Chapter Thirteen: Choosing a Quilt

Yuan Sangxuan had barely finished speaking when, from among the gathered monsters behind him, a master of one of the Twenty-Nine Valleys slowly spoke up: “The Gate of the Firmament, left by Lady Nuwa, still retains a trace of intelligence. It can judge all sorts of changes in the mortal realms of the heavens and, relying on the mechanism of the Heavenly Calculation, choose whom it will accept, whom it will reject, and even whom it will seal. Since that is the case, I believe we should let everyone try. Wu Bo may have failed, but that doesn’t mean the others will as well!”

The speaker was Banlan, master of Bone-Eater Ravine.

“...Indeed! As marvelous as the Third Lord’s Heavenly Calculation may be, it cannot surpass the will of the Lady herself. And what if the Third Lord is mistaken?” Another valley master added, “Centuries ago, when the Seven Sages descended the mountain, wasn’t it also the calculations that guided them? And what came of that?”

This was Jue Yue, master of Echoing Voice Ravine.

“What harm is there in trying a few more times?” said Shi Tong, master of Great Shattered Slope.

These words, bordering on rebellion, nonetheless carried a weighty meaning. Yuan Sangxuan fell silent, pondering, while Changcun snorted heavily, his gaze sweeping over the assembled monsters with displeasure. “So that’s what you’re all plotting. No wonder you have such nerve.”

Under his scrutiny, the masters of the Twenty-Nine Valleys had, almost unconsciously, gathered together, their intentions laid bare.

Changcun turned to Yuan Sangxuan, his voice agitated. “The backlash from the calculations is so severe, and what you’ve divined is near certainty—why introduce more chaos? If the seal truly chooses someone else, how could we ever face the ancestors of the Seven Sages?”

Yuan Sangxuan remained silent after Changcun’s words, waiting for a while before his face gradually regained calm. At last, he said lightly, “Whomever the seal chooses is still of the Meishan lineage. There’s no need to be overly concerned. But since you all desire a chance to make the Seven Sages into Eight, are you prepared to pay the price?”

A look of delight spread across the faces of the valley masters, and those who had brought their juniors forward declared, “We are ready and certain to satisfy the Seven Lords.”

Yuan Sangxuan inclined his head, looking to Chang Xiangzhi. He spoke gently, “Though this is fraught with peril, it is also a chance to survive the coming catastrophe. Your father may not have told you, so I shall explain its gravity now. Are you still willing to let others try?”

Only now did Chang Xiangzhi truly understand why the opportunity to fuse with the Gate of the Firmament—seemingly a thankless task—had Wu Bo so desperate to seize it. But at that moment, her attention was not fully on Yuan Sangxuan’s words. Rather, she was drawn to the throbbing pulse within that strange mist, as though a living heart was beating, tugging at her thoughts, leaving her dazed and unable to focus.

Yuan Sangxuan waited quietly a moment before suddenly clearing his throat—a small sound, but in Chang Xiangzhi’s mind it was like a thunderclap, snapping her out of her trance.

In that brief instant, Chang Xiangzhi seemed to grasp something indistinct.

She considered and then forced a smile at Yuan Sangxuan. “I always thought humans were fools, but it turns out our demon-kind are the same—greedy, foolish as beetles…” She turned to the valley masters, her expression cold. “Try if you wish! Just remember the rules of Meishan: the more you desire, the greater the price for failure. I hope you are prepared for the consequences.”

The masters’ faces flickered with anger, fear, or indifference. Banlan gritted his teeth. “Whatever the outcome, we accept it!”

With Chang Xiangzhi’s consent, Yuan Sangxuan did not object, nor did any of the other mountain lords. Thus, the juniors of the twenty-nine valleys stepped forward to stand upon the altar beside Chang Xiangzhi. Only Zhu Miaoren, tears of blood drying in her eyes, closed them with a bizarre smile.

Among the demons, strength alone determined rank. The Seven Lords of Meishan had been renowned for years, but for over a century had made no great achievements, allowing the Twenty-Nine Valleys to rise. Though the Seven Lords’ prestige remained, compared to the era of the Seven Sages, their power had waned.

The only thing keeping both sides in check had been the Absolute Forest, but now its master was gone. Who then could restrain the ambitions of the mountain’s multitude of monsters?

Strength is never a fixed measure. Disputes abound, and there are always tales of lesser demons overturning their greater kin. Demonic power alone is not the only standard—martial skill, sorcery, even magical artifacts often decide the outcome of a battle.

The valley masters understood well that if they could seize the chance to seal the Gate of the Firmament, their own lineage would soar above the rest. The Seven Mountains would become Eight. Whatever Meishan’s fate, their standing among demon-kind would be transformed. Even in the Western Ox-Headed Continent, they would command respect. That was why they risked offending the Seven Mountains—the lure of controlling the only path to the Demon-Summoning Banner was simply too great. Such power meant an unassailable position among the demons, and any price was worth paying.

The juniors of the demon clans stood together upon the altar—twelve in all, including Chang Xiangzhi—awaiting the seal of the Gate of the Firmament.

The seven great demons of the mountains stepped forward, each placing their hands upon a spot on the stone seat of the altar. Seven streams of blood emerged and flowed onto the altar, converging at the center and channeling into the stone gate.

From the dome of the cavern above, lightning flickered, and clouds began to gather, thickening into a dark mass. Within, lightning danced like silver serpents, and rain began to fall—but only upon the altar and the stone gate, not a drop elsewhere.

In the rain, the colossal stone gate began to melt, dissolving as if snow in water, then slowly pooled and reformed, becoming a writhing, handless, footless, grotesque thing with the vague outline of a human form.

The thing squirmed, and suddenly countless cracks appeared across its surface, widening to reveal within—black within white, white within black—countless eyeballs!

In an instant, the thing became a humanoid mass of water, embedded with unnumbered eyes.

The eyes swept over the assembled demons; wherever their gaze fell, a chill ran deep. The raw hunger and greed in those eyes far surpassed anything the demons had ever known. Clearly, this entity came from a realm utterly unknown to them, existing only to enact this seal.

Suddenly, the watery form surged into one of the young demons, entering through his mouth. The youth, after a moment’s confusion, leapt up in wild exultation, shouting, “I—I’ve been chosen…”

A roar of excitement erupted among the demons. The valley masters brimmed with pride, their faces alight with glory, while the great demons of the Seven Mountains—Changcun, Yangwu, and the rest—were dumbfounded. Only Yuan Sangxuan and Zhu Miaoren remained unmoved, silent.

The celebration lasted but a moment. As the joyous shouts reached their height, the chosen youth suddenly screamed in agony; his chest and belly swelled grotesquely. He collapsed, vomiting froth and green bile, writhing and clawing at his own stomach as if to rip something out.

But before he could disembowel himself, a sudden burst split him open, scattering his flesh across the altar. His blood slowly gathered, mingling with the rain, and reformed into a humanoid mass of water.

Streams of blood swam within the water, refusing to blend, writhing like trapped fish.

One valley master went pale as death, collapsing where he stood. The rest of the juniors looked on in terror, some on the verge of fleeing, but the water mass moved swiftly, splitting into two streams and surging into two more young demons.

This time, there was no celebration, only silent waiting.

But the result was unchanged. In moments, the two were swollen and burst apart, their flesh and blood splattering across the altar.

After such deaths, how could the others remain calm? Several tried to flee, but at the edge of the altar, the rain became like iron bars, imprisoning them within.

The water mass continued, one by one surging into the bodies of the remaining young demons, each of whom died in turn.

Despair appeared on the faces of the valley masters. The Seven Lords stared on, cold and merciless, and suddenly, one of the masters cried out, “A plot! This is a plot to destroy the Twenty-Nine Valleys!”

“That’s right! There’s trickery here…”

Some shouted, but their words found little support. Among the valley masters, suspicion and fear spread. Some gripped their weapons, while others still hesitated.

The coldness on Yuan Sangxuan’s face twisted into a savage grin. Zhu Miaoren likewise opened her once-shut eyes, both demons’ gazes burning red, their power surging as if ready for slaughter.

In the din, the water mass burst apart eleven young demons. Its last target was the descendant of Changcun, the little princess of Blackwater Ridge—Chang Xiangzhi.

At this, all sound ceased. Every eye fell upon Chang Xiangzhi.

She gazed at the water mass in silence, then suddenly threw open her arms in welcome.

The water mass lunged—not for her mouth, but her chest and belly. The moment it touched her, a deep, resonant roar erupted, shattering the rain barrier and echoing through the cavern. The assembled demons’ spirits dropped as if mountains had crushed them, and even the pouring rain paused, then resumed.

In that instant, all realized: this was the consciousness of the Gate of the Firmament, the key left by Lady Nuwa herself.

Even the lingering will of a mere servant of the Lady could utterly overwhelm the gathered demons—proof of the saint’s unfathomable power.

The water mass slowly merged into Chang Xiangzhi. It was not so much entering as fusing, seeping in through her very skin. Neither she nor the others realized that as it entered, a crimson mark appeared at the center of her chest, spreading into a complex, ancient, and bizarre sigil that covered her body.

But when the water mass was wholly inside her, the sigil vanished without a trace.

The bloodline of the Seven Sages of Meishan now converged within her, sealing the Gate inside. From this moment, she was both the gate, and its key.

In the void, a colossal single eye slowly opened, gazing across the universe…