Great Demon - Chapter 38

Chapter 38: Are You Afraid?

“So you’re quite impressive, huh.” Zhuyou flicked away the chilly dragon claw and reached out to pinch Changying’s cheek, wondering how such a small mouth could produce such a loud voice.

Changying leaned back, seemingly trying to avoid her touch, but after just a slight retreat, she eagerly leaned forward again. The killing intent in her eyes faded slightly, leaving her looking pitiful and obedient.

It was obviously an act. Just a moment ago, she had been strutting around like a tiger, but the moment the hall doors closed, she suddenly became pitiful.

She was like a bubble in water—looking all puffed up, but the moment you poked it, it would pop.

Zhuyou was used to this dragon’s theatrics and couldn’t quite figure out what was going on in that little head of hers, so she simply ignored it. With a sweep of her gauzy sleeve, she used her spiritual power to lift Hanzhu, who had collapsed by the door.

Hanzhu had only fainted for a short while before being jostled awake. Her eyes snapped open, and she hurriedly scrambled to her feet, trembling, not daring to look at the dragon sitting beside her mistress.

This dragon was truly strange—not someone she could afford to provoke. But if she couldn’t provoke her, then at least she could avoid her.

The three figures outside seemed to have walked away. Hanzhu listened for a while before asking, “Why did you… just hand over the Devil Lord’s hun soul like that?”

It had taken such great effort to retrieve it, yet she had given it away so easily. Hanzhu was indignant, thinking that all their effort had been for nothing.

“I gave it to them.” Zhuyou nodded slightly, her expression calm, as if what she had just thrown away was not the Devil Lord’s hun soul, but some worthless junk. She pressed a hand against her temple, sounding irritated. “If I didn’t, those three devils would have stood there all night, and Changying would’ve started howling again.”

Sitting beside her, Changying immediately turned to look at her, frowning deeply and pursing her lips in obvious displeasure.

Zhuyou, however, didn’t care and remained perfectly composed. “All I need is for the Devil Lord to wake up. It doesn’t matter whose hands that hun soul is in—they wouldn’t dare harm him. Besides, sooner or later, they’ll come begging me again.” She bent her arm on the carved armrest, propping her chin up. “Now, only the last hun soul remains.”

“Does Mistress know where it is now?” Hanzhu asked cautiously.

Zhuyou furrowed her brows slightly. “No. Although the last fragment has entered the cycle of reincarnation, it isn’t in the human realm, nor in the devil’s domain. I have no idea where it was reborn. Even divination yields no results.”

Hanzhu’s pupils trembled slightly. She swallowed and hesitated before saying in a shaky voice, “Could it have… been reborn in the Heavenly Realm?”

“Impossible.” Zhuyou touched the corner of her eye, where her phoenix mark was. “A devil reincarnating as an immortal? Does that sound reasonable to you?”

Of course not. Besides, the heavens would never allow a Devil Lord’s hun soul to ascend to the Nine Heavens. The Heavenly Realm could not be tainted by filth. The Devil Lord carried immense sins and had little fortune—no matter how many lifetimes he cultivated, it was unlikely he could ever become an immortal.

Hanzhu quickly lowered her gaze. “I was just guessing, Mistress. Please don’t take it seriously.” She said that, but deep down, she still felt uneasy. What if they never found the last hun soul?

Zhuyou smirked. “If I took even your words seriously, I’d have wasted these past centuries.” She paused, then added, “Besides, cases of immortals missing thei hun soul are extremely rare. Even Changying is only missing parts of her po soul.”

Hanzhu glanced at Changying—just a brief look, not daring to linger.

Changying sat upright, looking both obedient and beautiful. Silent like this, she almost seemed like a clay figurine. But how could a clay figurine turn into a dragon? How could a clay figurine let out a roar that nearly cost people their lives?

Zhuyou lowered her eyes and spoke slowly, “Those missing their po soul may not understand joy, anger, sorrow, or fear. They may lack love and desire.” She paused briefly before continuing, “Yet, even if someone is missing all seven po souls, they can still be intelligent. But if their hun soul is incomplete, they will be dull-witted and foolish.”

Hanzhu immediately thought of the Devil Lord’s reincarnation that she had seen in Huacheng Sect. Wasn’t he just a fool? Then she looked at Changying—though missing part of her po soul, she was cunning, constantly pushing her away from her mistress’ side.

This dragon had absolutely nothing in common with an immortal. What kind of immortal was this petty?

Zhuyou turned to look at the dragon sitting beside her, trying to detect any discomfort in Changying’s expression. But the dragon’s face remained indifferent, showing no emotion at all.

Waving her hand, Zhuyou said, “Hanzhu, go outside and don’t let anyone approach the Grand Hall.”

Hanzhu hesitated for a moment, unsure of what her mistress intended to do.

“Go,” Zhuyou urged. “Otherwise, if Changying throws a tantrum, she’ll start howling again, and you might not survive.”

It sounded almost like a mockery. Her voice was thin and light, yet the way her tone lifted at the end made it feel like a hook tugging at the heart.

Changying lifted her gaze instantly, staring at Zhuyou. Her pale complexion was like white silk, and her frail body didn’t look like it could be particularly menacing. Even when she was angry, she wasn’t all that frightening. Her pupils shrank, the golden irises suddenly narrowing into slits. A rare trace of disbelief appeared on her otherwise calm face. “Are you… planning to exchange heart’s blood with me?”

Hanzhu finally understood—exchange heart’s blood?

Zhuyou nodded. “Isn’t this what you’ve been longing for?”

Changying coughed softly, and a faint flush appeared on her pale cheeks. She had coughed her face red, and her frail shoulders trembled slightly, making her look like she was on the brink of death.

“But Mistress…” Hanzhu hesitated, unwilling to let her mistress take such a risk. Exchanging heart’s blood meant intertwining their fates—blessings and disasters, life and death, bound together. They still didn’t know much about this dragon. If something went wrong in the future…

She didn’t dare think about the worst-case scenario. In the end, she still didn’t see this dragon as one of their own.

Zhuyou waved her hand impatiently. “Just go.”

Hanzhu remained rooted in place, a struggle visible between her brows. A ridiculous thought rose in her mind—

She didn’t know why Zhuyou was so determined to exchange heart’s blood, but rather than exchanging it with that dragon, wouldn’t it be better to exchange it with her? If anything happened, she would step forward and take the fall. How could she let her most cherished great demon suffer?

Changying saw her hesitation, her irritation rising. The golden glow in her eyes darkened as she clenched her pearly white teeth, as if she wanted to chew someone to pieces.

Changying saw her hesitation, her irritation rising. The golden glow in her eyes darkened as she clenched her pearly white teeth, as if she wanted to chew someone to pieces.

Lost in thought, she instinctively reached out, placing her soft palm against Zhuyou’s wrist.

That hand was ice-cold, as if it had just been pulled out of an ice cellar. And yet, it was placed precisely on Zhuyou’s life gate.

Zhuyou didn’t push it away.

So Changying pushed her advantage, curling her five fingers to grasp Zhuyou’s wrist. The wrist was slender, just barely within her grasp. As she tightened her grip, she suddenly felt as though this was how it should be.

Since breaking out of her shell, she had desired nothing. Though she knew she wasn’t supposed to be like this, she had no idea what she was meant to do or what she should be. She felt neither resentment nor hatred, nor did she know joy or sorrow. But now, something like restlessness seemed to stir in her heart.

Yes, it seemed she did want something after all.

Zhuyou watched as this dragon sneakily reached out her hand, her small face still carrying a hint of confusion, unsure of what exactly she intended to do. So she simply raised a hand and tapped Changying’s forehead, signaling her to stop getting any closer.

Changying was once again tapped between the brows, and it was as if she had been struck at an acupoint—she snapped out of that strange daze and obediently withdrew. She pulled back her cold hand and sat properly again.

Hanzhu, who was still standing by the door, had yet to leave. She pursed her lips, stubbornly keeping her head lowered, a trace of panic in her heart. “I hope Mistress will reconsider.”

Of course Zhuyou knew what this peafowl demon was worried about. But right now, she had no way of finding that Cold Eye, no way of locating the sacred artifact that could dispel the poison mist clouding her vision. She was already at a dead end—this was her only gamble.

“Go and guard the door,” she said.

Hanzhu stiffened, then lifted her gaze to look deeply at her mistress. That silvery-white hair of hers seemed to wind itself around Hanzhu’s heart, making it impossible to let go. She pressed her lips together, then turned to open the door.

As soon as the door swung open, a tall devil standing outside was revealed.

Startled, Hanzhu instinctively stepped back, her pupils constricting in a sharp tremor. She immediately turned to look at Zhuyou.

Zhuyou, seeing her panic, lazily lifted her gaze and caught sight of the First Lord, Xuanjing, standing at the entrance.

Xuanjing was a figure who came and went without a trace. His cultivation was unfathomable, and he was rarely in the Devil Realm, seemingly always out searching for someone or something. She hadn’t met this First Lord many times, but perhaps because of that, compared to the other devils in the realm, she found him rather agreeable.

So long as these devils weren’t rushing toward their own deaths, she could manage to like them a little.

Xuanjing was dressed in black, his long, unbound black hair billowing wildly in the wind, giving him an air of madness. His features were strikingly sharp, not the kind to belong to someone with a steady temperament—he looked much more like a lunatic.

Zhuyou had seen many devils like him before. He was certainly someone clinging to an obsession he refused to let go of.

But at that moment, Xuanjing, standing outside the hall, wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at the dragon beside her.

Could there really be some connection between them?

Zhuyou found it amusing. One was a sword always searching for something, the other a dragon that had reconstructed its physical form yet seemed to know nothing. What kind of connection could there possibly be?

She had heard that this sword had been roaming outside even before the Devil Lord perished, once rampaging wildly—slaying ghosts on sight, slaying gods on sight. Only later did he calm down somewhat, no longer appearing quite as mad as the rumors made him out to be.

And yet Changying didn’t glance aside, her golden eyes not shifting in the slightest. That cold, piercing gaze remained locked solely on her.

“Does the First Lord have some business?” Zhuyou asked, neither warmly nor coldly.

Xuanjing raised a hand and pointed at Changying. “Who might this be?”

Zhuyou didn’t smile. Instead, she coaxed, “Her? A hatchling I hatched a few days ago. What, does the First Lord not think she looks like me?”

Xuanjing’s pupils trembled slightly, as if in disbelief. He looked her over again and again, hesitated as if wanting to speak, then simply cupped his hands in a quick salute before turning and leaving.

Once he was gone, Hanzhu, still trembling, shut the doors behind her, locking herself outside as well. She thought to herself that there was no longer any way to clear up the origins of this “hatchling.”

With the doors closed, the chill in Changying’s expression faded slightly, seeming particularly directed at Hanzhu.

Zhuyou watched her with great interest. Just now, when Xuanjing had been sizing up the dragon, her aura had briefly fluctuated in disorder. Zhuyou wasn’t worried that Xuanjing would recognize Changying’s true form—after all, despite those golden eyes of hers, they were more serpent-like than dragon-like, and without the presence of dragon energy, there was no reason for her to be identified as one.

Changying averted her gaze, her eyes flickering slightly. Her terrifyingly cold vertical pupils constricted, then returned to their usual shape.

“Are you afraid?” Zhuyou asked abruptly, standing up.

Changying shook her head and calmly said, “No.”

Zhuyou laughed. Seeing no resistance in her eyes, she raised a slender arm.

The misty sleeves of her robe draped down to her elbows, and with a flick of her hand, a mass of gray-black devil mist materialized in the Grand Hall—just like the smoke that had caused such chaos in the Dragon Palace before.

Changying stood up, looking at it with confusion.

The dark mist thickened, spreading like ink spilled from an inkstone, swallowing the light from the wall lanterns into a dim, murky haze.

This was the Devil Mist Boundary—a separate domain within the mist, much like the hidden paradises of the other two realms.

Zhuyou crooked a finger at Changying. “Come here.”

Changying wasn’t worried about being tricked and immediately walked over. As she approached, she asked, “What is this for?”

Zhuyou saw her puzzled expression—this dazed little look that didn’t seem fake—and suddenly found her even more endearing. Slowly, she said, “You’re afraid of dying, aren’t you? I’m here to save you.” She said it so casually, as if she weren’t about to do anything serious at all.

Changying truly had no idea if she was being led into a trap. She stepped unhurriedly toward the gray mist, and when it reached toward her face like grasping claws, she simply leaned back slightly.

Zhuyou’s eyes curved in amusement, and without the slightest pity, she pressed a hand to the back of Changying’s head and shoved her straight into the devil mist. The next moment, both of them vanished from the Grand Hall.

***

When they opened their eyes again, they were surrounded by a landscape of piercing cold. Everything in sight was white, with a dense forest of snow-laden pines, and thick snow cascading like a waterfall. Beside them, a pool of warm water steamed gently.

This place looked familiar to Changying. The sky was overcast, and on the ground, a small bald patch of land exposed a yet-unsealed fissure.

A long, thin crack, winding like a black dragon.

Wasn’t this the edge of Shenhua Mountain? How could it exist within the Devil Mist Boundary?

Changying’s steps faltered, a trace of bewilderment flashing across her still-immature face. Her icy eyes shifted slightly. “You dug up Shenhua Mountain.”

Zhuyou didn’t bother to deny it. “Just pried off a corner. Without all this ice and snow, when it comes time to exchange heart’s blood, you’d probably be cooked alive.”

Changying knew well that devils were often searing hot, but not quite to the extent of cooking someone alive.

“You don’t believe me?” Zhuyou glanced at her.

Changying gave a small nod. When facing Hanzhu earlier, she had been full of killing intent, exuding arrogance and pride. Yet now, she was as docile as a lamb.

Zhuyou assumed it was because the young dragon had formed an attachment to the first person she saw after breaking out of her shell. And in any case, having a clingy little one wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

“Sit on the snow and take off your clothes.” Zhuyou sat cross-legged on the ice and snow. The devil-patterned legs beneath her silk dress pressed into the frost, and the snow beneath her seemed to melt ever so slightly. Her silver hair draped over the ground, blending seamlessly with the snow. She should have been a noble and untouchable celestial phoenix, yet she was steeped in devilish energy, her delicate features laced with an air of innocence.

Changying stared unblinkingly at the devil sitting cross-legged before her. After a moment, she sluggishly sat down in front of Zhuyou, grasping at her collar in hesitation. “Why… must I take off my clothes?”

“If you don’t, how am I supposed to draw your heart’s blood?” Zhuyou’s tone was languid as she slid her outer robe halfway down, revealing the devilish patterns etched onto her shoulders and arms.

Changying’s golden eyes were fixed on her, unmoving. She stared for a long moment before her heart suddenly pounded hard against her ribs. Before her, the devil who should have been as pure and pristine as snow took on a strangely intoxicating allure the moment her robes slipped down. An inexplicable urge crept up on Changying—she wanted to brush away the devilish marks tangled across Zhuyou’s skin, to make them stop winding around her.

Her beauty was haunting, enough to steal a soul.

Changying quickly averted her gaze, sensing that this was not something she should be looking at for too long.

As Zhuyou shed the sheer fabric, a long, jagged scar winding down the inside of her arm was revealed. The scar was grotesque, as if the flesh had been forcibly torn open and something had been extracted from within.

At her level of cultivation, neither celestials nor devils should retain scars like mortals would. This wound, however, was a horrifying exception—undeniably caused by divine power.

Changying’s gaze darkened. Her bloodless lips moved slightly. “Who left that wound on your arm?”

“Oh? Thinking about avenging me already?” Zhuyou teased, showing not even a trace of vulnerability.

Changying did not respond. She was still toying absently with her collar, contemplating how to answer, when she caught a glimpse of Zhuyou’s pale hand reaching toward her out of the corner of her eye.

In the next moment, her outer robe was yanked open, and the frigid wind rushed against her chest.

Changying froze for a second, instinctively raising a hand to cover herself—only to realize that it was only her outer robe that had been removed. Her inner garments remained securely in place.

She hastily lifted her gaze, only to meet Zhuyou’s teasing stare.

Her expression turned frigid. The way she had been abruptly undressed made her seem like a delicate flower on the verge of being sullied. Yet despite this, she did not resist, nor did she struggle. After a brief moment of hesitation, she even adjusted her own inner robes, sliding them down slightly.

“What, afraid I’ll eat you?” Zhuyou sighed, her warm fingertip tapping lightly against Changying’s still-slender chest.

“I’m not afraid.” Changying answered stiffly, unwilling to show weakness. Though she still had the appearance of a child, her demeanor carried the weight of someone who had endured far too much, cold and resolute—someone who did not seem capable of being moved.

That worked just fine. Zhuyou thought.

“Once the exchange is complete, you might feel like you’re burning alive. If it’s too much, just roll around in the snow. I won’t be able to help you.” Zhuyou had spent too long among devils, and now, seeing Changying hesitating and covering herself up, she couldn’t help but tease her further. “Why so shy? Looking at you, you’re nothing but a scrawny little sprout. Even if you begged me to, I wouldn’t want to look.”

Changying’s head jerked up, and she stared at Zhuyou in stunned silence before hesitating again. She opened her mouth as if to speak but stopped herself, lowering her gaze. For the first time, she looked down at herself.

Somewhere deep inside, an odd thought surfaced—this body of hers…

It shouldn’t be like this.

She shouldn’t look like some scrawny little sprout.

Zhuyou assumed she had simply been startled and chuckled softly. Divine beings like her were never good at hearing such comments about themselves. Then again, Zhuyou wasn’t either, though she had long grown used to them. She had always enjoyed making a mess of things that should have remained pure and untainted.

If this little dragon fell into devilry, now that would be truly interesting.

“You’re really not afraid?” she asked, noticing the hesitation in Changying’s expression.

Changying shook her head. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Zhuyou lowered her gaze, leisurely tugging her silk skirt further down. Her skin was white as the surrounding snow, as if she were a distant mountain peak draped in frost. Yet beneath the fabric, darkness consumed her lower body, ink-black against the pale skin. A crimson sash was tightly bound around her waist, unyielding.

“Watch closely.”

Zhuyou traced a single pale finger across her own chest.

Immediately, her veins seemed to surge, and intricate crimson lines bloomed like a spider’s web, spreading outward from where her fingertip had passed.

Changying’s cold, detached eyes were locked onto the devil before her, her heart stirred by something unspoken. She had an almost irrepressible urge—to reach out and wipe away those red marks.

The web-like lines suddenly contracted, condensing into a single, small red point at the center of Zhuyou’s chest. Her shoulders trembled slightly, and a droplet of blood as red as vermilion lifted from her skin, hovering above her fingertip.

“Your turn,” Zhuyou said, her face a shade paler than before.