The Dragon of the Fallen Demon Master Sister in a Book - Chapter 4

As the door closed, Chris slumped back onto the bed. She tugged at the blanket with her little claws. The wooden bed beneath her was hard and uncomfortable to sleep on.

Chris looked up at the ceiling. The roof of this room was constructed with intricate mortise and tenon joints, with the main and secondary beams tightly arranged before being covered with tiles. The craftsmanship wasn’t exceptional, but it was far from shoddy.

Staring at the red tiles above, Chris rolled onto her side and began counting them idly.

“One, two, three…”

As she counted silently in her mind, she let her thoughts drift—a habit she had before pondering things deeply.

She was in unfamiliar dragon territory, so it was best not to wander around recklessly.

Until she understood the power dynamics here, she needed to be cautious and lay low. She had only been in this otherworld for two days—her journey hadn’t even properly begun yet, and she wasn’t ready to meet an early demise.

Chris steadied herself and summarized the information she had gathered so far, including the conversation between her current body’s mother and the sect’s leader. She pieced together her current situation.

She, Xia Weiqi, a sophomore at a university, had been hit by a truck on her way to buy breakfast and died—only to reincarnate into another world as a dragon egg. Her birth mother had named her Chris.

Not only that, but from the earlier conversation between the humans and dragons, Chris had roughly understood that she—a mere dragon egg—had, in the midst of incomprehensible chatter, caught the familiar accent in the voice of a child named Feng Qingzhuo. Overwhelmed with excitement, she had rammed against her eggshell, triggering a chain reaction. Mistakenly believing Feng Qingzhuo to be a fellow transmigrator, she had ended up being sent here.

Chris wanted to bury her face in her claws. As a dragon, she should have been living among her own kind. But because of this beautiful misunderstanding, she was now stuck in this place.

Unfortunately, there was no turning back. If given another chance, Chris would have chosen to stay with her kin—she wouldn’t have let a moment of reckless enthusiasm land her here.

Beyond that, it seemed her bl00d relatives had struck some kind of deal with this sect. Due to her mother’s favoritism toward Feng Qingzhuo, she had been entrusted to the sect to be raised. Moreover, there seemed to be some kind of connection between her and the child tasked with caring for her.

In short, one thing was certain—this was definitely not a normal world.

Chris had read plenty of novels in her past life. A setting that blended both cultivation and Western fantasy magic was already rare in fiction, let alone one as dangerous as this. Until she grew stronger, she needed to keep a low profile.

“I really thought I’d found a fellow transmigrator…” Chris muttered under her breath, lying on the bed and flicking her tail against the blanket. “Turns out it was just a beautiful misunderstanding.”

No sooner had she spoken than the door creaked open. A child in pure white training robes stepped inside. Upon closer inspection, Chris noticed Feng Qingzhuo had a hand resting on their waist, as if protecting the water pouch hanging there.

Feng Qingzhuo casually closed the door behind her to keep out the cold wind. This was the coldest time of year on Misty Peak, and even someone like her—a mid-stage Qi Refining cultivator with an ice spiritual root, already halfway on the path of immortality—could still feel the biting chill in the air.

As she looked up, she noticed the little dragon also gazing at her. Having lived alone for so long, she was surprised to find the usually lazy creature awake, seemingly waiting for her return. Feng Qingzhuo paused for a moment before offering the dragon a polite smile.

The moment she spotted Feng Qingzhuo’s return, Chris’s eyes unconsciously lit up. Her tail swayed gently as she lay obediently on the bed, her bright eyes filled with anticipation—almost like a pet eagerly awaiting its owner’s homecoming.

The dragon’s demeanor reminded Feng Qingzhuo of the stray puppies she had encountered during her wandering days. Those little pups would follow her around after just one feeding, rubbing against her feet and wagging their tails with hopeful eyes whenever she passed by.

But ever since joining the Tianxuan Sect, she hadn’t seen those adorable pups again—they hadn’t even had the chance to say goodbye. Now, meeting Chris, Feng Qingzhuo felt something tender stir within her, warming her heart.

Brushing the snow off her shoulders and shaking the flakes from her hair, she retrieved a small pot from the cabinet. After setting it over the fire, she untied the waterskin at her waist and poured its milky-white contents—fresh beast milk—into the pot.

Just then, Chris scrambled off the bed with a roll, a crawl, and a flutter of wings, darting toward Feng Qingzhuo. But in her haste, she tripped over the edge of the bed and tumbled straight to the cultivator’s feet.

Chris: “……”

Covering her face with her claws, the dragon instantly felt embarrassed. She could only console herself inwardly: Sorry, this is my first time being a dragon. I’m still getting used to this body—rolling off the bed is perfectly reasonable, right?

Feng Qingzhuo chuckled softly, scooping up the dragon now curled at her feet and placing her on her shoulder. Gently stroking the creature’s head, she murmured, “I’ve met clumsy ones before, but never one quite as hopeless as you.”

Chris grumbled internally: Great. My dignity’s officially gone today. Let’s just hope this kid never finds out I was nineteen when I died in my past life…

Perched precariously on Feng Qingzhuo’s shoulder, Chris shivered, afraid to move lest she fall. If I tumble into that pot below, I’ll become the founding master of braised dragon cuisine—the pioneer of “Iron Pot Stewed Dragonling,” a famed dish in the cultivation world. How utterly humiliating would that be?

While she was lost in thought, Feng Qingzhuo had already prepared the pot, adding more firewood until the milk soon came to a gentle simmer.

Producing a large bowl from somewhere, the cultivator poured in the warmed milk. The waterskin hadn’t held much to begin with, and spirit beast milk—a rare commodity used to feed young dragons—was always served fresh in small quantities.

Feng Qingzhuo reached out and swept the miscellaneous items from her desk aside with one motion, then placed the large bowl filled with milk on the wooden table usually reserved for calligraphy practice. Next, she lifted the little dragon from her shoulder onto the table.

Desks weren’t meant for dining, but Feng Qingzhuo’s room had few furnishings. Before achieving grain abstinence, cultivators maintained the purity of their spiritual energy by consuming fasting pills. Feng Qingzhuo thought no one would bother creating a dining ritual or setting up a special table just for taking a fasting pill.

Of course, Chris was genuinely hungry. Perhaps due to the high energy demands of a growing dragon, despite eating well yesterday, her stomach still growled at the sight of the milk bowl.

Chris clasped the large bowl with both claws and began gulping down the milk with gusto. Feng Qingzhuo sat nearby, leaning on the table to closely observe the little dragon’s eating process. The occasional swallowing sounds and Chris’s satisfied expression brought Feng Qingzhuo genuine joy.

After the meal, Feng Qingzhuo first wiped milk stains from the dragon’s mouth with a handkerchief, then washed and put away the pot and bowl.

Standing on her hind legs atop the desk, Chris asked in a milky, indistinct voice, “A-Zhuo, why don’t you eat?”

Feng Qingzhuo, who was washing dishes, froze in shock and looked up at Chris. The little dragon stood on the desk, her tail having unknowingly dipped into the ink used for copying cultivation techniques, leaving black tail streaks across the white paper with each wag.

After putting away the cleaned dishes, Feng Qingzhuo strode over to Chris and looked down at her. The little dragon instinctively shrunk her neck and retreated slightly, feeling an innate fear of larger creatures.

Turning her head, Chris realized she’d stepped in wet ink, leaving black paw prints on the pristine paper.

Chris: !!!

When did this happen? I didn’t even notice…

She guiltily studied Feng Qingzhuo’s expression, trying to gauge her mood, but…

Feng Qingzhuo maintained a completely blank face.

Chris grumbled inwardly: So young yet already expressionless! She smiled at me before. This kid’s moods are so hard to read—in one word: fickle! Should children really be this mercurial?

Despite her internal complaints, Chris knew to keep up appearances with her benefactor. Lowering her head slightly, she opened her deep red eyes wide, making them shimmer with what appeared to be tears as she looked pitifully at Feng Qingzhuo—the perfect image of a mischievous husky awaiting punishment after destroying the house.

Feng Qingzhuo: …

Chris thought such an act should spare her punishment, but then Feng Qingzhuo picked her up and carried her outside.

Chris: !!!

“Let go of me, little dragon!!! I can walk on my own!!!”

Though inwardly throwing a tantrum, Chris remained outwardly as quiet as a mouse, shrinking further into Feng Qingzhuo’s embrace, terrified of being abandoned.

Noticing the dragon’s unease, Feng Qingzhuo suddenly spoke to reassure her, “I’m just taking you for a bath. You’ve gotten dirty.”

Only then did Chris relax—she wasn’t being abandoned after all. Come to think of it, her current body’s parents had an agreement with this sect, so it wasn’t like Feng Qingzhuo could just discard her. Maybe transforming into a dragon had dulled her mind. Chris poked her head out from Feng Qingzhuo’s arms and suddenly realized—

Her claws were resting right on the other’s chest.

Chris: …

This way of holding a dragon is really weird.

Chris was utterly conflicted. Should she retract her claws? Or leave them be? Honestly, she’d rather chop them off entirely—why did she always end up in such awkward situations?

Trying to explain that she hadn’t meant to do it, that she genuinely hadn’t noticed the ink there, Chris called out to Feng Qingzhuo. Still unused to a dragon’s vocal cords, she mumbled indistinctly, “A-Zhuo, I really didn’t mean to earlier, you mustn’t—”

Before she could finish, Feng Qingzhuo interrupted, shaking her head with complete openness.

“Even if you did it on purpose, so what? Back in Dragon Valley, I was the one who spoke out of turn. Now that you’re my dragon, I’ll take responsibility for anything you do. Besides, not putting away the ink properly was my fault to begin with—not yours.”

Chris’s eyes widened in shock, stunned for a long moment.

The first thought that came to her was how utterly despicable she was! A full-grown adult, yet still so incapable of honesty, making a child of eleven or twelve shoulder the blame!

Ah, the more she thought about it, the more she felt she truly deserved to die.

Noticing the dazed dragon in her arms, Feng Qingzhuo gently ruffled her head, eyes brimming with tenderness enough to drown a person, tinged with a hint of nostalgia. Softening her voice to avoid startling the little dragon, she asked, “May I ask why you call me A-Zhuo?”

Chris let out a startled “Ah,” clearly not expecting the question. Tentatively, she replied, “Do you… not like the nickname?”

“It’s just…” Chris stammered, “it came out instinctively, that’s all.”

“Really, no other meaning,” Chris quickly added.

She understood that some people disliked such intimate terms. It was just a habit of hers—she always addressed close friends by the last character of their names. Now, having crossed into another world, she couldn’t break the habit so easily.

Feng Qingzhuo lowered her head, eyes glimmering faintly.