The Past as a Burden (Part One): Yun Shuchen's Side Story

"My Lord, the young princess is so frail. Our clan's cultivation method is extremely yin and cold; if she continues to practice it, I fear it may... threaten her life."

The lanterns in Jialuo Palace dimmed for a moment.

The murals on the palace walls were exquisitely carved in an openwork style, the strokes archaic yet eerie. They unfolded slowly from the center; on closer inspection, they depicted ancient deities with human bodies and serpent tails—their long, coiled tails seemed to twist and turn, as if slowly rotating.

Tang Jiaye sat with eyes closed on the highest throne in Jialuo Palace, seemingly meditating or resting. Upon hearing this, she slightly raised her eyelids, then lowered them, looking down at the woman prostrate at her feet, her back trembling slightly.

"Is there no other way?"

The others below exchanged uneasy glances, too afraid to speak.

The Demon Lord was not in a patient mood. She said coldly, "Speak plainly."

A woman said, her voice trembling, "The young princess... although she cannot cultivate our path, the techniques of those immortal sects are more balanced and gentle. They should be viable."

Above the high seat, the lanterns were dim, and the woman's expression was inscrutable.

The atmosphere grew increasingly oppressive with the silence's endless extension, the air turning gloomy and thin, as if it might suffocate at any moment.

After a long time, she said flatly, "You want the heir to our next throne to cultivate the immortal path?"

The woman's features were stunning, her willow-leaf brows slightly raised, a pair of amorous, beautiful eyes.

But a layer of cold frost gradually gathered in her gaze. When she fixed her eyes on someone, she inspired awe without anger.

The demonic women below grew even more terrified, not daring to make a sound.

Suddenly, another voice, bright as silver bells, rang out: "What are you angry about?"

Tang Jiaye shifted her gaze, glancing to the side.

The newcomer wore a pleated skirt, silver ornaments jingling loudly—quite flashy and ostentatious.

That woman gave a snorting laugh, softened her waist, and leaned against Tang Jiaye. She whispered at her lips, "If there's something difficult, you can tell me, your High Priestess."

Seeing her close her eyes and remain silent, the High Priestess blinked and tested, "Whether it's a tabby cat or any cat, as long as it can catch mice, that works. Isn't cultivation also this principle?"

"Shut up."

The Demon Lord opened her eyes again, slapping the armrest heavily. "You all, leave. Bring her here."

The young demonic women below, trembling, felt as if pardoned and scattered in retreat.

Only two remained in the hall, making it feel exceptionally vast.

Tang Jiaye seemed slightly weary. She shoved the woman off, leaning alone by herself.

"Impossible," she said coldly. "Have you forgotten how my elder sister died? Our clan and those so-called immortal sects are irreconcilable."

The High Priestess sighed. "Then... you could revoke Chen'er's inheritance rights and choose another. Give her a territory to live in, and afterwards, no need to manage her—just let her live a peaceful life. How about that?"

Just then, the door of Jialuo Palace opened a crack, then closed again.

A young girl, richly dressed, walked in. She looked up at the female sovereign, then at the priestess beside her, and performed the proper greetings in order.

Though young, her deportment was impeccable. Even compared to Tang Jiaye's own biological daughters, she had more of a princess's bearing.

"Come here," Tang Jiaye gestured.

The girl, she saw, glanced secretly at the priestess, then steadied her steps and walked forward, lowering her head in front of her, appearing very docile.

"Raise your head."

Tang Jiaye's gaze traced inch by inch over her youthful face. Apart from the eyes, the rest—the nose bridge, lips, brow bone—everywhere bore that person's shadow. In recent years, she had grown to resemble her more and more.

Not like the previous female sovereign, but rather like that faithless immortal sect woman—absurd to say, and indeed ironic to behold.

Mindful that she was her elder sister's only bloodline, Tang Jiaye had, on many occasions while looking at that face, suppressed the urge to strangle her.

Were she to also cultivate the immortal path... No. Tang Jiaye felt that this would first drive herself mad. She feared she would eventually lose control and kill the girl.

She refused to believe that across the entire Demon Realm, no suitable cultivation path could be found.

"From this day forth, I shall personally teach you."

Hearing the sovereign's declaration, the other two were both stunned. The priestess rolled her eyes, then sighed softly. She seemed to have anticipated something and looked at the young child with slight sympathy.

*

A few years later.

Yun Shuchen came out of Jialuo Palace again, step by step, every meridian in her body aching as if pierced. Her clothes were somewhat disheveled, stained with blood from vomiting during cultivation. A corner of her mouth was slightly broken, and a faint palm print marked half her face.

Over these years, the sovereign had been trying every possible method to make her cultivate, but the demonic system was largely similar. Every time she channeled energy halfway, she would vomit blood and faint due to weakness.

Year after year passed with no improvement whatsoever.

Today, the sovereign seemed to have finally lost patience. In a fit of anger, she struck out with a palm, breaking the corner of her mouth.

It hurt a bit.

She touched her cheek lightly, feeling that the skin there was scalding, as if about to burn. Before walking out of the palace, Yun Shuchen looked around carefully—no one was there.

She wanted to go back early; if others saw her like this, it would be unbecoming.

"What happened to your face?" A sweet voice came from behind.

Turning to look, Tang Wuyue tilted her head, watching her.

"Nothing." Seeing it was her, Yun Shuchen frowned and turned to leave. But unexpectedly, a sharp pain shot through her arm, and her sleeve was seized, gripped tightly.

The girl let out a sneering laugh. "Look at how useless you are. My mother spends so much time teaching you every day, yet she's taught you nothing."

Tang Wuyue, though two years younger, was already three levels higher in cultivation and much stronger.

When she tightened her grip, Yun Shuchen felt her wrist bones dislocating, pain making cold sweat break out on her back.

Suppressing the trembling of her wrist, she smiled at this girl, her voice gentle: "She teaches me, not you."

This soft, gentle sentence deflected with lightness, like a four-ounce weight moving a thousand-pound force.

Tang Wuyue's face suddenly darkened.

She had never understood why her mother clearly disliked Yun Shuchen, yet left the position of next Demon Lord to her, and every day spent great effort educating her—although it yielded no results and sometimes maddened her to hit—but never revoked her position.

She, Tang Wuyue, was the current Demon Lord's flesh and blood, and the legitimate eldest daughter. That seat should be hers. What did that mixed-blood mongrel of immortal and demon have to do with it?!

This was a thorn in her heart.

"Is that so?" Tang Wuyue pulled the person over, and with no regard for severity, maliciously pinched the wound on her face.

Pain rose from the face, seeping into the bone, nearly numbing her scalp.

Yun Shuchen struggled, but due to the disparity in cultivation, she truly could not push away. Tang Wuyue even held her tighter.

Tang Wuyue's fingertips, stained with a bit of blood, smeared it wantonly across her cheek. The little demon girl finally became a bit happier, raising an eyebrow. "Does it hurt?"

"If something happened to me in front of Jialuo Palace, you wouldn't fare well either."

Yun Shuchen endured the pain, steadying her voice, her fingers clenched white. She lowered her gaze, hiding the fleeting viciousness in her eyes.

Tang Wuyue laughed. "Not fare well? You think she'd side with you?"

She continued squeezing the wound. "I've heard from Mother that she really dislikes your face. Why not just destroy it? Ah, isn't that helping you?"

Yun Shuchen's spine chilled. Tang Wuyue pressed against one side of her face and pulled out an exquisite bone knife from her robes, curiously comparing it to the skin.

The bone knife seemed to tease her, patting lightly.

But Yun Shuchen knew well how brutal her cousin was. When she said such words, she would truly stab. At that thought, despair welled up in her heart.

The palace door suddenly opened. Tang Wuyue looked up and saw her mother's figure emerge from within. Before the joy on her face could rise, she was knocked away by a palm from Tang Jiaye from across the air, and the knife clattered to the ground.

Yun Shuchen was finally released. She immediately collapsed to the ground, gritting her teeth against the pain, drawing a shallow breath.

"Get back," Tang Jiaye said coldly. "You spend all day causing trouble. Do you have any dignity left?"

Tang Wuyue clutched her face, tears swirling in her eyes, then falling. She was stunned at first, then incredulous, and finally raised her voice: "...I am your daughter!"

Tang Jiaye did not speak.

Tang Wuyue, with tears, shot a venomous glare at Yun Shuchen. Though she was not old, the malice in her gaze was still chilling.

Since the Demon Lord was present, Tang Wuyue restrained her claws, but with no outlet for her grievance, she cried without stopping.

Tang Jiaye grew increasingly annoyed and ordered several attendant demonic women to take the unreasonable one away.

Yun Shuchen breathed a sigh of relief. She realized her right hand seemed broken; it trembled and could not move.

Tang Jiaye's black, ornate robe trailed slowly like a snake until she stopped before Yun Shuchen.

"To be bullied like this by your own little sister," she said coldly. "Think it over yourself."

With that, she cast her no further glance and left straight away.

Yun Shuchen lay on the ground, with no one to help her up. She coughed up blood, feeling like all her internal organs ached, her face hurt, and her wrist was numb, devoid of sensation.

Only when everyone had gone far—even when Tang Wuyue bullied her and Tang Jiaye mocked her—had she barely maintained the last shred of self-respect and not let tears fall.

Now the sky had darkened considerably, the dim light obscured. She could not move, and no one could see her, so at last she could secretly lick her wounds. Leaning against the cold floor tiles, tears traced down in streaks. She wept in complete silence, staining a small patch deeper.

Tang Jiaye had walked far away, also restless, and had gone out for a stroll.

Her cultivation was high, so she could hear from a great distance. At this moment, the wind behind her carried the young girl's soft sobbing, like praying to heaven, or perhaps muttering to herself, "Mother..."

"I really... I've really been trying so hard."

Tang Jiaye halted her steps. For some reason, she slowly lowered her lashes. She again remembered when her elder sister was still alive, smiling as she suddenly tossed the swaddled infant into her arms, proudly asking if the child wasn't beautiful.

At that time, although Tang Jiaye was somewhat dissatisfied with her immortal bloodline, she was far from hating her. She had held her the whole way with resignation.

But unfortunately, times changed, and things were no longer the same.

After hesitating a moment, she raised a hand and conjured a black raven with demonic energy, instructing: "Go find the priestess. Have her take the girl back for healing."

The bird flapped its wings and flew toward the Nüwa Altar.

Only a single black feather fell, clutched in her palm.