Great Demon - Chapter 91

Huoshu nodded repeatedly, never expecting this mistress to be so fickle. She shivered, forcing a smile, vaguely sensing a chilling gaze on her back, as if trying to pierce through her.

The two large red lanterns hanging over the residence’s gate suddenly dimmed. As the fire flickered out, the grand door was swallowed by darkness.

Zhuyou retracted the firelight from the house, gathering it into her palm, where it burned steadily. The glow reflected on her face, casting a rosy hue over her jade-like complexion.

That fire must be phoenix fire—if it so much as touched the body, it would incinerate everything, leaving not even bones behind.

Knowing better than to speak carelessly, Huoshu quietly unfolded her paper fan and raised it to cover her mouth.

Zhuyou extinguished the fire in her palm, and her eyes darkened along with it. She narrowed them slightly in warning, casting a sharp gaze at Changying, her eyes like knives.

Huoshu stiffened all over, utterly bewildered as to what mistake she had made this time. Why was Her Grace glaring at her again? She had cultivated for hundreds of years—she was no fool. A thought flashed in her mind, and she quickly said, “If Your Grace does not care for books, then… there are also paintings.”

“You were quite endearing when you pretended to be mute earlier,” Zhuyou said, feigning calmness.

Hearing this, Huoshu flicked her unfolded fan toward her painted lips, hastily resuming her silence. She lowered her head and shot exaggerated glances at the water demon.

The water demon struggled to her feet, wobbling as she walked, like a kite barely held together by its frame. Seeing Huoshu making faces at her, she frowned in confusion. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Huoshu signaled with her eyes, urging her to look behind—at the Vermillion Phoenix.

But the water demon remained puzzled. “Why do you keep blinking like that? Are you going blind? I soak in water all day and I’m fine.”

Huoshu had no choice but to drop it and strode forward. Barely ten feet behind her, Changying followed at a leisurely pace, unhurried and at ease.

“I thought you didn’t want to go,” Changying said, without a trace of mockery.

Zhuyou looked embarrassed but forced herself to remain composed, sending a mental voice transmission. Do you even know what demons and devils lurk in that Jianxiang Pavilion? A proper dragon like you shouldn’t be dabbling in such dubious paths. If you take one wrong step, there will be no one to pull you back. She coughed lightly and added, Besides, Shangxi City is under my protection now. Since your consciousness is here, it is naturally my responsibility.

Changying’s gaze softened slightly. She replied calmly, “If I do not see it with my own eyes, how can I be certain it is truly a dubious path?”

The seven emotions and six desires of the mortal world are not things an immortal should have, Zhuyou declared with righteous conviction. Yet, the corners of her eyes were tinged with red, betraying her turmoil.

Changying lowered her gaze. Her golden eyes, usually as cold as ice frozen for a hundred years, now melted into something impossibly soft. Though her expression remained reserved, the corners of her lips lifted slightly. “Immortals and gods also have emotions and desires. It is only because of their responsibilities that they cannot be easily swayed by them.”

And you—now? Zhuyou was caught off guard, never expecting to hear such words from this normally taciturn dragon.

Changying took a long time to respond, as if deliberating how to phrase her answer.

Zhuyou waited, but when no reply came, she clicked her tongue in impatience. Weren’t you just speaking so well earlier?

Changying slowed her steps. Due to her form being a mere consciousness, her face appeared even paler, like a distant, untouchable galaxy. She remained silent for a long time, exuding an air of dignified aloofness fitting for a Divine Venerable of the Nine Heavens.

But then she spoke. “I have considered this deeply. It is not something that sways me so easily.”

Zhuyou halted abruptly.

Changying stopped as well. Seeing Zhuyou frozen in place, she stepped forward and took hold of her slender wrist. After a moment of solemn deliberation, she said carefully, “Besides, my emotions and desires are right here. Rather than suppressing them until they fester into illness, it is better to unearth them—using my heart as the remedy.”

Zhuyou’s eyes widened in shock. She remained motionless for so long that her eyes grew dry. Only then did she blink abruptly, instinctively trying to withdraw her hand. But her wrist was held firmly.

She had long known that Changying held her in special regard, and her own emotions had been stirred by the dragon’s every move. Yet, hearing it stated so plainly still left her astonished.

Before the heavens and earth took shape, the gods did not easily speak of their desires. They were cold and detached, with not even a single close companion—she had been the same.

Right here? And where exactly is ‘here’? Zhuyou gave up struggling, letting herself be held. Her half-lowered eyes suddenly lifted, scrutinizing this black-haired, dark-robed dragon as though interrogating her.

Changying, still holding her wrist, said, “You.” My emotions and desires—are you.

Zhuyou could no longer play dumb. “Are you serious?”

“Definitely,” Changying answered with unwavering certainty. Seeing that Huoshu had walked ahead, she tightened her hold on Zhuyou’s wrist and followed.

Zhuyou was dragged forward a few steps. She frowned, glancing at Changying’s profile, her heart a tangled mess of emotions. Two hundred years ago, she fell into the devil path, yet even then, she remained as distant from matters of the heart as she had been in the Nine Heavens. Why? Because she had never met anyone who could make her blood run hot.

But now—it seemed she had.

She was like a flower, enclosing the thoughts she dared not confront within her tightly furled petals, unwilling to expose even the slightest hint of them, unwilling to even glimpse them herself. And yet, with those simple words, Changying had peeled back those layers one by one with steady, clean hands.

Changying was always this straightforward. Though she was not eloquent, she had never been one to suppress her desires. Just as when she was young, she could plainly say, “I want you.”

This was, indeed, something Changying would say.

Zhuyou wondered if mortals, demons, and devils chose an auspicious day to confess their hearts. Here in Shangxi City, there was no blazing sun, no visible moon, not even a single star in the sky. And yet, she thought—this day was perfect.

It seemed that after listening to Changying’s words, things became better—even if they hadn’t been before.

Huoshu walked ahead, noticing that the Vermillion Phoenix behind her kept stopping and starting. Puzzled, she glanced back, only to see Vermillion Phoenix staring blankly at a certain spot, as if distracted. Looking closer, Huoshu thought she seemed to be pulled forward by someone—but who could be pulling her? There was no one else around—if anything, it was only the wind.

The water demon trailed behind in a wobbly manner. Seeing Huoshu slow down, she almost stepped on her heel and scoffed, “Don’t slow down. If I crash into your back, this ruined face of mine might smear all over your fine clothes.”

Huoshu rolled her eyes, comforting herself with the thought that Vermillion Phoenix usually flew rather than walked, so riding the wind wasn’t that unusual. Her Grace must be distracted because the journey was simply too dull. With a gleam in her eye, she said, “Your Grace, the Jianxiang Pavilion has no shortage of entertainment—more than just paintings and books. This little demon can show you around thoroughly.”

Zhuyou snapped back to her senses. Changying’s words had left her feeling disoriented, and only now did she remember the three demons still walking ahead. Moments ago, the time had seemed fine; now, it suddenly felt intolerable.

Her face darkened. After spending so much time immersed in the devil domain, how could she not know what kind of “entertainment” Huoshu was referring to?

Before she could speak, Changying mimicked her tone and said, “Then let’s take a look.”

Zhuyou’s already fragile composure grew more conflicted. She felt she ought to be angry, so she tossed Changying’s hand aside, her eyes tinged with red. Yet when the pressure on her wrist vanished, it felt as though something was missing—leaving her heart strangely hollow. With an innocent look in her eyes, she rubbed her wrist and sneered softly, “Fine. Let’s see.”

The corners of Changying’s pale lips tugged slightly, as if she were smiling.

***

Jianxiang Pavilion was unusually quiet. Not a single small demon or devil dared to show themselves. Upon hearing that Vermillion Phoenix was coming, they didn’t even dare to peek through the windows.

The water demon pointed to a pool in the front courtyard and declared, “I’ll stay here tonight.”

Before Huoshu could respond, there was a splash as the water demon jumped in. A few bubbles rose to the surface before everything went still—no sign of her remained, as if she had sunk straight to the bottom.

Meanwhile, the cat demon’s agile eyes darted around before he quickly scampered up to the rooftop. If he were a full demon, he could have transformed into his true form and strolled along the roof tiles.

Huoshu led the way with a lantern, reminding Zhuyou, “Your Grace, there are steps here—oh, and a threshold ahead.”

The flower pavilion was an opulent maze of pavilions and towers, each draped with embroidered silk curtains. Multicolored lanterns hung everywhere, casting a dazzling glow over the artificial hills and winding paths. It was a place built from real gold and silver—luxurious to the extreme.

Huoshu genuinely wanted to amuse this great demon. She led Zhuyou to the finest guest room in Jianxiang Pavilion, where she conjured a stack of peculiar scrolls and books. Though she appeared somewhat proper in her human form, her shifty eyes betrayed her as she lowered her voice and said, “Your Grace, everything’s here.”

Zhuyou, seated at the table, remained expressionless. “Leave.”

Huoshu bowed and departed without hesitation. She had barely descended the stairs when the sound of a window opening caught her attention. Looking up quickly, she saw the entire stack of books and scrolls being tossed out, fluttering noisily in the wind. Yet, before they hit the ground, a surge of spiritual energy swept them back inside.

“Huh?” Huoshu was bewildered. Was Her Grace really so capricious? She had thrown them out only to retrieve them moments later.

Inside the room, Zhuyou slammed her palm against the wooden table. “If you want to look, do it yourself.”

Changying sat on the couch with one leg bent, revealing a pale, delicate ankle adorned with a loop of crimson silk.

As soon as Zhuyou spoke, her gaze was drawn to that red silk. The longer she looked, the more familiar it seemed—wasn’t it the very ribbon Changying had used to bind her wrist back in the sand city?

A flicker of emotion stirred in her heart. She hadn’t expected Changying to keep it close instead of discarding it.

Changying unrolled a scroll and examined it closely on her lap. Her golden eyes were focused and serious, as if she were studying an ancient spellbook rather than something mundane.

The more absorbed Changying became, the more restless Zhuyou felt—but no matter how agitated she grew, she couldn’t muster any real anger. It wasn’t that she objected to such things—just that there was no need to study them so earnestly, as if the body was some precious artifact manipulated by desire.

“Stop looking,” Zhuyou said hesitantly.

Changying, however, meticulously examined the entire scroll before closing it. Lifting her golden gaze, she said calmly, “Come here.”

Zhuyou intended to maintain an air of composure and ignore her, but doing so felt too passive. Caught between pride and temptation, she snorted derisively, “Do you really think you understand everything after reading one scroll?”

Changying shook her head. “I haven’t examined the wound in your spirit platform yet. Which part of your po soul is missing?”

Zhuyou eyed her suspiciously. Seeing Changying’s steady expression, she finally rose and walked toward the couch. She wasn’t afraid of being found out—after all, the seven po souls within her spirit platform were nearly identical. There was nothing to reveal.

The candle flames flickered softly, casting only a single shadow on the window.

Changying bent one knee, nearly pressing it against her chest. As Zhuyou approached, she tilted her head back slightly to meet her gaze. “I thought you wouldn’t come,” she said.

“And why would I be afraid of you?” Zhuyou chuckled, leaning down until her forehead nearly brushed against the gold ornaments on Changying’s brow—those tiny golden beads were oddly prickly.

“I don’t want you to fear me.” Changying reached up and drew her into an embrace, pressing her down against those gleaming ornaments.

In an instant, Changying’s already pale figure grew even fainter—like mist dispersing slowly into the air, until she vanished completely from the couch.

The scroll slipped from midair, landing softly on the cushions.

The gold ornaments pressing against Zhuyou’s forehead also disappeared. Without opening her eyes, she sensed a warm thread of divine consciousness weaving into her spirit platform. It brushed against her inner self—light as a breeze—stroking her soul, sweeping softly through her core.

Her tightly closed lips moved as she asked, “Did you see clearly?”

Changying’s divine sense did not immediately withdraw. Instead, it quietly slipped into Zhuyou’s sea of consciousness.

Zhuyou was momentarily stunned. She intended to drive the dragon out, but unexpectedly, the divine sense within her sea of consciousness brushed against her soul threads.

As the soul threads were stirred, countless memories surged to the forefront of her mind.

“Get out,” Zhuyou’s voice turned hoarse. She realized that Changying wanted to see what had happened to her that day in the Endless Abyss.

A pale, shimmering divine sense emerged from her sea of consciousness, swiftly coalescing into a human form on the soft couch. 

Zhuyou closed her eyes, sensing a familiar pressure against her forehead—Changying had withdrawn from her sea of consciousness.

Changying lowered her head slowly, her breath brushing against Zhuyou’s lips. Yet, instead of kissing her, she said softly, “I didn’t see everything—I won’t force you.”

Their breaths mingled—one warm, one cool.

“If you want to tell me, I’ll listen,” Changying added.

Zhuyou suddenly realized that this Divine Venerable, who could overturn mountains and seas, seemed to only reveal such careful restraint in front of her—as if she had laid bare her vulnerabilities, curling her sharp claws inward.

Her breathing grew erratic as she saw Changying’s pale lips move slightly. Taking advantage of her distraction, Zhuyou leaned in and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss against them.

It was brief—teasing and ambiguous.

Changying froze, taking a long moment to recover. When she did, she said with a hint of regret, “It’s a pity this is only a wisp of my divine sense—I can’t taste anything.”

“And what taste are you hoping for?” Zhuyou’s eyelids trembled slightly as she slowly lifted them, her half-lidded gaze shimmering with moisture. Her lips remained slightly parted, as if inviting another kiss.

Changying, seeing that Zhuyou hadn’t pulled away, stared at her for a long while before leaning in to place a light, dragonfly-like kiss on her lips. Her voice was low and lingering, “It should be sweet.”

Zhuyou placed her hand on Changying’s shoulder. Despite feeling flustered, she refused to back down and asked, “What kind of sweet?”

“A sweetness that isn’t cloying—one that lingers on the lips, something I’d want to taste every day,” Changying answered softly.

As Zhuyou watched, those pale lips advanced again, capturing hers more deeply this time. The words forming at the back of her throat were swallowed down. She clutched Changying’s shoulder, her voice low and heated as she murmured, “Changying.”

Those delicate, damp kisses trailed from her cheek down to the hollow of her shoulder—like a clear spring trickling down a mountainside, pooling in the depths below.

“At that time, I was already dead. How did you save me?”

“I gathered every fragment of your three hun and seven po souls. Unfortunately, I was severely injured myself and lacked the strength to rebuild your physical body. I could only wait for your soul to heal and naturally enter the cycle of reincarnation,” Changying said softly, her hand cupping Zhuyou’s face.

Zhuyou pressed Changying’s bent leg down, laughing quietly as she straddled her lap. Lowering her head, she said, “So the only ancient god who should have returned—was you.”

“If I am here, then you will be too,” Changying replied. She hooked her fingers around Zhuyou’s outer robe, peeling it away with deliberate slowness, as if she were unwrapping the petals of a tightly closed flower. The crimson sash on Zhuyou’s silk dress slipped to the floor, as red as the phoenix markings at the corners of her eyes.

The layers of her inner garments fell away, revealing her pale shoulders in the flickering lamplight.

Zhuyou tilted Changying’s chin upward and captured her lips again. Her knee shifted slightly against the soft couch, brushing against the cool jade ornaments hanging at Changying’s waist.

Zhuyou raised her hand and lifted Changying’s chin, leaned over and kissed her, her knees on the couch moved slightly, and touched the white jade pendant hanging on Changying’s waist.

Zhuyou’s body was warm, but those jade pieces felt as cold as ice.

In that instant, a shiver ran through her—like a flower bud trembling under a sudden dewfall.

Changying pushed Zhuyou’s silver hair behind her ear, gently kneading the back of her neck. “Are you warm?” she asked.

Zhuyou didn’t answer, but the heat of her breath between their lips betrayed her.

“My heart feels warm too,” Changying murmured.

She wrapped an arm around Zhuyou’s neck, pulling her close as though trying to fuse her into her very bones.

Far away in the Nine Heavens, Changying’s physical body burned feverishly, as if engulfed in flames.

Zhuyou broke away slightly, panting against her forehead like a flower battered by wind and rain, on the verge of collapse. She bared her teeth and bit the dull golden bead on Changying’s forehead ornament, sweeping her tongue over it.

Her palm slid slowly down from Changying’s neck to the delicate curve of her shoulder blade.

Changying leaned over, her breath like droplets of dew rolling down—damp and warm—as it trailed from her neck to her shoulder hollow.

Suddenly, Zhuyou’s whole body tensed. As if Changying was a cat failing to hide its claws, accidentally scratching too deeply.

It felt as if the snowy peak outside Songling City was melting beneath her touch.

An eagle seemed to circle above the snow-covered summit before swooping down. The ground trembled slightly, and a ring of glistening moisture was left behind.

The scroll lying on the floor unrolled with a soft rustle under the pressure of spiritual energy.

Changying’s golden eyes lifted as she said, “On the scroll, this is called ‘Dragon Plays with Pearl.’”

Zhuyou clapped a hand over her mouth.

Changying seized the opportunity to bite down on her fingers and, seeing her hastily retract her hand, teased, “Then should I call it… ‘True Dragon Plays with Pearl’?”

Zhuyou lowered her eyes and glared at her, her heart in turmoil. “You’re trying to make me angry.”

“Are you angry?” Changying asked.

For a moment, Zhuyou couldn’t speak. She didn’t feel angry—if anything, there was an unexpected trace of joy.

Changying took her hand and placed a kiss on her fingertips before tracing each character carefully, saying, “I’ve been away from the Nine Heavens for too long. Here are the names of the twelve immortals who entered the Turbid Mirror two hundred years ago. Remember them.” After a pause, her finger hesitated before she added, “The last one—an exiled crane immortal—has since disappeared. It seems I’ll need to visit the Observatory Pavilion.”

Zhuyou frowned. “That crane immortal is likely just a cover. You should investigate Xuanqing.”

“I will.” With a motion of her hand, Changying summoned the scroll.

The artwork depicted two figures intimately close—one’s silk dress was pulled high, while the other’s hand disappeared beneath the folds.

Before Changying could examine it further, Zhuyou twisted her head back and wrapped her arms around her neck. Her warm breath brushed against Changying’s ear as she whispered, “Return to the heavens quickly—I fear something may happen at the Observatory Pavilion.”

Changying’s eyes turned sharp. She straightened Zhuyou’s clothes, but before she could speak, Zhuyou struck with her palm, forcibly sending her divine sense back.

Left alone in the incense-filled chamber, Zhuyou knelt on the couch, breathing heavily with reddened eyes. She shot a glance at the scroll and quickly rolled it up.

That dragon really had learned some shameless things, Zhuyou thought.