Great Demon - Chapter 62

She fell into a state of confusion, countless questions flooding her ears, causing an immediate, splitting headache. When she regained her senses, she found herself standing in a deep pit where the dust had yet to settle, holding an egg in her arms.

It was a heavy egg, strikingly beautiful, with a shell that seemed translucent yet revealed nothing of its interior, adorned with shimmering patterns.

For some reason, she felt she shouldn’t keep this egg, as if she and the egg were destined to part ways.

She couldn’t keep it, she just couldn’t.

Her hand loosened, and the egg fell back into the pit with a thud. The shell remained unbroken, but the muddy ground beneath it sank a little further.

The egg rolled a couple of times before coming to a stop, its surface still shimmering, though it was unclear if the inside remained intact.

Zhuyou stared at it for a long while, her heart pounding, several times tempted to pick it up again, but she managed to resist.

Suddenly, for no apparent reason, the sky darkened. A buzzing sound filled her ears, like the tolling of a bell. Looking up, she saw purple lightning crisscrossing the sky, signaling an impending downpour.

In the blink of an eye, the once bright world was plunged into darkness, as if night had fallen.

The thunderclap startled her, and without another glance at the egg, she hurried away, the rumbling thunder sounding almost like the roar of a dragon.

When dragons rage, the heavens pour.

Even as she walked away, she couldn’t stop thinking about the egg she had dropped. She was the Vermillion Phoenix of the Nine Heavens, someone who should have no concept of the despair of being abandoned. Yet now, it felt as if a piece of her heart had been hollowed out, a wave of sorrow churning within her chest.

It was as if she had personally experienced this kind of helplessness, as if she too had once been cradled in someone’s palm, only to be cast down to the human world.

How could this be? She shouldn’t know this kind of heart-wrenching grief.

But what could she do? Zhuyou wandered aimlessly, her soul seemingly adrift, wondering if she should go back and retrieve the egg.

One part of her mind urged her to pick it up, while another screamed at her to stay away.

Barefoot, she ran through the mountains, her red dress billowing like a surging wave, yet not a speck of mud stained her.

She found shelter from the rain, knowing that if her feathers got soaked, it would be unbearable. In her haste, she spotted an abandoned temple and stepped under its eaves just as the rain began to pour.

The large raindrops pelted down, as if trying to shatter the roof tiles. The ground turned to mud, splattering everywhere.

In the distance, something seemed to be rolling toward her through the muck.

It was covered in mud, yet its shimmering light was unmistakable, like a ghostly flame from the mountains.

It moved in fits and starts, as if it had legs and eyes, even feinting at one point, nearly crashing into an old pillar before rolling to a stop at her feet.

It was the egg again.

Zhuyou looked down at it, her emotions in turmoil. She had been hesitating, torn by the pain of abandoning the egg, and now—

The egg had followed her.

Could the egg have developed a consciousness? But how could an egg possess such a thing?

She stood motionless, and the egg remained still, as if locked in a standoff with her.

“What do you want?” she asked, feeling foolish the moment the words left her lips. How could an egg respond? Was she really expecting an answer?

After a while, Zhuyou bent down and picked up the egg, wondering if it was some trick by the birds of Mount Danxue to track her down.

She didn’t want to return, but she also couldn’t bear to abandon the egg again. So she cast a spell, allowing the egg to accompany her as they both vanished into the human world.

As the spell took effect, she told herself it wasn’t out of pity, but rather concern that the birds of Mount Danxue might use the egg to find her.

Holding the egg, she felt a chill seep into her palms, as if it had come from a place of extreme cold.

The rain continued, though it seemed to lighten slightly.

Zhuyou’s thoughts were muddled. She had been unable to fly earlier, so how could she now cast spells?

Confusion swirled within her. Was she truly the Vermillion Phoenix of the Nine Heavens? Was any of this real or just an illusion?

The more she tried to make sense of it, the dizzier she became.

Once she picked up the egg, it became remarkably calm. Even the dark clouds above seemed to part slightly, and the thunder grew less deafening.

She stepped into the temple and sat on a straw mat, placing the egg beside her and studying it for a long time.

There was no sign of a spirit within the egg, so how could it have consciousness? Yet there was no trace of any external spell on the egg either. It couldn’t have moved on its own unless someone had commanded it.

Zhuyou stared intently at the egg, determined to figure out what trick it was playing.

Just as she closed her eyes to focus, she felt a weight in her lap. Opening her eyes, she saw the egg nestled there, as if it had no intention of leaving.

Perhaps it did have consciousness after all. How else would it know to crawl into her lap when she closed her eyes?

But why was it fixated on her? Zhuyou couldn’t understand.

She still felt she shouldn’t keep the egg, as if there was some unresolved debt or conflict between them.

If she couldn’t keep it, then she wouldn’t. The next morning, after the rain had stopped, she hurried away, leaving the egg on the straw mat in the temple.

But as soon as she left, thunder cracked, and the once clear sky was again shrouded in dark clouds. The rain poured down relentlessly.

The wind howled, birds hid, and the mountain beasts stayed out of sight.

Yet the egg refused to let her go. Braving the rain, it rolled after her through the mud, as if throwing a tantrum, covering itself in filth before bumping into her foot.

Her slender, pale ankle was now marked with muddy prints.

Zhuyou was truly exasperated. She had no idea what the egg wanted. After casting a cleansing spell, she picked it up and asked with a heavy gaze, “What do you want?”

The egg seemed to nuzzle her hand.

She sighed, thinking maybe she should just keep the egg, but soon she felt she had made a mistake.

For some reason, she felt as if she was repeating a past mistake.

The countless questions that had once flooded her ears were now silent, but she still remembered the voice asking, Is this what you want?

Holding the heavy, mysterious egg, Zhuyou felt lost. Was this really what she wanted?

As she walked through the human world, many people watched her, openly and covertly, yet she felt no sense of danger. Instead, she felt calm and at ease.

But she shouldn’t feel this way. She should find a place to hide and plan her next move.

Yet, she couldn’t remember what she needed to plan. In her confusion, she latched onto a reason: perhaps it was because she had fled from an arranged marriage and feared being caught by the Phoenix Clan.

Yes, that must be it.

The egg in her arms remained still, as if whatever was inside had died, showing no signs of hatching.

Zhuyou wasn’t in a hurry. She carried it with her as she wandered, and just as she spotted a vaguely familiar face, she heard a crack.

Something had split open.

She quickly looked down and saw a fine crack on the egg’s surface, followed by two dark holes breaking through.

Indeed, it was pitch black. When she peered through the holes in the eggshell, she couldn’t see anything inside. Perhaps whatever was inside was naturally black, but this was far too dark.

She tapped the shell lightly, wondering if the creature inside was still alive. If it was, she wanted it to wake up. But there was no movement from within, and it didn’t nuzzle her hand as it had before.

In the distance, the familiar figure drew closer. It was an auspicious grass Immortal, followed by a group of magpie immortals with resplendent feathers.

Seeing this, Zhuyou quickly dodged away. She searched her memories but found no trace of any enmity with these immortals. Yet, she didn’t want to see any of them—not a single one. She wished to never see them again, not for all eternity.

Holding the egg, she walked in another direction. Suddenly, she heard another crack. Looking down, she saw a small, pitch-black head poking out of the eggshell. To her surprise… it was a black snake?

Zhuyou stared in disbelief. The snake had golden eyes, and its black scales shimmered with a kaleidoscope of colors, making it strikingly beautiful.

For a moment, she felt an urge to throw the snake away, as far as possible.

But the snake stared at her unblinkingly. It looked slightly different from ordinary snakes, but if it wasn’t a snake, what else could it be? Perhaps it had been injured when she dropped the egg earlier, and its head was now crooked.

“Now that you’ve hatched, you should go off on your own. Stop clinging to me,” she said, and with that, she casually tossed the black creature far away. The snake arced through the air and vanished, its landing spot unknown.

Zhuyou felt a wave of relief, not a trace of guilt in her heart. In fact, she felt remarkably at ease.

She walked for a long time before realizing something strange about the human world. The streets were unusually empty, and the few people she did see seemed vaguely familiar, though she couldn’t recall any of their names. It was as if they were all mere passing acquaintances.

This shouldn’t be the case. Had all the familiar faces gathered in one place?

Just as she was about to leave, she felt something tug at the hem of her trailing skirt. Looking down, she saw that the black snake had returned.

Not only had it returned, but it also looked furious, though it couldn’t jump up and could only stare at her pleadingly.

Zhuyou remained silent and even kicked it lightly.

The snake was sent rolling into a ball. Once it steadied itself, it bared its fangs and lunged at her, biting down on the corner of her skirt.

The skirt was made from her phoenix feathers, and if the snake’s fangs had been any sharper, it might have pierced through.

Unable to shake it off, Zhuyou reluctantly picked the snake up again. As soon as she did, it bit her wrist—not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to make its displeasure known.

The snake seemed to be grinding its teeth, not even breaking the skin.

She couldn’t help but flick the snake on its forehead. As she did, she suddenly felt as if she had done this before.

Perhaps she had hit her head at some point and forgotten.

The snake was incredibly clingy. After biting her wrist, it coiled around her arm, refusing to let go. No matter how hard she tried to pull it off, it clung tightly, as if nailed to her wrist. If she tried to remove it, it would open its tiny mouth, threatening to bite.

What a temper! Others might think she had adopted a pet snake, but she knew better—this was no pet; it was a little tyrant.

The snake’s body was icy cold, as if it had been raised on ice. If it weren’t for her phoenix blood protecting her, her wrist would have gone numb from the cold.

“Why won’t you leave?” Zhuyou raised her wrist, narrowing her eyes at the snake, half-hoping it could understand her. When the snake remained motionless, she sighed and added, “I already threw you away once, yet you insist on clinging to me. Do you want to be tossed again? Is being thrown into the air really that fun?”

The snake seemed to understand. It shook its head and bared its tiny fangs again.

“Oh, I’m so scared,” Zhuyou said flatly.

The snake lowered its head, pressing it against her wrist bone, and stopped moving altogether, not even baring its fangs anymore.

Outwardly, Zhuyou appeared calm, but inside, she was in turmoil.

Her soul felt as if it were being split in two. One half wanted to throw the snake away again, while the other half wanted to cradle it close and never abandon it.

She racked her brain but couldn’t find any clues as to why she didn’t want to see the immortals, why she didn’t want to return to Mount Danxue, or why… she didn’t want to keep this snake by her side.

It wasn’t resentment or disgust—it was simply that she didn’t want to keep it.

How annoying. She didn’t want to see anyone or get close to anyone, yet this snake had barged into her life and insisted on clinging to her.

The snake’s temper was truly terrible. It ignored her when she spoke, but the moment she tried to pull it away, it would coil tightly around her, its golden eyes glaring fiercely, looking utterly ferocious.

Such a tiny creature, and it dared to act so fierce?

Zhuyou wandered aimlessly until her eyes caught sight of a sign that read “Lianchun Tower.” Her gaze was drawn to it, and her heart seemed to follow. She turned on her heel and walked toward it.

Inside the tower, a storyteller snapped his folding fan shut and tapped it against a wooden table, proclaiming loudly, “Speaking of that day, it was truly earth-shattering! Even the ten thousand ghosts wailed in terror. The Devil-Suppressing Tower—crack—shattered into dust in an instant!”

Zhuyou didn’t know what event the storyteller was referring to, but hearing about the Buddhist tower being reduced to dust filled her with an odd sense of delight. She thought to herself, Oh, how impressive.

After taking a seat, the snake on her wrist slithered onto the table. A waiter soon brought over a dish.

When the waiter lifted the lid, the dish inside emitted no steam and looked rather peculiar.

What… was this pile of spirit stones?

Zhuyou looked up in surprise, but the waiter had already walked away.

This couldn’t be right. Mortals wouldn’t eat something like this. Was she the one who had gone mad, or had the mortals lost their minds?

It seemed the snake’s brain might also be a bit off, as it kept lunging toward the spirit stones. What kind of snake eats spirit stones?

Zhuyou panicked and quickly flipped the bowl over, trapping the black snake underneath, afraid it might get sick from eating something so unnatural. 

The rim of the bowl nearly crushed the snake’s tail, but luckily, the snake curled its tail in just in time, avoiding disaster.

Zhuyou couldn’t help but feel a pang of frustration. It felt as if she had done this before—trapped something under a bowl. But… she had never kept a snake before.

She turned her gaze toward the private room across from her and noticed that the people inside had blurry faces, as if they lacked eyes or noses. Yet, the dishes on their table were ordinary, nothing like the spirit stones.

This was strange. The human world was far too strange.

Suddenly, Zhuyou’s head began to ache violently. She propped her head up with her elbow, her thoughts muddled. Was she really in the human world?

Was this truly the human world? Was the human world supposed to be like this?

As the pain in her head intensified, the world around her seemed to spin. She lifted the overturned bowl and saw the black snake staring at her with icy, indifferent eyes.

She thought to herself, This shouldn’t be happening. I don’t crave this fleeting comfort.

This wasn’t what she wanted. This wasn’t… the human world.

At this realization, her heart turned cold, as if all her resentment and longing had frozen into ice, numbing her pounding heart.

The surroundings twisted as if caught in a whirlpool. The buildings contorted, and the figures of mortals tangled together. People and objects blended like pigments stirred into a dye vat, becoming indistinguishable.

Zhuyou’s mind suddenly cleared. She remembered—this wasn’t the human world. She was inside the Turbid Mirror. The mirror had clouded her vision and confused her senses, nearly trapping her in this false tranquility.

No wonder the mirror was named “Turbid.” Its surface was murky not because it reflected the outlines of objects, but because it reflected—

The human heart.

Greed, anger, obsession, and resentment were all mirrored within. Those with weak wills would be trapped forever, unable to wake.

If she hadn’t been slandered two hundred years ago, if her immortal bones hadn’t been stripped and her meridians severed, perhaps the magpie immortals and auspicious grass would still be by her side. Perhaps she would have been the one waiting on Mount Danxue for the Dragon Clan to propose marriage. But whether she would have met Changying… that was uncertain.

None of this was what she had wanted. But since it had already happened, there was no turning back.

Zhuyou quickly stood up, only to find the world around her once again plunged into chaos. She couldn’t find her way out.

As she rose, the wooden table in front of her sank into the ground, and the bowl on it clattered to the floor.

Zhuyou looked down and saw the black dragon lying on the ground. Unlike the bowl, it hadn’t shattered. Instead, it lifted its head to look at her. The snake looked exactly like Changying when she had first hatched. Even Zhuyou couldn’t tell the difference.

“You…” Zhuyou hesitated, remembering that Changying had entered the Turbid Mirror with her. She couldn’t be sure if this black dragon was really Changying.

Suddenly, the snake on the ground grew longer and transformed into a tall, slender woman. It was indeed Changying.

Her hair was ink-black, her robes dark, and her face pale, with cold golden eyes.

Changying lifted her gaze, the golden ornament on her forehead swaying slightly, softening her otherwise cold expression. She was too aloof, like a god high above the Nine Heavens, indifferent to the sufferings of the human world, concerned only with cause and effect.

Zhuyou came to her senses. No, it wasn’t just an impression—Changying truly was like that.

A century had passed, and the dragon she had raised had become a Divine Venerable of the Nine Heavens. This Divine Venerable carried her heart’s blood within her.

The dragon, which had been lying peacefully on the ground, had now taken human form, her aura sharp and imposing. Zhuyou couldn’t help but take half a step back.

Seeing the confusion in Zhuyou’s eyes and her cautious retreat, Changying softened her gaze slightly and said, “That was your heart’s demon, an illusion within the Turbid Mirror. I was caught in it and have only now regained my form.”

Zhuyou was momentarily speechless. So that pitch-black creature really had been Changying. No wonder she couldn’t shake it off.

Changying spoke calmly, “I thought… that was what you desired.”

“No,” Zhuyou turned her head to glance at her. “That wasn’t what I wanted.” It was the Turbid Mirror’s trick to cloud her vision. Though she had once been filled with resentment and confusion, her heart was now clear.

After this ordeal, she would no longer foolishly cling to the past.

“Then when you took me with you earlier, was that not what you truly wanted?” Changying asked, her gaze unwavering.

For a moment, Zhuyou wondered if Changying would feel pain if she nodded. She didn’t want to admit that, in the midst of the chaotic illusion, she had followed her heart and taken Changying with her.

Seeing her hesitation, Changying lowered her eyes and said calmly, “I understand.”

Zhuyou frowned slightly, feeling a pang of discomfort. She forced a smile and teased, “Even a Divine Venerable of the Nine Heavens can be trapped in the Turbid Mirror?”

Changying lifted her golden eyes, her expression indifferent. “I wasn’t trapped. I simply chose not to leave. If you were lost in the illusion, I would have brought you out.” She added. “You know I haven’t changed. If I say I won’t harm you, I won’t.”

Perhaps it was the intensity of Changying’s gaze, but Zhuyou’s pupils trembled slightly. “What hasn’t changed?” she asked.