Great Demon - Chapter 60

It seemed that even the deepest cold of the Three Realms could not compare to this.

As Zhuyou crushed the herb into juice, her hands had already been frozen beyond recognition. But she had not expected that upon placing it in her mouth, the chill would penetrate even deeper. Though the phoenix blood coursing through her veins burned like fire, it could not dispel even a fraction of the cold.

The moment it slid down her throat, she lost all sensation there—a sheer, biting cold that left her unsure whether she had even swallowed it.

She gulped instinctively, and the chill shot straight to the top of her head. Even her scalp and every strand of her hair seemed to stiffen.

Then, the cold seeped into her chest, as if ice had formed in her stomach. She even suspected that the heart beating within her ribcage had come to a stop.

Unable to bear it, she hunched forward, one hand gripping the table for support. Her fingers curled inward, the knuckles turning pale.

Too cold. Her lips trembled to the point of numbness, and a shudder ran through her entire body. Even the fingers clenched against the table were shaking uncontrollably.

Sunlight streamed in through the window lattice, while outside, the streets were lively and bustling. Drums and music filled the air, performers entertained the crowds, and voices mingled with the neighing of horses. Even the mortals wandering the marketplace felt no trace of lingering spring chill.

Yet Zhuyou found herself utterly frozen. At this moment, she thought, she was likely the only one in all the Three Realms suffering from the cold.

Not even in Shenhua Mountain had she experienced such a frigid sensation. Every breath she exhaled was icy, and her body felt as though it had just been pulled from an abyss of ice—her muscles and bones frozen stiff, unable to move. Her body no longer obeyed her. It felt as if it had been rendered useless.

The flower’s essence had seeped into her stomach, spreading through her organs and saturating her bloodstream. There was no part of her body left untouched by the cold.

She had originally intended to retreat into her spatial refuge and immerse herself in the hot spring she had stolen from Shenhua Mountain, but it was too late…

A surge of immense spiritual power, hidden within the flower’s petals, suddenly erupted. The force crashed through her body, rushing into her head and flooding into her spiritual sea.

The impact nearly made her cough up blood. She swiftly lifted herself into the air, crossing her legs as though being lifted by the wind.

Calm the heart. Focus the mind.

Her eyes remained shut tight as the untamed energy rampaged within her spiritual sea. She had to absorb it quickly, subdue it, and merge it into her own power.

Outside, the daylight gradually faded. The sky was painted with the hues of dusk before night quietly settled in. The marketplace below the inn had been noisy, but with nightfall, it turned eerily quiet. Only the occasional bark of a dog, the wail of a baby, or the intermittent sound of someone cursing broke the silence.

Such was the nature of the mortal world.

Hanzhu stood motionless outside the door, not daring to knock. Her gaze remained sharp, scanning her surroundings as she silently stood guard.

A servant from the inn was delivering food to a guest in the middle of the night. On his way down, he glanced toward this floor, curiosity momentarily overcoming him. He had been drowsy from exhaustion, but when he saw the young woman standing so still outside the door, a jolt ran through him, instantly banishing his sleepiness. Had he seen a ghost? Why was this girl standing so rigidly at the door in the dead of night? Could she have been possessed?

Frightened, he lowered his voice and called out, “Miss?”

The elders in his family used to say that if one was summoning a wandering soul, they should call its name. But he had no idea what this young woman’s name was—he could only take his chances.

Hanzhu turned to look at him. Already anxious, she was now further agitated by the servant’s sudden call. She cast a sharp, impatient glance in his direction. Her gaze was icy. 

The servant thought, I’m doomed. He had failed to summon the girl’s soul back but had instead awakened a vengeful spirit.

Panicked, he turned and bolted, twisting his ankle in the process. He nearly tumbled down the stairs, his eyes brimming with terrified tears.

***

The mortal night stretched on, and within the room, a silver-blue glow swirled like a celestial river.

But it was neither ghostly fire nor the radiance of the stars—it was an extraordinary surge of spiritual energy.

Zhuyou remained seated in the air, steadily absorbing the immense power bestowed by the flower. She was in no hurry. Her brows were smooth, her breath composed, as she meditated midair.

Time passed. Suddenly, the distant cry of a rooster signaled the arrival of dawn.

Moments later, the hand resting on her knee twitched slightly. The power surging through her body had finally merged with her spiritual sea.

Without haste, she examined her spiritual sea. It brimmed with purified energy, gleaming as if freshly cleansed. Suspended at its center was a single scale, drifting with the ebb and flow of spiritual power.

That scale had appeared a hundred years ago after she exchanged heart’s blood with Changying. No matter how she tried, she could never remove it—it had seemingly rooted itself there.

At first, she had been deeply concerned, fearing it might disrupt her spiritual sea. But a century had passed, and it remained inert, like a useless relic.

Yet now, after absorbing a century’s worth of cultivation from the flower’s leaves, the scale had changed—It had become sleeker, sharper, as if carefully polished.

Zhuyou’s eyes snapped open. She suddenly felt an unprecedented sense of clarity, her entire body at ease. A deep breath escaped her lips, and as it did, an unseen force rippled outward, surging in all directions.

The locked windows burst open, and the entire room trembled violently.

Footsteps approached outside—

It was Hanzhu.

Zhuyou flipped her palm over, hastily retracting all the excess energy before she accidentally reduced the inn to rubble.

“Mistress?” Hanzhu’s voice was filled with concern. Afraid of disturbing her, she kept her voice low.

“I’m fine. Do not enter.” Zhuyou parted her lips to speak, only to find her throat tight, as though she had held her breath for too long and had yet to recover.

Her body felt utterly relaxed, as though every joint had been loosened. In that moment, she finally realized—The power granted by the herb was far more than three hundred years’ worth.

If anything, it was much, much more.

The cold that had seeped into her very bones receded like a retreating tide. In an instant, it withdrew from her organs and limbs, then vanished entirely like floodwaters drained away. The stiffness in her body melted. In mere moments, her frozen muscles and bones returned to normal. She felt refreshed, utterly rejuvenated.

Though she had not yet broken through to the next stage, her cultivation was now right on the threshold—just a little more, and she would step through!

Such a sacred artifact—Changying had given it to her for no reason at all?

Zhuyou quickly lowered her gaze to inspect the poisonous mist in her eyes. As expected, the mist that had once clustered there had completely vanished without a trace. Her vision was now crystal clear, no longer hazy or blurred.

The ancient texts had not lied to her—the Cold Eye sacred herb was indeed formidable.

Still, she couldn’t help but wonder—had Changying really opened the Cold Eye solely to help her obtain this herb?

After all, immortals and devils were inherently opposed. Though Changying’s appearance had changed drastically since returning to the Heavenly Realm, she still treated Zhuyou with the same deference. She was more reserved than in her childhood, less talkative—but her every action seemed to be an attempt to please her.

Zhuyou had once thought that if she had the power to request something from the Heavenly Realm, she might ask for a dragon. But now that she had seen Changying again, she no longer had any such desire.

Changying had changed—she had grown, and the change was profound. She was colder, more indifferent. Where was the obedient, docile girl Zhuyou once knew? Changying must have forgotten—Zhuyou only liked those who were obedient.

With a flick of her wrist, Zhuyou sent out a burst of energy. The door swung open with a loud bang, and the restriction placed upon it was lifted.

Hanzhu, who had been standing rigidly outside, snapped to attention and asked in surprise, “Mistress, have you taken the sacred herb?”

Zhuyou gave a slight nod and gestured for her to enter.

Hanzhu hurried inside, the joy in her heart plain on her face. Yet, she did not dare to stare openly. Instead, she carefully glanced at Zhuyou’s beautiful eyes and whispered, “Have your eyes fully recovered, Mistress?”

“The poisonous mist is gone.” Zhuyou lowered her crossed legs and slowly descended to the ground.

Only then did Hanzhu realize that her mistress’ cultivation seemed to have advanced yet again—reaching a realm she herself could never hope to attain. “This sacred herb is truly incredible!” she said with excitement.

Zhuyou gave a slight nod but remained silent. Her thoughts turned to the Turbid Mirror that Changying had mentioned. Without hesitation, she reached out and tore open the void, pulling forth a tarnished bronze mirror from thin air.

It was the Turbid Mirror.

She had not carried it on her person but had hidden it in the Lower Realm, among mortals.

Hanzhu froze for a moment when she saw the mirror, then quickly asked, “Mistress, are you planning to use the mirror?”

Zhuyou held the heavy mirror in her hands, her gaze fixed on it. She was still hesitant. If what Jing Kexin had said was true, then no matter how much her cultivation had improved, she might not be able to trace back to the time before her own birth.

The last time Jing Kexin entered the mirror, she would have been trapped forever had no one been there to pull her out. If it were her—would she also be unable to escape?

Zhuyou indeed wanted to find the remaining soul fragment of the Devil Lord, but not at the cost of her own life.

She wanted the Devil Lord to reincarnate, but not because she desired his position. With her current cultivation, there was no one who could threaten her claim to the throne.

But she didn’t want it—what she sought was far beyond a wretched seat of power like that.

Seeing the serious look in her mistress’ eyes as she stared silently at the sacred artifact, Hanzhu knew that Zhuyou had already made her decision.

Zhuyou lifted her gaze and said calmly, “I will enter the mirror to investigate.”

As expected, Hanzhu’s eyes widened in shock. Though she had anticipated this, hearing it out loud still filled her with dread.

She didn’t want her mistress to take such a risk—not in the slightest. Over the past century, that feeling had only grown stronger, consuming her heart. She longed for Zhuyou to do nothing—simply to stay with her in the human world. Whether they traveled to see the mountains and rivers or settled down somewhere quiet, it didn’t matter.

Why—why did she have to risk her life?

Hanzhu no longer remembered the heavenly affairs Zhuyou often spoke of, not since her reincarnation. But she knew that Zhuyou must have fought desperately to survive in the Devil Realm, barely grasping a moment’s respite.

Zhuyou urged her to cherish her own life—yet she did not do the same for herself.

Biting her lower lip, Hanzhu asked again, “Mistress, are you truly going to enter the mirror?”

Zhuyou’s voice remained even. “If I do not emerge within five days, you must draw out my hun and po souls.”

“Like when you extracted Third Lord’s divine soul?” Hanzhu asked quickly.

“Precisely,” Zhuyou affirmed with a nod.

Hanzhu dared not respond. What was her own cultivation compared to her mistress’? Zhuyou had been able to pull Jing Kexin from the Turbid Mirror—but could she?

“But…”

“No buts,” Zhuyou interrupted with a frown. “If you cannot do it, seek out Luo Qing and have him come. I am searching for the remaining soul of the Devil Lord—he will not stand idly by. He will find a way to help.”

Hanzhu was deeply troubled, but she dared not refuse. Bowing her head, she said softly, “I will do as you command, Mistress.”

Zhuyou stepped toward the round table and placed the Turbid Mirror upon it. “Leave me,” she said.

“Mistress, are you going to enter the mirror right now?” Hanzhu asked, startled.

Zhuyou nodded, casting her a sidelong glance. “Or should I wait until the celestial soldiers descend to seize this artifact? Wouldn’t that be clever—stepping into the mirror just in time for them to capture me like a turtle in a jar?” She paused briefly before adding dryly, “Or rather, a turtle in a mirror.”

Hanzhu shook her head fervently. That was certainly not her intention.

Zhuyou smirked faintly but did not rebuke her. Instead, she warned, “Remember—if I am not out within five days, you must find a way to pull me back.”

“If you can’t come back… will it…” Hanzhu’s voice trembled, her eyes reddening. “Will it endanger your life?”

“No,” Zhuyou replied calmly. Now that she knew the one who had exchanged heart’s blood with her was a celestial deity, there was no way she could die so easily.

As long as Changying did not cut out that heart’s blood, she would not perish.

No wonder. No wonder that after leaving the Devil Realm a hundred years ago, the pain Zhuyou suffered was far less than the injuries she had endured. During that time, not only did she not step through death’s door, but she also advanced in her cultivation as if aided by the heavens themselves.

It seemed that this fortune was meant for Changying—but somehow, Zhuyou had taken the Heavenly Dao’s favor for herself.

“Are you sure it won’t cost you your life?” Hanzhu hurriedly asked again.

Zhuyou couldn’t understand why this peafowl demon had become so nagging and remarked coldly, “Has no one spoken to you these days, and now you can’t stop talking?”

Hanzhu immediately shut her mouth and shook her head.

“If you’re so idle, go talk to that innkeeper. I’ve seen him watching you with a puzzled expression—he probably has a stomach full of questions for you,” Zhuyou said lazily.

Hanzhu stiffly nodded, remembering how she had scared the innkeeper off the night before. No doubt the mortal had even more questions now. Her eyes wavered, and her tightly closed lips parted slightly. “Mistress, are you sure—”

Before she could finish, Zhuyou cast a cold glance at her.

“I’m sure,” Zhuyou said, her tone filled with impatience. She spoke with certainty, but how could she be truly sure that entering the Turbid Mirror would not harm her life?

To enter the artifact, one had to extract the hun soul. If the hun and po souls were separated from the physical body for too long, disaster would inevitably follow.

Hanzhu bit her lip, took a deep breath, and bowed her head. “Then I will take my leave.”

Zhuyou nodded wordlessly, waving her hand dismissively. Her slender wrist flicked through the air, flashing briefly before Hanzhu’s eyes.

Hanzhu withdrew at once. The moment she closed the door behind her, unease crept into her heart. A deep and all-consuming unease.

Suddenly, the world around her seemed to freeze in place. Even the innkeeper, who was descending the stairs with a wooden tray, remained motionless. One foot hovered mid-air, suspended indefinitely, while his expression grew dull and vacant.

Hanzhu froze in confusion. Something was wrong. She meant to glance out the window but found that her legs would not move. They were locked in place—no, her whole body was rigid. She couldn’t raise her arms or make a sound, her throat clogged as if sealed shut.

The silence was absolute. Even the wind through the window seemed to still. A young leaf, caught mid-fall, hung motionless in the air.

What was happening?

A chill surged through Hanzhu’s heart, a terror like an ocean tide flooding her chest and skull—an instinctive fear that her very life was being held in someone else’s grasp.

Then, an invisible hand seemed to press against the top of her head. Though she couldn’t move, the oppressive force bent her forward, her neck feeling as though it were being strangled. She struggled to breathe.

Hanzhu’s face turned pale. She desperately wanted to cry out, but no sound could escape her throat.

At that moment, she thought—I am going to die.

The overwhelming pressure made her tremble uncontrollably, as if all the hidden fears within her heart had been dragged to the surface. She felt exposed—stripped bare under this oppressive gaze.

She wanted to hide, but there was nowhere to escape. It was terrifying. 

Tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill over. Not even the great conflict a century ago had brought forth such a fearsome presence. Her pupils shrank in terror as a dreadful thought crept into her mind—could the Heavenly Emperor have come personally to reclaim the sacred artifact?

Yet, what appeared before her was not the Heavenly Emperor.

It was an immortal clad in black robes with black hair cascading down her back—but whether to call her an immortal or an otherworldly divine being, Hanzhu could not say.

The black-robed woman appeared suddenly, the world still frozen around her. Only the strands of her dark hair and the thin fabric of her robes stirred slightly in the lingering currents of spiritual energy.

Just one glance, and Hanzhu’s eyes burned in pain. It was as though she was gazing upon something mortals were never meant to see.

What kind of cultivation realm was this? It seemed far beyond even her mistress’.

Hanzhu had heard rumors that the Divine Venerable had returned to the Heavenly Realm. Could this woman be her?

The divine figure’s face was pale—her lips devoid of color. Her brows and eyes, naturally arched, should have been strikingly beautiful, yet her pallid complexion and detached expression stripped her of any warmth.

Her gaze was cold, devoid of feeling. There was not the slightest trace of mercy or compassion for the living.

Was this truly the Divine Venerable?

Hanzhu wanted to avert her eyes, but she couldn’t. Not only was she unable to move, but even her vision remained fixed on the figure. Her eyes throbbed with pain.

Who… was she?

The woman’s face stirred a distant memory—something familiar—but no matter how hard Hanzhu searched her mind, she could not place her.

She shouldn’t know this woman. If she had met her before, how could she possibly forget?

***

It was Changying.

She had told Zhuyou she would come later—and indeed, she had come.

Changying’s gaze swept coldly toward Hanzhu but did not lift the oppressive force upon her. At this moment, she seemed more devil than the devils themselves.

Mortals believed that heavenly beings should be compassionate and benevolent—but she was not. After all… she was the Slayer God.

Hanzhu was truly afraid. She wanted to speak—to ask—but her throat seized up with panic, and no words would come.

Changying’s voice was calm and distant. “She used the Turbid Mirror?”

Hanzhu froze, torn between shock and fear. This woman knew about the Turbid Mirror—she must be here to seize it!

But as if reading her thoughts, Changying added, “I was the one who gave it to her.”

Another shock hit Hanzhu like a bolt of lightning.

Changying’s cold gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before she asked, “You don’t recognize me either?”

Hanzhu trembled. Should she… remember?

Suddenly, an image surged into her mind—a frail, pale dragon. 

Was it her?

A hundred years ago, Hanzhu had left Changying behind of her own accord. She never expected that the abandoned dragon would return one day—with such terrifying power.

Would Changying now take her life—punish her with a fate worse than death?

But Changying withdrew her gaze and pressed forward. Without a sound, she passed through the restrictive barrier on the door and entered the room.

Inside, Zhuyou immediately sensed the stillness around her. Alarmed, she sharpened her focus. The instant the barrier was breached, she snapped, “Who’s there?”

But before she could turn around, a warm hand seized her wrist—slender, deathly pale fingers pressing her hand against the Turbid Mirror. The person behind her stood close—so close they nearly touched, yet they maintained a deliberate distance, refusing to close the gap.

“If you seek something, let me help you,” Changying said, her voice hurried and breathless, as though afraid she had arrived too late.