nor sorrow, suppressing her striking appearance beneath an aura of cold detachment.

“Don’t panic. I will help you,” Changying said coolly.

At that moment, something seemed to pierce into his forehead, and Hua Lingjun instinctively closed his eyes.

A thread of spiritual energy entered between his brows, diving like a fish into his sea of consciousness, which was stretched to the brink of collapse.

His body was mortal, and so was his sea of consciousness. This limited vessel struggled to contain the sudden influx of spiritual threads.

The threads of memory were indeed tangled—a chaotic jumble of several lifetimes, all intertwined.

The spiritual energy slowly sank deeper, and wherever it touched, the threads of memory unraveled and arranged themselves neatly. Loose threads anchored firmly, and those that had weakened grew strong again.

After some time, Changying finally found the spiritual threads from two hundred years ago—intact and untouched by external damage. She poured her consciousness into the thread and immediately saw everything Hua Lingjun had witnessed in the Turbid Mirror over two centuries ago.

When her eyes opened again, it felt as though she were seeing through Hua Lingjun’s gaze.

The Turbid Mirror was a place of murk and chaos—vast seas covered the ground while the sun and moon hung side by side. Around him, buildings were either toppled or half-destroyed.

Hua Lingjun stood alone in the Turbid Mirror. Having just emerged from the chaotic realm of illusions, his aura was unsettled, and for a moment, he didn’t know where to go.

The other eleven immortals who had entered with him were still trapped in the chaotic realm, leaving no one else in sight.

Steadying his mind, Hua Lingjun closed his eyes and released his divine sense, trying to locate the other immortals. His divine sense spread outward like a net, but he found nothing. After being drawn into the chaotic realm, it was no easy task to sense anyone.

Just as he was about to retract his divine sense, he detected a strange aura.

Through the spiritual thread, Changying also caught the scent of decay—

It was the aura of a devil.

Hua Lingjun’s expression darkened. He seized hold of the aura with his spiritual power, and his vision abruptly shifted—he was plunged into pitch-black darkness.

Not a sliver of light was visible, and even when he raised his hand, he could not see his own fingers.

Quickly, he conjured a lantern and held it aloft, advancing cautiously through the darkness, uncertain of where he was.

Through his senses, Changying could also detect the devil’s presence. It seemed a devil had indeed infiltrated the Turbid Mirror.

Suddenly, the sound of heavy chains echoed in the distance, as if an iron shackle was being dragged across the ground.

Hua Lingjun walked carefully, each step deliberate. The sound grew closer—only ten feet away.

At that distance, if he raised his lantern just a little higher, he would see what was dragging the chain.

His heart sank. There was a familiar aura here—

It was none other than the Heavenly Emperor Xuanqing.

Hua Lingjun’s pupils contracted sharply as he realized he had mistakenly wandered into Xuanqing’s chaotic realm.

The chaotic realm reflects one’s inner fears and desires—what one clings to and what one dreads.

Following his gaze, Changying focused intently on the source of the chain’s sound. When Hua Lingjun stepped closer, she finally saw the figure of Xuanqing.

Xuanqing was crawling on the ground, his body weighed down by shackles around his neck and feet. Threads of his divine power were being drawn out, converging toward a deep darkness where a shadowy figure stood. His divine aspect weakened, tainted by a creeping darkness—the mark of devilish corruption.

Hua Lingjun’s face was grim. He had not expected the devil’s aura to originate from Xuanqing himself.

Despite his weakened state, Xuanqing continued crawling toward Hua Lingjun, his teeth clenched in determination.

Hua Lingjun stood frozen in disbelief—how could the mighty Heavenly Emperor be reduced to such a wretched state? Although the chaotic realm was an illusion, it reflected the innermost struggles of those trapped within.

Xuanqing reached back to the nape of his neck and, with a forceful twist, severed the thread draining his divine power.

He said, “After leaving the mirror, I will cast you down to the human world. What remains of my divine power will protect you. Until the ancient gods return, this must remain secret. If your mortal reincarnation is discovered, it can only mean… my divine power is exhausted, and my life is nearing its end.”

Hua Lingjun’s gaze turned icy. Without a word, he unleashed a surge of spiritual power, sending it spinning into the darkness to reveal the shadowy figure hidden within.

It was—

Guanshang!

Xuanqing let out a heavy breath and forcefully pulled both himself and Hua Lingjun out of the chaotic realm.

Changying withdrew her consciousness from Hua Lingjun’s sea of consciousness and turned abruptly to Zhuyou.

Zhuyou blinked in surprise. “What is it?”

“I know everything now,” Changying said coldly.