Great Demon - Chapter 59

The Observatory Pavilion was bathed in divine radiance, yet a gentle breeze still flowed through, preventing it from feeling like a scorching furnace.

Though the Heavenly Palace never saw the darkness of night, the observation platform was still illuminated by countless lamps, stacked layer upon layer until they reached a hundred zhang high. Through the thin paper covering each lamp, one could glimpse the flickering flames within. Dense, tiny characters covered the paper—smaller than specks of dust, impossible to read even up close. Those inscriptions recorded the fates of mortals. If the fire within a lamp were to go out, it meant that person’s destiny had reached its end.

Changying did not linger on them. Her pale hand flipped over, and in a cold voice, she commanded, “Divination Bell.”

The Fate Keeper understood immediately. He raised both arms, his wide sleeves nearly brushing his face. As his arms moved, an object suddenly soared from one of the destiny lamps and fell into Changying’s palm.

Her hand sank slightly under its weight. Without hesitation, her fingers closed around it, grasping the object firmly.

It was shaped like a mundane bell from the mortal world, complete with a clapper inside that jangled when shaken. However, the sound it produced was not particularly crisp. The outer surface was engraved with intricate runes, circling layer upon layer, leaving barely any empty space.

Changying had never used such a divination bell before. She lowered her gaze coolly, examining it. Around the bell’s opening, she noticed several rotating rings, resembling the design of a Bagua compass.

Her golden eyes narrowed. In an instant, enlightenment struck her—she immediately understood how to use the artifact.

She had lived for thousands of years; there was hardly a magical instrument under the heavens she had not seen. Even if she had never used one before, they all functioned in similar ways—nothing too difficult to grasp.

Suddenly, the bell in her hand rang. The clapper struck the inner walls with a seemingly light motion, yet its resonance sent a wave of divine power rippling through the air, as if shaking the heavens themselves.

A numb sensation spread through Changying’s fingers. She almost failed to hold the bell steady.

Behind her, the Fate Keeper respectfully lowered his head and said, “Your Divinity, the bell has tolled.”

Indeed, with its chime, the divination must have shifted.

Changying’s eyes widened. In a swift motion, she lifted the bell high above her head. Her loose sleeve slid down to her elbow, revealing an arm as pale and slender as jade—yet it was anything but frail.

In that instant, the divine radiance in the sky vanished. The Observatory Pavilion seemed to open into a separate realm, shrouded in darkness, as though it had detached from celestial light and entered the vast, boundless void beyond. The stars and moon now felt within arm’s reach, while beyond them stretched an abyss of nothingness.

With a thunderous crash, white lightning spread across the sky like a sprawling web. Countless heavenly bolts rained down, all converging upon the divination bell in Changying’s grasp. Even the legendary “Five Thunders Striking the Crown” could not compare.

The Fate Keeper instinctively looked up, staring in stunned disbelief at the sky. Never before had he witnessed a divination like this.

Heavenly thunder!

The other ancient god was in grave danger.

In the celestial dome above, two stars—pale souls of fate—flared abruptly, one bright, one dim. Between them lay the Heavenly River, separating them like opposite shores.

Then, the fainter star was pierced by white lightning. It flickered unsteadily, as if about to fall, yet the surrounding heavens remained unchanged. Isolated and alone, it remained trapped in its suffering.

How could this be? The Fate Keeper was utterly baffled.

Meanwhile, the other star was enveloped in gentle moonlight, its radiance flowing like liquid silver. That star’s fate soul was none other than Changying’s.

She turned her wrist, retracting the vast celestial formation back into the divination bell.

The moment the bell rang once more, the white lightning vanished instantly. Even the fate souls in the sky disappeared from sight. It was as if the Observatory Pavilion had fallen back from the vast void beyond the heavens to its rightful place among the clouds.

The divination was set.

Shaken, the Fate Keeper, hastily asked, “Your Divinity, does this mean the ancient god’s calamity is approaching?”

As Changying retrieved the divination bell, she noticed the rotating rings around it had shifted. A single glance was enough for her to memorize the divination pattern. She replied coolly, “The exact location remains unclear, but her fate soul has dimmed—her divine nature is yet to return. Furthermore, she was struck by white lightning. A disaster is imminent.”

The Fate Keeper pressed, “Is there a way to prevent it?”

“I have my methods.” Changying handed the bell back to him and clasped her hands behind her back. Tilting her head slightly, she gazed up at the now-peaceful sky.

She did not know what calamity awaited, but there was always a way to avoid it.

The Fate Keeper accepted the divination bell, then swiftly retrieved a brush from thin air, recording the divination in the register.

Changying watched him take out the register and frowned. She extended a hand. Her expression remained cold, her presence commanding—impossible to refuse.

The Fate Keeper hesitated for only a moment before offering the register with both hands, saying, “The first divination is recorded there as well.”

Changying gave a slight nod and flipped to the first page. Yet, what she saw was a chaotic jumble of words, overlapping messily, making it impossible to form a complete sentence. Each character seemed independent, their sizes inconsistent.

She placed her palm over the thin page and slowly channeled her spiritual energy into it. Immediately, she felt the characters writhing beneath her fingertips, squirming like insects, making her palm itch.

With a single blink, she saw the celestial phenomena from that day.

At the moment the divination was cast, twin stars had appeared in the sky. Both fate souls had been dim at the time. When the lightning struck, they showed signs of fracturing—one was pierced first, its fate soul darkening until it was nearly black.

She opened her eyes again and turned to the Fate Keeper. “What happened in the Nine Heavens that day?”

The Fate Keeper pondered before answering with a respectful bow, “That day, Jingyi of the Phoenix Clan suffered severe injuries.”

Only then did Changying recall—the Heavenly Emperor had previously promised to explain Zhuyou’s descent into devilry in detail. Yet, with her recent travels keeping her occupied, she had completely forgotten to ask.

“Explain,” she said, frowning.

The Fate Keeper thought back carefully before speaking. “That day, Jingyi returned to Mount Danxue with that person. Later, the Phoenix Clan received news that Jingyi was barely clinging to life in the mountains… while Zhuyou had vanished.”

Changying’s gaze darkened. “How was she injured?”

“At the time, Jingyi’s three hun souls and seven po souls were incomplete—she could recall nothing. Even when her consciousness was probed, her experiences remained obscured.” The Fate Keeper hesitated before adding, “Later, a magpie immortal extracted a nearly bone-deep phoenix feather from her back—one that belonged… to that person.”

Changying was not one to anger easily. Yet upon hearing this, her breath faltered for an instant, as though flames were surging in her chest. 

She didn’t believe Zhuyou truly wanted to harm Jingyi. If that were the case, why would she bother inviting her to climb the tree and even share her spirit fruit?

“At that time, Zhuyou’s cultivation had already fallen?” Changying lifted her golden eyes, her gaze sharp and piercing.

“Yes, the fire tribulation had just passed, but… she failed to transcend it,” the Fate Keeper replied softly.

Changying’s expression darkened to an extreme. No wonder the Heavenly Realm had made a mistake—wasn’t it because Jingyi happened to be seriously injured, with her hun and po souls incomplete?

She closed the book, contemplating whether Jingyi had foreseen the divination and thus deliberately injured herself. But with her soul fragmented, did she truly have such ability? Could someone else be behind her actions?

If so, who could it be?

The Fate Keeper stole a glance at her. Though the Divine Venerable rarely showed emotion, her current cold indifference seemed laced with anger. Lowering his head again, he dared not ask further.

Changying pondered in silence. Before his demise, the Devil Lord had split his divine soul into three parts, evading the celestial soldiers’ pursuit. Two hun fragments slipped quietly into the cycle of reincarnation. Who would have thought he had such skill, exploiting a loophole in the Heavenly Dao and reincarnating in a place no one in the Heavenly Realm could have imagined?

Her heart sank as she handed the thin register back.

“Did Your Divinity discover something?” The Fate Keeper hurriedly received it.

“No,” Changying replied, not yet intending to reveal her thoughts. Though her words were calm, her mind had already formed a plan. Without further explanation, she turned and walked away.

The Fate Keeper couldn’t stop her and hastily bowed. “Safe travels, Your Divinity.”

***

After leaving the Observatory Pavilion, Changying made her way to the Jade Pool, where Queen Mother of the West, Kunyi, happened to be sitting by the water’s edge. A group of celestial maidens surrounded her, chatting about recent events in the heavens and the Mortal Realm, their laughter echoing softly.

Suddenly, the Obsidian Dragon soared in on a cloud, its scales shimmering brilliantly under the divine light. Its five-clawed talons curled slightly to avoid harming anything in its path.

The moment the dragon revealed its true form, an overwhelming pressure swept across the pool, forcing the celestial maidens to bow deeply and hurriedly pay their respects.

As the dragon landed, it transformed into a tall, slender figure—Changying, the cold and unyielding Divine Venerable.

Seeing her approach, Kunyi’s lips curled into a smile. Rising gracefully, she gestured toward a nearby seat. “What brings Your Divinity to the Jade Pool today?”

“I came to ask a few questions,” Changying said coolly, her tone distant.

Understanding her intent, Kunyi quickly dismissed the celestial maidens. “You may all withdraw.”

Without hesitation, the maidens bowed and flew off, vanishing beyond the pool in the blink of an eye.

Once they were gone, Changying asked, “How are things in the Mortal Realm lately?”

“The weather is favorable, and all is peaceful,” Kunyi replied with a warm smile. She reached for a porcelain jug, intending to pour a cup of warm celestial dew.

Changying raised her hand to stop her. “No need.”

Kunyi set the jug aside and then asked, “Might I inquire whether there has been any sign of the Turbid Mirror?”

Changying had promised Xuanqing to retrieve the sacred artifact. In a calm voice, she replied, “Do not worry.”

Kunyi nodded slightly without pressing the matter. Her thoughts shifted to another concern, and she gently inquired, “I heard that Your Divinity has opened the Cold Eye to benefit the mortal world.”

“That is true,” Changying replied, sitting upright. Her slender waist appeared fragile, yet her posture remained impeccably composed. When she glanced sideways, the upward tilt of her eyes held a subtle allure. After a pause, she added coldly, “The Cold Eye is open, but only those unafraid of life and death may enter and seek enlightenment. However, I observe that very few in the Mortal Realm possess the cultivation necessary to enter it.”

“Becoming an immortal has never been an easy path,” Kunyi responded quietly.

Changying gave a faint nod. “While Shenhua Mountain holds many divine artifacts and spiritual treasures, the opportunities found there cannot compare to the Cold Eye. Those truly determined to ascend the Celestial Ladder will find a path to immortality through it.”

Kunyi furrowed her brows. “But what if someone with malicious intent enters?”

“You worry too much, Queen Mother. The Cold Eye is under my control—no schemer can defile it,” Changying replied icily. She tapped her finger lightly against the table as though lost in thought. After a moment, she spoke again. “Surveying the Heavenly Palace, I find too many idle and incompetent immortals.”

Kunyi straightened, her smile fading as a solemn expression settled on her face. “I welcome Your Divinity’s guidance.”

“Mortals dare not remain idle, yet the immortals of the Heavenly Palace stagnate, showing no ambition. If things continue this way, we may as well seek out capable mortals to cultivate into immortality,” Changying said. She rarely spoke at length, and it seemed that her long silence had made her words feel unfamiliar even to herself.

Kunyi hesitated for a moment, not expecting that the Divine Venerable’s decision to open the Cold Eye held such profound intentions.

Since the great battle a thousand years ago, the Devil Realm had been in decline, and the Three Realms had remained relatively peaceful. The Heavenly Palace had seen no change in ranks, and even the positions of the duty-bound immortals had gone unchallenged for ages. Restrictions guarding the sacred artifacts had also weakened over time.

“If the Heavenly Realm continues to rely on power and status while neglecting its duties, how is it any different from the Mortal Realm?” Changying said coldly, her gaze sharp.

Kunyi was momentarily stunned, confused by the accusation of “relying on power and status.” She quickly said, “I would appreciate the Your Divinity’s clarification.”

Changying turned her gaze toward her. “To the Three Realms, the Nine Heavens represent the Heavenly Dao. And the Heavenly Dao must be impartial.”

Kunyi’s eyes flickered, but her frown remained deeply etched.

“In time, you will understand,” Changying said softly.

Kunyi bowed her head slightly, though she usually found the Divine Venerable cold and distant, she now sensed the anger hidden behind her calm facade.

Indeed, Changying was truly angered—so much so that the oppressive force around her felt like a blade, causing Kunyi’s face to pale slightly.

Changying did not explain further and instead asked, “Is the Turbid Mirror something ordinary people can wield?”

Kunyi pressed her lips together slightly before replying slowly, “This Turbid Mirror, named ‘Zhuo’ (Turbid), can indeed reflect the past. However, it is influenced by the desires of the one using it. Human greed, anger, obsession, and hatred will all manifest within the visions it reveals. The user may become trapped, and without a guide, they might never escape.” Frowning deeply, she pondered for a moment before adding, “Moreover, reversing time itself defies the Heavenly Dao. Staying within it too long will inevitably harm the soul.”

Changying’s pupils shrank. “Harm the soul?”

Kunyi nodded slightly. “That is why this mirror cannot be considered a benevolent object.”

Abruptly, Changying rose to her feet. “Thank you for the warning, Queen Mother of the West.”

“Your Divinity, where are you going?” Kunyi asked urgently as she saw Changying preparing to leave.

“To retrieve the mirror,” Changying said.

She had arrived in haste and left just as swiftly. Before Kunyi could rise, Changying’s figure had already vanished.

Kunyi stood there in a daze for a long while, still mulling over the Divine Venerable’s words—”The Heavenly Dao is unjust.” Her brows furrowed deeply as she wondered to herself, Is the Heavenly Dao truly unjust, or did we do something wrong?

***

A black dragon streaked across the sky, swift as thunder. Its serpentine body undulated like a ribbon of midnight silk weaving through the heavens, its scales shimmering with a dazzling brilliance, as though the divine itself resided within.

Amid the clouds, Changying suddenly shifted back into human form, striding downward as if she were walking on an invisible staircase.

She recalled the omen cast at the Observatory Pavilion and the ancient prophecy of the fractured soul—this thought alone spurred her onward without delay. She dared not conclude whether Zhuyou was the other ancient god she sought. But if she was, then she would inevitably suffer the curse of a fragmented soul.

Changying herself had already endured the agonizing pain of a soul torn asunder, when only seven-tenths of her spirit remained. How could she bear to see Zhuyou suffer the same fate?

Leaping from the clouds, she descended swiftly, her robes billowing like the wings of a soaring bird.

During her century of seclusion, she had once considered bringing Zhuyou back to the heavens. But now, she no longer wished to. She felt that Zhuyou was free to follow her heart—if she wanted to ascend as an immortal, she could; if she wanted to fall into devilhood, no one could stop her. Why should she return to face those who only brought her sorrow?

A burning sensation welled up in Changying’s chest, her blood boiling so fiercely that it nearly stole her breath. She forced herself to calm down, suppressing the tumultuous thoughts rising within her heart. In a single blink, she buried those turbulent emotions deep inside.

What had she just thought?

She had actually—

She had actually considered locking that troublesome demon away in a place no one could ever find. That way, no one could hurt her, no one could anger her, and no one could distract her.

And then… wouldn’t Zhuyou belong to her alone?

But she couldn’t. She was the Divine Venerable of the Nine Heavens—such selfish acts were beneath her.

In truth, there seemed to be no profound connection between her and Zhuyou. In the chaotic dawn of creation, anything could become a god. Changying had bathed in blood, slaughtering devils and demons, nearly perishing in the process. Only through reconstructing her mortal form did she return—and it was then that she met Zhuyou.

If Zhuyou truly was the other star-soul indicated by the omen, then their reincarnation should have followed the will of the heavens—to descend and guard the world against devils. But who could have predicted that one of them would instead become a devil?

How…

Absurd.

***

Meanwhile, in the mortal world, a storyteller in a bustling tavern continued his long-winded tales. Yet, in the private room upstairs, the beautiful woman who often came with her maid to listen was nowhere to be seen.

After retrieving the sacred herb, Zhuyou returned to the inn. Once she shut the door behind her, she immediately laid down a restriction, preventing anyone from entering.

Seeing her return safely, Hanzhu let out a breath of relief. “Mistress, did you acquire the herb?”

Zhuyou flipped her palm over, revealing the sacred herb with its severed stem. Perhaps due to leaving the marsh, its petals and leaves had begun to wilt, but the faint, firefly-like glow still flickered softly.

The stem remained a striking crimson, and when its sap touched her palm, it gleamed as vividly as fresh blood.

Hanzhu froze for a moment before blurting out, “Why is the stem broken? And why have the leaves withered—won’t that ruin its effectiveness?”

Zhuyou chuckled coldly. “Fool. The most precious part of this herb is precisely the severed stem.”

“What about the petals and leaves?” Hanzhu pressed.

Zhuyou’s expression darkened as she remembered Changying’s indifferent face and the words she had spoken. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe her—but did Changying really have to treat her that way?

She herself couldn’t quite tell whether her feelings toward Changying were anger. The Divine Venerable wouldn’t appear in the world without reason—she must be a reincarnated ancient god. Two centuries ago, back when Zhuyou still resided in the heavens, she had been falsely accused of stealing an ancient god’s incarnation. Who would have thought that the ancient god had been by her side all along?

She had been lying to herself. Deep down, she had always known that only someone extraordinary could wield the art of reconstructing the mortal form—but she refused to believe it. If Changying was so powerful, why did she cling to her so desperately—holding her hand, sharing her bed—practically acting like a child?

Seeing her mistress lost in thought, Hanzhu grew anxious. “Did something happen in the Cold Eye?”

Zhuyou cast her a sidelong glance. She couldn’t very well say, I ran into the dragon you abandoned in the devil’s domain a century ago. That would sound too much like the dragon had come back for revenge.

A Divine Venerable seeking revenge? Who could possibly survive that?

What kind of power… what kind of cultivation would that take? Zhuyou fell silent, lost in thought. She couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of awe. To think that the little one who had no spiritual power back then was actually the Divine Venerable.

Back when she exchanged her heart’s blood with the dragon, she had already known she couldn’t defy the heavens alone. If someone else shared her burden, she might stand a chance at survival. It seemed the dragon had indeed grown stronger thanks to her blood—but in the end, it was the dragon who had suffered the greater loss.

After a long silence, Hanzhu, worried that the herb might wilt further, asked urgently, “Mistress, how should the stem be consumed?”

“I don’t know,” Zhuyou admitted candidly. The ancient texts said the Cold Eye sacred herb could heal wounds and dispel poison, but they never specified how to use it.

Hanzhu panicked. “What if you use it wrong and waste it?”

Zhuyou shot her a glare. “It’s a sacred herb. Even just sniffing it should work.”

Hanzhu, intrigued, almost leaned in to take a whiff.

Zhuyou’s face darkened. “Get out. Don’t you dare drain its spiritual essence.”

Without another word, she shoved Hanzhu outside the restriction.

The inn’s servant passing by stared in shock—had that girl just walked through a wall?

Inside the room, Zhuyou took out a porcelain vial, carefully crushed the herb’s petals and stem, and let the bright red juice drip into the bottle—wasting not a single drop.

She gazed at the vial for a moment, then lifted it to her lips and drank it all in one go.