Chapter 64: The Echoes of a Past Life

The world first fell into a deathly silence, then exploded with a deafening roar.

A deafening hum buzzed in Shen Zhaoqing’s ears, as if hundreds of deadly moths were hosting a wild party inside her head.

Everything in her vision twisted and swayed, while dust and ice shards swirled through the air, carrying a pungent, burnt smell that seared her lungs.

The cerulean “death star” that had hung in the sky, threatening to annihilate all life within a hundred-mile radius, had shattered.

It exploded like a cheap glass orb, bursting into billions of poisoned, shimmering fragments that scattered in every direction.

The premonition of death that had weighed on her Divine Soul vanished with it.

She was alive.

Yet, this realization brought not even a flicker of relief at having survived.

Shen Zhaoqing stiffly lowered her head, her gaze locking onto the face of the person in her arms.

Her breath, along with her heartbeat, ceased.

That face…

Her eyeballs, eye sockets, and the surrounding flesh had all been completely vaporized and carbonized by the terrifying cerulean flames, leaving behind only a grotesque, horrifying wound.

“Idiot…”

A breath, so faint it was almost inaudible, escaped Yuange’s lips.

Blood, mingled with charred flesh, gushed from the gruesome wound, quickly staining her tattered feather robe and the entire front of Shen Zhaoqing’s clothes as she held her tight.

Warm, viscous liquid seeped through the fabric onto her skin.

‘How could this be?’

‘Just a moment ago, wasn’t this person still playing that tiresome “my prey” game with her?’

‘Wasn’t she still proclaiming her nonsensical ownership in that irritating tone?’

‘How could she, in the very next second, become… become like this?’

“Princess!”

In the distance, the surviving demon guards cried out in terror. They tried to rush over, but the lingering energy ripples, not yet fully dissipated, firmly held them back.

On the other side, Gu Chang’an propped herself up with her Frostbright Sword, struggling to stand upright. Her face remained pale, and her gaze towards this side was filled with an unspeakable complexity.

Yuanchao, however, was completely frozen. He stared at his sister’s tragic state, the triumph and cruelty on his face instantly fading, replaced by extreme shock and absurdity.

‘Madwoman!’

‘This madwoman!’

‘For a mere human… she actually dared to burn her Golden Crow origin?!’

‘Did she not know what damage to one’s origin meant for the royal lineage of the demon race?!’

However, all this clamor and commotion could not penetrate Shen Zhaoqing’s world.

Her world held only the increasingly light body in her arms, and the overwhelming scent of blood and char that clogged her nostrils.

“There’s a way, there’s still a way.” Shen Zhaoqing’s hands trembled, failing to pull open the stopper of the Gui Niang Hu even after several attempts.

It was at this very instant.

A scene, long sealed in the deepest recesses of her memory and covered in thick dust, suddenly, without warning, broke through her rationality like a flood unleashed by a thunderbolt, sweeping through her entire mind.

****

That was many years ago.

Shen Zhaoqing couldn’t recall the exact duration.

At that time, she wasn’t Shen Zhaoqing, the junior disciple of the Qingyun Sect who swept floors and slacked off.

‘Was that truly her memory?’

A life of snatching food from the mouths of stray dogs, fighting tooth and nail with other beggars over a moldy bun, then huddling in a drafty, ruined temple to endure one cold night after another.

It was a drizzly early summer evening.

“Shen Zhaoqing” had finally managed to beg half a grease-proof paper package from a drunken wealthy merchant, containing the leftover half of a roasted chicken, still fragrant with meat.

It was an immense fortune.

She dared not eat it in a crowded place, fearing it would be snatched away. So, clutching the half-chicken, she scurried away, hiding at an abandoned ferry crossing by the Qinghe River outside the city.

The reed marsh by the river was quiet, with only the rustling sound of rain on plantain leaves.

She found a relatively clean stone to sit on and carefully opened the paper package. Just then, a faint whimpering sound came from the nearby bushes.

It sounded like the mournful cry of some small beast.

She initially had no intention of heeding it.

In this world, human lives were as cheap as grass; who would care about the survival of an animal?

But the sound was intermittent, carrying a dying despair that scratched at her eardrums, and, as if possessed, she pushed aside the damp grass.

Deep within the bushes lay a… small fox.

A small fox, entirely fiery red, but covered in mud and blood.

Its body was tiny, perhaps not much larger than a domestic cat. One hind leg was twisted at an unnatural angle, clearly broken, and a deep, bone-visible wound on its abdomen continuously seeped blood.

Its breath was as weak as a candle flame in the wind.

A pair of amber eyes shone exceptionally bright in the dim rain, yet they were also filled with wariness and fear.

‘It’s a demon.’

Though Shen Zhaoqing was young then, she had heard many stories about demons eating humans.

Her first instinct was to run.

However, when she saw the same despair in the fox’s eyes that she herself had seen in others’ gazes when starving to the extreme, her feet seemed nailed to the spot.

She looked at it, and it looked at her.

Human and demon, on that damp rainy day, gazed at each other from a distance of a few steps.

“…Sigh.”

“Shen Zhaoqing” sighed resignedly, carefully tearing off a small piece of the tenderest chicken breast from her half-roasted chicken and tossing it over.

The little fox remained wary and did not move.

She tore off another piece, throwing it a little closer.

After several back-and-forths, the little fox finally seemed to confirm she meant no harm. It then dragged its heavily injured body little by little, moving closer, and clumsily licked the meat scraps from the ground with its tongue.

Watching its ravenous demeanor, Shen Zhaoqing suddenly felt she wasn’t so hungry anymore.

She pushed the remaining large portion of the chicken towards it.

Then, from the tattered hem of her own clothes, she tore off a relatively clean strip of cloth, dampened it with river water, and carefully wiped the wound on its abdomen. She also used two small sticks she’d found, mimicking the storytellers’ tales, to fashion a crude splint for its broken leg.

Throughout the entire process, the little fox remained very quiet.

Its beautiful amber eyes watched her unblinkingly.

As she clumsily tied the last knot, the little creature suddenly extended its tongue and gently licked the back of her hand.

It was warm, wet.

Carrying a faint, almost imperceptible trace of reliance.

By the time all this was done, night was falling.

“Shen Zhaoqing” knew she couldn’t stay any longer; the city gates would soon close.

She cast one last glance at the little fox, curled up in the grass with much steadier breathing, then turned and ran into the rain.

That had merely been an insignificant interlude in her long and bleak begging life.

Until this moment!

The tide of memories receded with a roar.

That surviving, already glazing left eye… it was the exact same amber eye from her memory.

Yuange was no fox.

A sharp, piercing pain in her head made Shen Zhaoqing let out a muffled groan.

Shen Zhaoqing was certain that, although she had indeed been a beggar for a period after transmigrating, she had no memory of saving any little fox. Yet, the face in the vision was undeniably her own.

Or perhaps, this was not her memory. Or rather, it did not belong to this lifetime of hers.