Chapter 17: Like a Stone

Hearing this, Kunlun pushed the door open and stepped out, her eyes narrowing slightly against the blinding white glare.

As Chuci’s appetite had grown over the years, the distance she needed to travel had increased, and the time spent away each day had lengthened. Kunlun had simply moved with her, again and again, closer to the mountain’s foot, where the snow fell with increasing frequency.

If not for Chuci’s floor-length hair standing out starkly against the white snow, Kunlun might not have spotted her so easily.

Her appearance had taken a thousand years to change from age one to four, ten years from four to twelve, and from twelve to eighteen… a mere three short years. Although some of that speed was due to her devouring demons and advancing rapidly, Kunlun couldn’t shake the feeling that these last few years had passed like a dream.

It was as if, in the blink of an eye, she had witnessed Chuci’s entire life through a different lens.

Suddenly, Kunlun felt a surge of panic. Perhaps very soon, she would recover her memories. When that happened, how should she conduct herself?

Kunlun was a spirit formed from Pangu’s heart. Before the universe was born and the primordial chaos was split, no one had taught her what she was supposed to do as Pangu’s daughter. She had once asked Meng Zhaozhong in return: Do you think the weak should not die?

What had Meng Zhaozhong said then?

— Of course they shouldn’t die. All beings in the world are inherently strong or weak. If the weak should die, then when my mother grew old, should she die? I was a weak little dragon whelp when I was just born—should I have died? There are more and more elders in my clan now. Should we kill them just as they begin to age and toss them into the Dragon Tomb? Heaven gave me a strong body not just for my own survival, but to protect my family.

— If the Mountain Saint grows old, I will protect you too.

She hadn’t voiced her own answer—because she had none.

Chuci had crawled out of that filthy place, the Myriad Demon Grotto, and claimed kingship through her own strength, believing that power was justice, that the longsword in her hand was justice. Thus, she believed in the supremacy of the strong, that the meaning of weak things was to become stepping stones for her. But Kunlun was different. The place she had lived since childhood was surrounded by flowers, birds, green mountains, and clear waters; she was born a darling of heaven and earth. She had no creed. If she had to name one, she believed in Pangu, and her life’s purpose was to diligently maintain this world that Pangu had created. She didn’t disagree with Chuci because she shared Meng Zhaozhong’s thoughts, but because the world her father made was simply this way, and she just had to protect it well.

Others envied her, envied the immense favor she received. The phoenix, which would not perch on any tree but the parasol tree, willingly prostrated itself at her feet. Even the once insufferably arrogant Chuci willingly abandoned everything, confining herself to a small courtyard atop Kunlun Mountain Peak, letting mountains be long and waters be wide, never to meet again. Even the Heavenly Emperor, who didn’t know the past events, harbored a grudge against Kunlun for sharing the same lifespan as heaven and earth, only refraining from pointing the spear at her out of a sense of decorum.

Yet, the one she envied most was actually Chuci. Even if she was proud, unrestrained, and arrogant, what did it matter if she was a demon, what did it matter if she was a god? In the end, it was her own free way of living. And herself? Even after tens of thousands of years of grueling cultivation to create a heart and gain the seven emotions and six desires, it was only by Chuci’s side that she felt a flicker of scalding warmth. The blood from her heart flowed through all her meridians, warm like an illusion she had longed for in dreams. Only then did she feel: Ah, so this is what it means to be alive.

When it came to other problems, could you expect any judgment from a stone? She simply guarded that bit of foundation Pangu left behind, diligently and conscientiously.

She had spoken these words to no one, including the Chuci of the past.

Perhaps in matters of emotion, there is a type of person: the more they feel joy, the more they suppress it, afraid their passion might frighten the one they love. When Chuci first saw her, though her appearance was still young, Kunlun had lived for tens of thousands of years. Her small face always wore an expression of “you are all my people, I must treat you well” compassion. Chuci found this person a little interesting and began to follow her, teasing her.

“Underneath Kunlun Mountain, ten thousand zhang down? Those still count as my people. I cannot quibble with my people.” She used this reason to comfort herself, and actually “endured” Chuci’s “harassment” for ten thousand years.

Though the truth of what happened later has long been tacitly understood by everyone.

So many tens of thousands of years passed. She remained just as Chuci had first met her, hard and seemingly forever unyielding of romance. No matter how joyful she felt, she wouldn’t laugh aloud like Chuci; at most, she would give a slight smile, which was the most joyful expression she could muster.

Kunlun’s thought was simple, yet very foolish: If every day could be like our first meeting, perhaps I could keep her company forever.

If placed in the mortal realm, where life spans just a few short decades, who could endure a partner who stayed the same for ten years? Let alone Chuci? She was immortal and indestructible. Decades were but the snap of a finger to her. But what about a thousand years unchanged? Ten thousand years unchanged?

“You really are a block of stone,” Chuci had said with a laugh more than once. Yet, since encountering this stone, she had never strayed more than three miles from her. She loved to kiss Kunlun’s gentle eyes, soft as a docile reindeer, and then say, “But I happen to like stones. A red stone.”

For all these years, Kunlun had never understood what “red stone” meant. When writing her memoirs in the library, she had often circled and re-circled that phrase. Until this moment, watching the woman running towards her in the snowfield, her palm enveloped by the same warmth, with the snow-capped mountains behind her and a beauty like a flower before her, she suddenly understood.

Some words don’t need to be spoken; she naturally understood. Understood the scalding blood within her own icy stone.

The time before seemed to become visible flowing water. Kunlun watched it stream past her sides, word by word, sentence by sentence, fleeting like a white steed’s passage across a crevice. What remained was finally just the one person before her eyes.

Moisture welled up in her eyes.

She held Chuci’s hand in return and led her inside. Unlike the reproaches she might have learned from Meng Zhaozhong in the past, she said, very gently: “It’s snowing. Wait until the snow stops before you leave.”

“You’re not going to scold me?” Chuci was first surprised, then mimicked her vividly: “‘In such heavy snow, you’re still roaming around outside? What if a great monster swallows you? Even if you’ve grown up now, you’re still a little demon whelp. Once swallowed, people just hide away in the Myriad Demon Grotto. I wouldn’t even be able to find scraps of you.'”

Kunlun turned her head to look at her, saying nothing, just gazing at her quietly.

Chuci stuck out her tongue and apologized with absolutely no sincerity: “Kunlun, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have imitated you.”

To her surprise, Kunlun frowned and asked, “Did I ever say such a thing?”

Chuci immediately perked up: “You did! From when I started hunting over a decade ago, you always said that. ‘The foot of the mountain is very dangerous, don’t go down, don’t get swallowed by monsters.'”

“Is that so?” Kunlun said. “My memory is poor; don’t deceive me. After I had Meng Zhaozhong follow you, I shouldn’t have said those things anymore.”

“Oh,” Chuci began lying through her teeth, “You said your memory was poor, didn’t you? Didn’t I tell Meng Zhaozhong to stop following me? You started saying it again after that.”

“Really?” Kunlun earnestly tried to recall.

Seizing the moment while Kunlun was remembering, Chuci dashed for the wardrobe. With a single sweeping glance, she realized she had no wearable clothes left. With sharp eyes and quick hands, she grabbed a few of Kunlun’s garments and bolted out of the room in one swift motion.

“Kunlun, I’m going to bathe first!”

This whole series of actions—leaping up and down, darting out—was as smooth as writing calligraphy in one flowing breath.

“I remember now, I didn’t at all…”

Kunlun finally came back to her senses dully, but by then, Chuci had long since vanished without a trace.