Great Demon - Chapter 75 Part 1

Truth and illusion, reality and falsehood—all are contained within this Turbid Mirror.

In just the blink of an eye, Zhuyou had returned two hundred years into the past, back to the 15th day of the twelfth lunar month in the 170th year of the Guangsu Calendar in the Mortal Realm. On this day, mortals were worshipping the Heavenly Emperor, praying for peace, while the celestial beings in the heavens gathered in joyous harmony.

The celestial gates stood wide open once more. Heavenly soldiers, clad in silver-gray armor and wielding long halberds, guarded the entrance. One by one, immortals entered through the gate, greeting each other with cupped hands, exchanging polite words.

The celestial banquet began. The beast-faced war drum was suddenly struck, producing a deep thud—heavier than heavenly thunder, seemingly imbued with the power to ward off evil and exorcise spirits. The reverberation cleared the minds of the immortals, washing away all impure thoughts.

The celestial maidens spun gracefully, their vibrant sleeves sweeping through the air, tracing streaks of divine radiance that unfurled vast cascades of rosy clouds. The immortals raised their cups, drinking celestial wine in celebration beneath the boundless divine glow.

In the midst of it all, Zhuyou saw herself.

She was seated beneath the Sky-Piercing Divine Tree, her bare feet peeking out from beneath a flowing gown that draped to the ground, concealing her legs—pure and unmarked, without any devil markings.

Beside her was a chattering flock of magpie immortals. They bickered amongst themselves, unwilling to acknowledge each other, yet still eager to impress her. One after another, they hurriedly presented their treasures to her, crowding around her like a lively throng of gift-bearers.

The magpie immortals never ceased their prattling. It was as if they had reverted to their true forms, their voices chirping in a noisy, bustling cacophony. They jostled and shoved, each one afraid of being pushed out of the group.

Zhuyou stood there in a daze. In that moment, she suddenly understood why—after entering the devil’s domain—she had always kept dainty and lively attendant maidens by her side. She had thought she had long since let go of the past. Yet, as it turned out… she had never truly forgotten the Heavenly Palace.

It was not reconciliation, but something buried deep within her heart. Unless her descending spirit thread was pulled from her sea of consciousness, no matter how many years passed, the feelings would always remain.

She watched, motionless, as her past self sat beneath the Sky-Piercing Divine Tree, seemingly carefree and at peace.

Behind her, Changying’s palm remained pressed against her back. She felt as though she had lost her hun soul—each push from her sending her stumbling forward one step at a time.

“Let’s go,” Changying murmured softly by her ear.

Zhuyou turned away and took a few slow steps. As her gaze shifted, she suddenly caught sight of Yunshuo and Lingyan—the Phoenix Lord and his wife.

Her tightly pressed lips twitched slightly as she silently mouthed their names. She had thought that seeing them again would fill her with seething resentment. Yet now, she felt only unwillingness—an unshakable sense of discontent.

Though Yunshuo was the Phoenix Lord, he was meek and submissive before his wife, making it seem as though Lingyan was the one truly in charge. He was dressed in blue robes, and though he had lived for over a thousand years, he still carried the demeanor of a scholar.

Standing beside him was a figure all too familiar—was that not Jingyi?

At that time, Jingyi was still bewildered and naive, appearing as though anyone could take advantage of her. Her phoenix eyes lacked their usual brightness. She stood there stiffly, unmoving, as if she hadn’t even heard Lingyan’s furious scolding.

Scenes like this had been common two hundred years ago.

Lingyan, clad in a fiery red robe, was strikingly beautiful—yet her brows were deeply furrowed, her expression cold and severe. Every word she spoke caused Jingyi to flinch in silent apprehension.

A whip was clutched tightly in Lingyan’s hand. Though she had not yet lashed out, her grip on the handle was so tight that her knuckles had turned white, as if she was on the verge of losing patience.

“I told you not to come out, and yet you never listen!” she scolded. “Not only did you run out, but you acted as though you had lost your senses, even more reckless than mortal cattle and sheep! You nearly crashed straight into an immortal elder—what would you have done if something had happened? Offer yourself up as compensation?”

Zhuyou watched expressionlessly and thought, Of course not. Back then, Jingyi didn’t understand anything. Even if she had offered herself, she would’ve just been sent right back.

Jingyi remained silent, her head lowered, obediently enduring Lingyan’s reprimands without protest. She stood there in a daze, motionless like a wooden bird—her hun soul and po soul clearly out of sync.

Yunshuo sighed and reached out to pull Jingyi toward him. Though he was the Phoenix Clan Lord, there was not a shred of authority in his voice. He spoke gently to his wife, “You know that her divine hun soul is incomplete. How can you expect her to be as intelligent and sensible as Zhuyou?”

His voice was soft, yet every word reached Zhuyou’s ears. She frowned, finding his words both absurd and unfamiliar.

Two hundred years had passed, and yet when she thought back, it felt as if it had all happened just yesterday.

At that time, in Yunshuo’s eyes, she had been clever and understanding. But not long after, she became the shame of the Phoenix Clan, an abomination that the Heavenly Realm could not tolerate.

To this day, she still did not know—what had she done wrong?

Bitterness filled Zhuyou’s heart. It felt as though her very core was dissolving in the acid of grief. She fixed her gaze on Yunshuo, who was shielding Jingyi behind him, while Lingyan’s furious rebukes rang in her ears. A searing pain shot through her chest, as if a blade had pierced straight through her back, leaving her feeling hollow and cold.

Yet no matter how Lingyan scolded, no matter how Yunshuo protected her, Jingyi’s face remained blank. She stared vacantly ahead before suddenly looking around, as if distracted by something else entirely.

Lingyan, exhausted from her tirade, waved a hand to summon a servant. “Take her back to Mount Danxue. Do not let her return to the Nine Heavens for the next few days—I don’t want to see her and get even more irritated.”

“Give her whatever she wants, and report any urgent matters to me immediately,” Yunshuo added, meticulously instructing the servant.

The servant lowered her head in acknowledgment before quickly taking Jingyi’s arm and leading her away from the banquet.

The surrounding immortals, who had earlier averted their gazes, now returned, raising their cups in a toast. Not a single one of them mentioned the Phoenix Clan’s youngest daughter and her incomplete hun soul.

Suspended beneath the divine glow, Zhuyou felt herself burning, but suddenly, a shadow fell over her. A cool relief spread over her body.

She looked up to see Changying’s hand held over her head. Though her fingers were slender and her palm thin, she still managed to shield her from the searing light.

Her hand on her back nudged her forward once more. She spoke indifferently, “Whatever you want, I can give you as well. What the Phoenix Clan can offer is far less than what I have.”

Zhuyou thought to herself, Isn’t that the truth? Since childhood, she had been allowed to stay by her side. After becoming the Nine Heavens’ Divine Venerable, even the sacred relics of the Heavenly Realm were within her reach—things the Phoenix Clan could never grant.

She shook her head and said, “No need. If I take too much, I might not be able to return it in the future.”

“Why would you need to return it?” Changying gave her another push.

Zhuyou fixed her gaze on Jingyi’s figure, trying to see where she was going. With Changying’s push, she instinctively took a step forward and followed.

A servant was leading Jingyi back at a leisurely pace.

Though Jingyi appeared to be a young maiden, her mind seemed no more developed than a child’s. She looked around curiously as she walked, but her face remained utterly expressionless. Her eyes darted about, glancing at this and that, but there was a lifeless quality to them, as if she were merely an empty shell being led forward.

The servant did not urge her, only whispering gently, “Do not walk too fast.”

Yet Jingyi’s strides grew longer, and her breath quickened, as though she were searching for something. As she continued walking, the banquet hall was soon left behind. She looked around, but apart from the servant, there was no one else nearby.

The servant quickly tugged her sleeve and timidly said, “My lady, you’ve walked too far. The Phoenix Lord will be angry again.”

Jingyi always wore a blank expression, but upon hearing this, she suddenly turned her head with a fierce, almost predatory gaze. The servant was so startled that she let go at once.

She stumbled back half a step in fright, raising her eyes to see Jingyi’s face filled with frustration. Her breathing was erratic, as if she were on the verge of madness. The servant dared not reach for her again and instead called out cautiously, “My lady…?”

But before she could react, Jingyi turned and ran. Her hair became disheveled, and she nearly lost a shoe in her haste.

The servant wanted to chase after her, but to her shock, her usually slow-moving mistress was now fast as the wind, disappearing before she could catch up. Quickly, she raised her wrist, revealing a silver thread tied around it. Yet, instead of pulling taut, the thread hung loosely—the other end had been torn apart, its break jagged and uneven.

Zhuyou stood atop the flying eaves, ready to give chase, but Changying did not push her this time. Anxious and impatient, she found herself growing increasingly flustered, her breath quickening in sync with Jingyi’s.

Something about Jingyi’s actions felt deeply strange, leaving Zhuyou with a restless unease, as if the mist obscuring her vision was finally about to be lifted.

The divine radiance in the sky was blocked by Changying’s hand, and all warmth on Zhuyou’s body faded. In that instant, she felt a bone-chilling cold, her heart pounding violently.

She thought to herself—she had to follow. Just as this realization struck, Changying pushed her again, sending a shudder through her entire body.

Changying leaned in close to her ear, her deliberately hushed voice both rough and soft, like feathers brushing against her heart.

Then, the hand pressing against her back applied a bit more force, and only then did she step forward, following Jingyi’s fleeting figure.

Changying’s breath lingered at her ear, strangely carrying a hint of coastal dampness.

“Go. Follow her.”

Zhuyou strode across the sky, lowering her gaze to see Jingyi looking around in fear, her lips moving as if whispering something.

But there was no one speaking to her. Was she talking to herself?

Jingyi’s lips trembled as they moved incessantly. Her hands anxiously twisted the fabric of her robes, and she slowed her steps in distress.

“Do you want to know where she’s going?” Changying’s voice was slow and coaxing, as though guiding her toward some hidden truth. “A hundred years ago, when you brought me to Huacheng Sect, do you still remember what you saw in that mortal’s sea of consciousness?”

Zhuyou had nearly buried that memory, but with Changying’s reminder, the images from Zhou Xizhao’s consciousness rushed back vividly.

In the sea of consciousness, Zhou Xizhao had forcibly entered Shenhua Mountain, trying to take away his dying disciple. But unexpectedly, his disciple had encountered a devil—one who took his life. Zhou Xizhao himself was gravely wounded and later succumbed to the devil’s influence.

Yet when Zhuyou entered Zhou Xizhao’s sea of consciousness, she saw a thread of spirit energy full of rips and tears. The damage made it impossible for her to see the devil’s appearance clearly, or even hear its voice distinctly.

“What are you implying?” Zhuyou pressed a hand to her chest, her wildly beating heart making it difficult to breathe. “Are you saying you also entered Zhou Xizhao’s sea of consciousness? Do you already know who was responsible for attacking Zhou Xizhao and his disciple?”

“Just keep watching.” Changying did not answer. Instead, she pushed her again, forcing her to follow Jingyi.

Jingyi, as if guided by an unseen force, silently descended to the Mortal Realm. She took a treacherous path—a narrow passage beside the road that exiled immortals were cast down upon, a path that should have been sealed.

That day, the guards at Wuwang Ravine were lax, preoccupied with joyous celebrations, allowing Jingyi to slip through the narrow passage. She fell from the Nine Heavens, piercing through the thick clouds.

When an immortal is cast down, their divine power is stripped away, their cultivation reduced to nothing, making them no different from mortals.

Though this narrow passage was not as formidable as Wuwang Ravine, it still suppressed Jingyi’s spiritual presence as she passed through. Her already limited cultivation was immediately sealed.

Her arms flailed—she seemed to want to cry out, but she swallowed the scream before it could escape. Her cultivation was low, and she couldn’t even fly. Like a fledgling bird that had just left the nest, she flapped helplessly twice before plummeting like a meteor toward the human world.

Only when the ground was dangerously close did she finally scream in terror, her face at last showing a trace of fear.

What puzzled Zhuyou was why Jingyi had not taken the heavenly gate, but instead chosen this perilous route to descend. And—how had she known about this narrow passage?

Jingyi had never even set foot outside the Heavenly Realm. What had suddenly driven her to seek descent into the human world? Who had been whispering to her?

In the Mortal Realm, the year was Guangsu 170, the fifteenth day of the twelfth lunar month.

This date struck Zhuyou like a blow, clearing the mist from her mind.

The one who had infiltrated Shenhua Mountain that day, injuring Zhou Xizhao and his disciple, might very well have been Jingyi.

Zhuyou had only known that during her tribulation, Jingyi had reached into her divine fire. She had never imagined there was an even deeper story behind it.

As Jingyi plummeted into the human world, Changying pressed down on Zhuyou’s shoulder, forcing her to descend step by step on the wind staircase. Mist swirled around them, and within moments, towering mountains rose before her, their ridges winding like a sleeping dragon. The peaks were blanketed in white, devoid of any trace of lush greenery.