Mistaken Era 112

Chapter 112

The Great Qi’s stolen fortune… it wouldn’t be used for free. He would reclaim it, with interest.

Prince Can, his thoughts a dangerous mix of ambition and resentment, remained silent, his gaze fixed on the Dongyuan Emperor, as if assessing a prized possession…

Meanwhile, back at the tofu shop, Xiao Xiao’s daily routine consisted of helping her ancestor sort soybeans, creating paper figures, and studying the ancient texts she had brought from the Demon City.

Lately, she had been feeling unusually tired, her sleep deep and frequent, leading her to suspect pregnancy. The memory of her passionate encounters with Wei Jie, their intimacy, their shared joy brought a blush to her cheeks.

But a visit to the town’s physician with Madam Hu had confirmed she wasn’t pregnant.

The physician, however, had been puzzled by her weak pulse, asking if she had suffered from blood loss.

Xiao Xiao, a cultivator, found it amusing. How could she be weak?

But as she left the clinic, checking her own pulse, she realized he had been right. Her energy was depleted.

However, her Golden Core, its energy sustaining her, had masked her symptoms. It was like a tired person relying on caffeine to stay awake, temporarily ignoring their exhaustion.

But she had never heard of a Golden Core cultivator suffering from blood loss!

Back at the tofu shop, her ancestor was in the kitchen, preparing dinner. Since her arrival, their meals had become more lavish, meat no longer a rare treat.

Usually, she would help them with chores, but today, her mind preoccupied, she retreated to her room.

On her bed lay the books she had brought from the Demon City, tales of past Demon Saints. They were mostly uneventful, their lives focused on receiving offerings, their roles symbolic.

Xiao Xiao, skimming through the pages, suddenly gasped, her eyes widening.

The reason why there hadn’t been a Demon Saint for centuries… it was explained. During times of weakness, when the demon race’s power dwindled, the Saint’s bloodline would activate, strengthening their people, but at a cost – their own lifespan. A Saint’s early death would prevent the birth of another for centuries.

It was the heavens’ way of controlling them. The Saint’s power was immense, but as a sacrifice, their life force fueling their race’s survival, their reign would be short, preventing them from becoming too powerful…

Xiao Xiao’s scalp tingled, a wave of fear washing over her.

Her own bloodline had awakened when the demons were at their weakest, exiled to that island. Her power, unleashed, had revived countless embryos.

Could that be the reason for her current weakness, her depleted energy?

She felt dizzy, collapsing onto the bed.

She was suddenly grateful Wei Jie was gone. If he discovered her condition, her illness, this curse that could kill her… he would lose control, his demonic nature consuming him.

Her journey to the past… had it been in vain?

But was there truly no cure? She was so young, her life finally filled with love, with hope… and now this. She couldn’t help but laugh – her “Ten Wounds(Injuries)” fate… it was relentless, even targeting her own existence.

A rhythmic sound reached her ears, the gentle tapping of a wooden fish.

She focused, and saw her paper figures, scattered throughout the courtyard, swaying, their movements mimicking the rhythm.

She followed them, her steps slow, her body heavy, and found the old monk by the river.

He was still wearing his tattered robe, his Buddhist beads and Taoist flag a strange juxtaposition.

Seeing her, he smiled. “Young lady, we meet again. How is that Yin-Yang Mirror I gave you?”

Wei Jie had taken the mirror with him when he left. “I don’t have it,” Xiao Xiao said apologetically. “I can’t return it to you… yet.”

He chuckled. “Its connection to you hasn’t been severed. It will return in due time.”

“May I ask which deity are you?” she asked, bowing.

He smiled, his answer cryptic. “Have you understood my words?”

She thought about his previous pronouncements.

He had claimed that she and Wei Jie were entangled in a karmic bond, that their love was an illusion, that they should let go, to achieve enlightenment.

At the time, his words had seemed absurd. Neither she nor Wei Jie sought immortality. If they achieved it, great. If not, they would enjoy their mortal lives.

But now… she had discovered her illness, the price of her sacrifice. Their dreams of a shared future… they were about to become an illusion.

And if she died… it would shatter Wei Jie, triggering his demonic nature, repeating the tragic cycle of their past life.

She shook her head, a bitter smile touching her lips. “Do you see a solution to my predicament?”

“You don’t belong in this time,” he said, his voice calm and steady. “Perhaps returning to your rightful place might offer a chance.”

She understood his meaning. But with the Dongyuan Emperor back in the mortal realm, and Prince Can’s unpredictable nature… she couldn’t abandon Wei Jie.

But his words sparked an idea. And his knowledge, his insight intrigued her. Who was he?

She smiled, her eyes gleaming, mimicking his fortune-teller’s tone. “I believe you’re from the heavens. But why now? The world is in chaos. You could have intervened earlier. It seems even a deity can’t ignore injustice.”

The old monk, surprised by her deduction, chuckled. “You’re a sharp one, young lady. You see through everything. Perhaps when you achieve immortality, you’ll understand that the most difficult thing, for both mortals and deities, is to pretend to be oblivious. If we were all a little less aware… would there be so much suffering, so much demonic energy? Speaking of demons… Wei Jie’s fate is filled with trials. A fall from a cliff, a serpent’s venom, a severed arm, false accusations, the loss of his mother, the flames of the Phoenix Valley, the betrayal of his own blood… six tribulations. You’ve endured most of them for him. But the seventh… he has to face it alone. You can’t protect him from it.”

He rummaged through his basket, filled with statues, his tools of deception.

He selected a crudely crafted Zhulong statue, then, with a strange smile, plucked out its eyes, offering them to Xiao Xiao.

“When you need to be oblivious… these might help.”

She took the statue’s eyes, and the old monk suddenly collapsed, falling into the river with a splash. He scrambled out, his clothes soaked, his voice a panicked screech. “Damn it! I… I fell into the water! Where… where am I? Hey, you! You look familiar… Wait a minute! You’re the one who broke my statues!”

Xiao Xiao sighed. The deity was gone.

After paying the monk, sending him on his way, a hawk, a messenger from the Wei family, arrived.

She took the letter, unfolding it, her brow furrowing as she read Tang Youshu’s report.

The situation in the Demon City was tense. Wei Jie and Madam Fu were on the verge of a violent confrontation.

The Empress Dowager, troubled by a dream, had claimed that the Dongyuan Emperor, angered by the mortals’ slander, had demanded a new temple, a grand statue, to restore his reputation.

The Empress Dowager, superstitious, had been terrified. She had convinced the emperor to comply.

The emperor, a devoted son, had immediately allocated funds, ordering the construction of a magnificent temple on Fan Mountain, its location chosen for its proximity to the Demon City, only five hundred miles away.

And the statue… it would be cast in gold, a symbol of the Dongyuan Emperor’s power and glory.

Madam Fu, knowing the Dongyuan Emperor was responsible for their suffering, had been enraged.

She had wanted to attack the temple, to destroy it, but Wei Jie had stopped her, reminding her that it was the emperor’s decree. To defy it would be an act of war.

They had argued, their disagreement escalating into a physical confrontation. Madam Fu, of course, was no match for Wei Jie. He had easily subdued her.

But she was still their leader. The Water Yasha, their protective instincts triggered, their anger fueled by their loyalty, had reacted, some even reverting to their toad-like forms, their faces contorted, their fangs bared.

But Wei Jie, his power now rivaling that of the Demon Lord from their past life, had managed to contain them, his aura a deterrent.

Tang Youshu, their teacher, respected, had appealed to their reason, his pleas for calm, his constant reassurances, finally de-escalating the situation.

But he knew it was a temporary solution. The Dongyuan Emperor’s temple… it would only exacerbate the tension. Desperate, he had sent for reinforcements, for Xiao Xiao, their Saint, hoping her presence would quell their anger.

Xiao Xiao’s heart sank, reading about the temple.

Fan Mountain, the location of the Demon City, it was a place of immense yin energy, a gateway to the underworld. Why would the Empress Dowager have such a dream? And what was the Dongyuan Emperor’s true motive?

She wanted to leave immediately, but she couldn’t abandon her ancestor, not yet.

Wei Jingfeng, who had just arrived, reassured her. “Don’t worry, Sect Master Cui,” he said. “I’ll protect them. Go. Bring Wei Jie back.”

Xiao Xiao, grateful, bowed, then hurried towards Fan Mountain.

But her illness, her blood loss… it was worsening.

As she attempted to fly on her sword, she fell, a coughing fit wracking her body, her hand, as she covered her mouth, stained with blood…

She took a deep breath, wiping her lips, then, deciding to travel by horse, rode towards the city.

But even the fastest horse couldn’t match a flying sword. It took her five days to reach Fan Mountain.

As she passed the temple, its construction nearing completion, her gaze fell upon the statue, its golden surface gleaming. The face, its expression smug, a hint of mockery in its eyes, its aura cold and domineering… it was the Dongyuan Emperor, his arrogance, his disdain for mortals, captured perfectly.