Great Demon - Chapter 51

On that day, Zhuyou had taken her on another trip to Songling City. The journey had originally been for the Heaven-Observing Mirror, but after probing Zhou Xizhao’s sea of consciousness, they had stumbled upon an unexpected surprise.

 

At that time, Zhuyou had asked about this very date—the fifteenth day of the twelfth lunar month, in the 170th year of the Guangsu Calendar in the Mortal Realm.

 

“That day, there was a banquet in the Jade Pool. I did not take a single step outside the Heavenly Palace.” Jingyi clenched her hands in secret, her slightly long nails nearly digging into her flesh. Her forehead was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, her eyelashes trembling incessantly, making her look utterly pitiful.

 

But Changying was unmoved. It was as if she was born without the concept of pity—her heart was as calm as still water, without a ripple of emotion. She lowered her eyes and asked again, “Is that the truth?”

 

These two words were like a blade, hanging over Jingyi’s throat.

 

Jingyi dared not meet Changying’s gaze. She only felt a chill creeping up her nape, the hair on her neck standing on end. Her hand, hanging at her side, was clenched tightly as she hurriedly replied, “I would never dare to deceive the Divine Venerable.”

 

Changying responded indifferently, “Then prove it with your sea of consciousness.”

 

The moment her words fell, she did exactly as Zhuyou had once done to her—placing her index finger against Jingyi’s forehead.

 

That finger was slender and pale, carrying a slight chill.

 

She did not close her eyes, yet in the blink of an eye, she had already seen through Jingyi’s sea of consciousness with complete clarity.

 

Jingyi had been born for nearly three hundred years, and her sea of consciousness was pristine—each strand of spiritual thread neatly arranged, resembling luminous white blades of grass. When brushed by Changying’s spiritual energy, they trembled slightly.

 

Perhaps due to the fact that this celestial had been born with incomplete three hun and seven po souls, the spiritual threads from her early years were all fragmented and uneven. When Changying extended her divine sense into them, the memories she saw were all blurred and indistinct.

 

So indistinct that it seemed this celestial had spent her early years in a daze, oblivious to the passage of time. Her mind was chaotic, wholly unlike an ordinary person.

 

Changying frowned but did not withdraw her divine sense immediately. Instead, she slowly parted the strands before her, meticulously examining them—even the scattered, fragmented threads from Jingyi’s infancy, which held no clear memories, were not overlooked.

 

She was not truly interested in what this celestial had done as a child. Rather…

 

She wanted to use this celestial’s eyes to see what Zhuyou had looked like in her youth.

 

What was Zhuyou like back then? What had she been doing?

 

The spiritual threads Changying brushed past were almost all imprinted with Zhuyou’s figure, as though Zhuyou had been branded into this celestial’s sea of consciousness.

 

At that time, Zhuyou had not yet become a devil. She wore luxurious red robes, her long black hair devoid of even a single silver strand. Her features were stunning—radiantly beautiful beyond compare. She appeared to be around fifteen or sixteen, like a young girl from the Mortal Realm.

 

Behind the girl in red followed a group of young celestials, their eyes filled with admiration, speaking to her with the utmost care, as if she were some delicate, precious treasure.

 

Zhuyou still seemed so innocent then. There was no trace of sarcasm or disdain in her expression. She still bore divine light, and wherever she went, she was like the moon surrounded by stars—except she shone even more brightly than the moon.

 

So that was Zhuyou in her youth? She had already been so charming back then? No wonder the devils in the devil’s domain adored her. No wonder the celestial who wielded the tower to suppress the devils could not bring herself to strike her down mercilessly. Even the peafowl demon who followed her side was remarkably obedient to her.

 

She was meant to be adored—so how had she fallen to such a fate?

 

Changying furrowed her brows. Through the strands of memory, she noticed that Jingyi had always been watching in secret, never approaching, yet never leaving either.

 

But Jingyi’s mind had been muddled—could she have even formed such thoughts?

 

Day after day, year after year, Jingyi had always been like this, hiding in the shadows as if she could not be seen. Whenever she was discovered, she would look terrified—startled and afraid, trembling all over. And yet…

 

Even so, her gaze never strayed. It remained locked onto Zhuyou, as if it had taken root, unable to move away.

 

In the Heavenly Palace, there was no night. It was bathed in divine light at all times, bright and luminous. Zhuyou cultivated in the morning and, later in the day, would rest atop the phoenix’s parasol tree. Jingyi would always be there, secretly watching—not with admiration, nor with resentment, but simply staring with a blank expression. It was truly strange.

 

Zhuyou, however, was not annoyed by this younger sister with missing souls. Instead, she would even toss her spirit fruits to eat. She sat in the tree, barefoot, her pale feet dangling in midair. The wind lifted the hem of her red dress, revealing a stretch of fair skin.

 

“Why are you following me again? Aren’t you tired today?” At that time, Zhuyou had not yet developed her sharp, sarcastic way of speaking. Her eyes curved into a gentle smile, warm and soft.

 

Jingyi stood beneath the tree, looking up at her. The fruit landed right on her, and she quickly bent down to pick it up. Then, clutching it in her hands, she looked back up at Zhuyou, blinking before nodding once.

 

Her nod was peculiar—it was unclear whether she was tired or not.

 

“Father gifted you a parasol tree a few days ago. Go back and sleep there,” Zhuyou said softly.

 

But Jingyi did not leave. She remained silent, standing stiffly beneath the tree, fiddling nervously with the hem of her robe. Incomplete souls had made her look even more foolish.

 

“Forget it, come here,” Zhuyou said, patting the branch beside her.

 

But Jingyi’s cultivation was weak—she could not even climb a tree.

 

Zhuyou remained gentle, using a wisp of spiritual power to lift her up onto the branch.

 

Changying withdrew her divine sense, nearly crushing the fragile thread of memory between her fingers.

 

Suddenly, she felt an incomprehensible irritation—had that devil always had a habit of raising little ones? What a shame her luck was poor, and her judgment worse—how could she treat such a treacherous little bird so well?

 

She frowned. For some reason, the drop of blood in her heart began to boil again, bouncing around like a restless pearl, nearly disrupting her state of mind.

 

If this were before, when her seven po souls were incomplete, she would have had no idea what was happening to her. But now, she understood her emotions all too clearly.

 

She did not want to see Zhuyou treating this little bird well. Nor did she want Zhuyou to see herself in someone else.

 

Why did she raise her, teach her, care for her so much? Was it because she had failed to teach this bird properly in the past, and now sought solace in her instead?

 

No.

 

She could not allow that.

 

Jingyi was ice-cold all over, her sea of consciousness frozen as if encased in ice. She dared not move, dared not even lift her head. Her back was already drenched in sweat.

 

Changying continued sifting through the remaining threads in her sea of consciousness, yet the memories from the fifteenth of the twelfth lunar month were completely murky—nothing could be seen. The threads beyond that day were clearer, but soon after, they became tangled and unreadable once more.

 

Was it because this bird’s souls were still incomplete at the time?

 

Or… was there another reason?

 

Jingyi didn’t dare to move. Shaken by the Divine Venerable’s oppressive aura, she nearly collapsed to her knees, her legs weak and powerless. She struggled to catch her breath.

 

She was terrified—not only was her sea of consciousness covered in an icy chill, but her feet also seemed frozen to the ground, unable to budge. Her face was deathly pale, and her tightly clenched lips trembled uncontrollably.

 

The Divine Venerable’s spiritual power brushed across her spiritual threads, leaving her no room to resist.

 

This Divine Venerable was far from gentle—when she stirred the spiritual threads, it felt as though each one was being forcibly ripped out, sending waves of pain crawling across Jingyi’s scalp. She almost whimpered aloud.

 

But even if she cried out, this Divine Venerable would not spare her.

 

Too cold. From this Divine Venerable, there wasn’t the slightest trace of mercy or pity. It was as if she had never known what feelings were—born heartless and unfeeling.

 

Wherever Changying’s touch fell, those memories resurfaced—no matter how deeply they had been buried.

 

Memories from the past floated before Jingyi’s eyes, sending her heart into a frantic panic. Fear crept into her bones.

 

Changying narrowed her eyes, and through one of the threads, she caught sight of the Execution Platform.

 

Earlier, when Xuanqing had led her past it, she had only caught a glimpse—just the top of the execution frame barely visible above the white jade walls.

 

The blade on the frame hung three zhang high, gleaming with a cold, sharp light. Several black Immortal-Binding Cords dangled between the pillars, thick as a human wrist.

 

Now, using this spiritual thread, Changying could see everything in perfect clarity.

 

On the Execution Platform, Zhuyou was suspended three zhang above the ground, the execution blade hanging over her head. Her arms and legs were bound, and the executioner wielded a long blade, slowly severing her immortal tendons.

 

Through Jingyi’s eyes, Changying watched as the blade cut down, inch by inch—each slice felt like it was carving a piece from her own heart.

 

Zhuyou’s head drooped low, her long, disheveled hair falling across her face, hiding her expression. She didn’t cry out—not even when her immortal tendons were cut. It was as if her life had already slipped away.

 

A burning heat surged in Changying’s chest, making it hard to breathe.

 

Around the Execution Platform, rows of immortals sat watching in silence, their faces showing a mix of emotions. No one spoke in her defense.

 

No one helped her. No one stood up for her.

 

Suddenly, Zhuyou’s body trembled violently. The blade slashed open the back of her robes, and as the silk fell, it transformed into crimson feathers. The moment the feathers touched the ground, they burst into flames, leaving no trace behind.

 

Her pale, slender back was exposed, and when the blade came down again, it split open her flesh—red and white intermingling—as a section of her immortal phoenix bone was forcibly extracted.

 

The phoenix bone was a brilliant, blood-red hue, glowing with boundless divine power.

 

Zhuyou’s head snapped back in agony. Her mouth opened soundlessly, and her wide, vacant eyes stared blankly ahead.

 

Only now could Changying clearly see her expression—those once innocent and beautiful eyes were now clouded with poison.

 

Zhuyou trembled but slowly lowered her gaze again, biting down hard on her lower lip.

 

Amid the dead silence, a voice rang out, “Do you admit your guilt?”

 

Zhuyou did not answer. From beginning to end, she did not utter a single word.

 

“You stole the ancient god’s incarnation and attempted to harm the Phoenix Clan’s Jingyi—do you acknowledge your crime?”

 

“The return of the two gods was meant to aid the Heavenly Realm in suppressing the devils. Yet now, Jingyi’s soul remains incomplete, her past unclear—while you harbor murderous intent. Have you, perhaps, already been consumed by devilish desires?”

 

As soon as the question fell, murmurs spread through the crowd. Suspended in mid-air, the phoenix girl bore the weight of their accusations alone.

 

The ancient god’s incarnation…

 

Wasn’t that her?

 

A chill crept into Changying’s heart—Impossible. When Zhuyou took her from the Dragon Palace, she didn’t even know what she was, let alone that she was some ancient god’s incarnation.

 

But… had she really tried to harm Jingyi?

 

Changying hadn’t witnessed it herself—she couldn’t say for certain. But deep down, she didn’t believe it.

 

Zhuyou’s entire phoenix bone was eventually pulled from her back. All the divine power drained from her body, and her long black hair turned silver-white in an instant.

 

Her head hung low, and her wounded body trembled. The tendons inside both arms had already been severed.

 

So that’s how it happened…

 

Changying finally understood. The long, twisting scar on Zhuyou’s arm—this was how she got it. She had her immortal bone extracted and her tendons severed here on the Execution Platform.

 

Suspended in mid-air, Zhuyou never once lifted her eyes, never once spoke. She refused to admit her guilt.

 

“Have you already turned to the devil’s path?” the Phoenix Clan god asked again.

 

At that moment, devilish winds surged through the air.

 

Zhuyou, who had kept her head down all this time, suddenly raised her chin. Though her eyes were still vacant, the black devil aura radiated outward, shattering the chains binding her limbs.

 

A fierce wind howled, and the divine light above was swallowed by the black mist, plunging the world into shadow.

 

The winds raged as if the Devil Lord himself had returned.

 

The executioner’s question had barely been asked—

 

And she…

 

She chose to become a devil.

 

As if she was doing it out of spite—You want to know if I’ve turned devil? Here—watch me.

 

When the divine maiden fell into darkness, the heavens grew dim, and the cries of a hundred birds filled the air.

 

From the open wound on her back, a black devil bone grew swiftly. Though her body was weak, the moment she broke free from the chains, she burst through the ranks of heavenly soldiers and fell into the Devil Realm in her true form.

 

The Execution Platform erupted in chaos, but none of the weeping birds tried to stop her.

 

Changying snapped back to reality, withdrawing her hand abruptly. She cast a cold, meaningful glance at the trembling phoenix before her and said, “Why is it that you only forget what you should remember?”

 

Jingyi still didn’t dare to lift her head. As she swallowed nervously, the muscles in her throat twitched slightly.

 

“Has your divine hun soul fully recovered?” Changying asked coolly.

 

“Yes,” Jingyi answered hurriedly.

 

Changying spread her five fingers and swept her palm across Jingyi’s forehead. Sure enough, her immortal hun soul was intact. Feigning ignorance, she asked, “How was it restored?”

 

“I… I used a Burning-Heart Wood,” Jingyi stammered.

 

“And where did the Burning-Heart Wood come from? Why did I find no trace of it in your sea of consciousness?” Each of Changying’s words cut sharply, striking directly at the heart of the matter.

 

Jingyi’s gaze darted evasively as she bit her lower lip.

 

“Speak.” Changying curled her fingers slightly. Without touching her, a wisp of spiritual energy lifted Jingyi’s chin as if an invisible hand had seized it.

 

Forced to raise her head, a bead of cold sweat slid down Jingyi’s temple. “It—it was a gift from my father.”

 

Her appearance was plain—two eyes, a nose, and a mouth—but there was not the slightest resemblance to Zhuyou.

 

“A Burning-Heart Wood can only be obtained from Phoenix Tribulation Flames. Acquiring it is a matter of life and death. Who gave it to you?” Changying’s expression remained impassive as she continued, “If you do not answer, I will summon your father myself.”

 

“It was my elder sister!” Jingyi blurted out in panic.

 

“Elder sister?” Changying repeated slowly.

 

“Yes—Zhuyou,” Jingyi finally confessed.

 

Changying did not scold her for lying but instead, with a chilling gaze, remarked, “She treats you quite well.”

 

Jingyi could not discern the deeper meaning behind those words. Seeing that the Divine Venerable asked no more questions, she timidly raised a hand to wipe the sweat from her brow.

 

Xuanqing, who had been silently observing, did not avoid the conversation. As the ruler of the Heavenly Palace, there was nothing for him to shy away from. He did not interject, assuming that the Divine Venerable’s urgency stemmed from seeking an old friend.

 

After all, it was meant to be two ancient gods who descended to subdue the devils—yet only she had returned to the Heavenly Palace. Naturally, her heart would be troubled.

 

Changying’s heart was indeed unsettled. The drop of blood within her burned fiercely, stirring unease. She had always believed that devil to be heartless—yet unexpectedly…

 

Even if it meant facing death, Zhuyou had still retrieved her Burning-Heart Wood for the sake of this little bird.

 

Perhaps it was the heat from that blood, but Changying felt an unfamiliar agitation rise within her. Yet after suppressing it, a seed of doubt grew—Was it really Zhuyou who gave it to her?

 

Jingyi remained motionless, her legs stiff from standing. With both the Divine Venerable and the Heavenly Emperor present, how could she dare to speak out of turn?

 

Xuanqing finally asked, “Is there anything else Your Divinity wishes to inquire about?”

 

“Nothing more,” Changying replied, though she extended a single finger.

 

With the slight movement of her slender, pale finger, Jingyi felt a sudden pain on her scalp. A strand of black hair drifted softly into Changying’s palm.

 

As she closed her hand, the hair disappeared—already secured for future use.

 

Immortals do not shed hair easily. By taking a strand, Changying ensured she could track Jingyi’s movements while tending to other matters.

 

She was never a merciful god. Even if she uncovered those who had framed Zhuyou, she would not grant them an easy death. Instead, she would make them suffer slowly—like the mortal punishment of being flayed alive—until they tasted unending agony.

 

With a flick of her hand, she signaled that Jingyi could leave.

 

Jingyi hastily bowed, retreating in a flurry of panic, lacking the dignity a Phoenix Clan princess ought to possess.

 

Compared to Zhuyou, she falls far too short, Changying thought.

 

Xuanqing raised his hand and gestured. “Your Divinity, this way, please.”

 

Changying gave a slight nod. Her posture remained upright as she walked—her bearing aloof and otherworldly, far beyond that of ordinary beings.

 

“I hear Your Divinity possesses a devil sword,” Xuanqing remarked, hands clasped behind his back.

 

Changying did not deny it. “Indeed. When I first encountered that sword, the heavens and earth had only just opened. Mortals were trapped in endless suffering while gods waged war. The sword was born bathed in malice, and its aura is fiercely destructive.”

 

As one tasked with subduing devils, it was fitting for her to wield such a weapon.

 

A sword like that—fierce and bloodthirsty—was far more suited for battle than any divine artifact.

 

Xuanqing raised no objections and instead asked, “The devil’s domain is now sealed, but the Devil Lord’s two hun souls remain missing. We suspect it has entered the Mortal Realm. What are your thoughts, Your Divinity?

 

“I know where the Devil Lord’s two hun souls were hidden several days ago,” Changying said dispassionately, “but by now, it has likely been taken.”

 

Indeed, the day Zhuyou hid the Devil Lord’s two hun souls underground, Changying had arrived just in time to witness it.

 

“I would be grateful for Your Divinity’s guidance,” Xuanqing said, bowing slightly.

 

“There is no need for further questions,” Changying replied coolly. “My purpose has always been to subdue devils.”

 

“If Your Divinity requires anything, you need only ask,” Xuanqing said earnestly, his trust in her unwavering.

 

Changying lifted her golden eyes, the ornament on her forehead trembling slightly. “I am one step away from breaking through to the next realm. I will need to enter closed-door cultivation for a hundred years.”

 

Xuanqing’s pupils contracted in shock—he could hardly believe this being was capable of advancing further!

 

***

 

A century later, the human world had passed through several springs. Bitter winters faded, and thick coats gave way to light spring garments.

 

In a bustling tavern, a storyteller sipped his tea, unfurling a paper fan as he resumed recounting a tale he had already told a hundred times.

 

On the second floor, two women occupied a private booth—one seated, the other standing—clearly a mistress and her attendant.

 

The woman seated by the railing wore black robes. Her long hair, loose and unbound, flowed down her back like wisps of gray smoke—soft and delicate. She held a teacup in her hand. Though the cup’s rim brushed her lips, she never took a sip, as if content merely to inhale the fragrance. Her pale arm, exposed beneath her sleeve, bore a long, jagged scar along the inner side.

 

With downcast eyes, she watched the storyteller below. But after a while, she looked away, as if the tale no longer held her interest.

 

The attendant beside her bent slightly, lowering her voice. “Mistress, Second Lord Luo Qing has arrived again.”

 

The black-robed woman glanced toward the tavern entrance. The man who had just entered stood tall and strikingly handsome—none other than Luo Qing.

 

“Shall I stop him?” Hanzhu asked quickly.

 

Zhuyou set down her teacup and shook her head slightly, her tone calm and even. “Now that Xuanjing is gone, the First Lord’s position is vacant. But I am not some scrap to sit atop a pile of garbage.”

 

“Mistress speaks the truth,” Hanzhu agreed with a quick nod.