The Dragon of the Fallen Demon Master Sister in a Book - Chapter 6

“A-Zhuo!” Waking up in bed again and reaching out only to find the space beside her empty, Chris instinctively called out Feng Qingzhuo’s name—much like how one would instinctively call for their mother when unable to find something upon waking in the morning.

A flicker of panic rose in Chris’s heart. After all, in the past, Feng Qingzhuo had always been by her side—either resting with closed eyes by her bedside or sitting at the desk, reviewing the day’s lessons with brush in hand. As time passed, this had become the norm, and until now, there had never been a moment when she couldn’t find him.

The little dragon shot up from the bed in an instant, not even bothering with the blanket that had been kicked to the floor in her haste. Chris scanned the room, confirming Feng Qingzhuo’s absence, then moved to the fireplace to check the size of the flames.

She extended a claw to gauge the fire’s warmth, rubbed the charcoal between her talons, and even sniffed it before reaching a conclusion—Feng Qingzhuo must have been gone for at least three to five hours.

“He’s been out for so long and still hasn’t returned…” Chris murmured under her breath, an inexplicable worry gnawing at her. She couldn’t help but fear that something might have happened to him outside. Feng Qingzhuo was still young, his appearance youthful, making him an easy target for the cunning and treacherous elders of this world.

Moreover, as the tropes of such stories went, this was a world where the strong preyed on the weak—where two people could vanish without a trace, and no one would bat an eye.

Turning around, Chris bolted for the door on her powerful Western dragon hind legs.

With a crash, she flung the door open, ignoring the wooden frame that groaned and swayed wildly in the bitter wind. Without hesitation, she plunged into the snowstorm.

The harsh cold and unforgiving weather of Misty Peak were no match for the determination of a fire-attribute dragon on a mission.

The first thing that struck her upon stepping outside was a glaring splash of red, followed by the faint but unmistakable scent of bl00d lingering in the air. Chris’s draconic pupils instinctively narrowed, nearly forming vertical slits, as she realized the scent was already stirring something primal within her current body.

Recalling the novels she had read in her past life and the widely circulated folktales about Western dragons, Chris remembered that these creatures were often depicted as bloodthirsty and malevolent—especially black dragons like herself. It was no surprise that the scent of bl00d would provoke such a reaction.

The metallic tang of bl00d mingled with the delicate fragrance of wintersweet blossoms, the latter nearly masking the former. Only a dragon’s keen senses could have detected the trace of bl00d beneath the floral sweetness.

Then, Chris shifted her gaze to the blooming wintersweet tree. Tiny yellow blossoms clung stubbornly to the branches despite the snowstorm. Beneath it stood a marble table carved in the shape of a five-petal lotus, surrounded by four small stools arranged like stars around the larger central table. Fresh snow blanketed both the table and stools, untouched by human presence.

Chris hurried forward, rushing toward that flash of red. Though she wasn’t fast, her heart burned with urgency as worry surged through her once more. Flapping her wings, she accelerated and in the blink of an eye traversed the snowstorm to stand before Feng Qingzhuo.

Every snowflake that landed on Chris’s shoulders instantly melted into droplets from her scalding body heat, forming a winding trail of water behind her as they fell to the ground.

Approaching slowly, Chris saw the slender figure standing with its back to her, seemingly unaware of her presence—until she softly called out, “A-Zhuo.”

At those two words, the small, straight-backed figure still stained with fresh red bl00d stiffened involuntarily. Feng Qingzhuo whirled around, her pupils contracting sharply.

She… she’d been seen by her dragon child.

She must look absolutely wretched in this state.

Panic rose in Feng Qingzhuo’s chest. Back in the sect, she’d had what could be called “friends”—though perhaps not true friends, just people who occasionally spoke with her.

In the Tianxuan Sect, one’s background mattered immensely. Those with single or dual spiritual roots who could stand before her were mostly peerless geniuses from cultivation families, imperial princes and princesses, or at the very least merchants of immense wealth. Only these people—endowed with talent, resources, and power—could tread the path of cultivation smoothly and unimpeded.

Each cultivator’s journey differed. Some relied on luck, others on innate talent, while some depended entirely on their family’s accumulated resources and connections.

From Qi Refining to Foundation Establishment, Golden Core to Nascent Soul, Soul Transformation to Unity, Great Ascension to Tribulation Crossing and finally Ascension—each stage required steady, step-by-step progress.

The Golden Core stage served as the watershed moment. Before Golden Core, one could rely on either talent or resources—given enough time and spiritual materials, anyone could theoretically reach Golden Core. But beyond that, it came down to opportunity and innate aptitude… though exceedingly rare, there did exist heaven-defying spiritual materials capable of altering one’s natural gifts.

Many cultivators spent their entire lives stuck at Qi Refining, while others used family resources to reach Foundation Establishment or even Golden Core. With decent luck and passable talent, reaching Nascent Soul wasn’t impossible.

And her? Feng Qingzhuo was just a wandering beggar. What right did she have to stand equal with these people—to have them address her respectfully as “Senior Sister”?

Sometimes she wondered—why her? Why was she chosen? Just because she possessed a single ice spiritual root? Her master had simply said, “We’re fated.” Could that single word “fate” truly outweigh all considerations of talent, resources, and connections?

She often fell into these spiraling thoughts, unable to find answers yet unable to stop questioning. Like why the dragon child had chosen her when every fellow disciple present that day was at least her equal.

But… Feng Qingzhuo smiled faintly. Some things weren’t set in stone. Falling behind now didn’t mean staying behind forever. Being worthless now didn’t mean losing the right to rise again.

She still remembered the story her mother once told her—about an eighty-year-old beggar who, by chance, entered the immortal sect, attained enlightenment, and ascended to the higher realm at the age of two hundred and eighty. People loved to recount his tale, marveling at how this unknown old beggar had delivered a slap to the faces of those so-called young geniuses. That was the true joy of cultivation.

Young Feng Qingzhuo had taken this as her guiding principle.

She truly loved cultivation—so much so that one could say she was practically born for it.

However, there were some things she didn’t understand, and Feng Qingzhu had no intention of digging deeper. After all, as a mere twelve-year-old at the mid-stage of Qi Refining, she wasn’t qualified yet—at least, not qualified to stand on equal footing with those people.

Speaking of which, that “friend” of hers had turned pale upon witnessing her ferocity during a hunt and fled mid-battle, leaving her alone to face a late-stage Qi Refining demonic beast.

And when she returned to the sect, rumors spread like wildfire—calling her a devil, a demon, a beast, anything but the ethereal, refined image of an immortal cultivator. The noble and aristocratic disciples, who had already looked down on her, believed every word. From then on, no one visited her Misty Peak anymore, and no one would team up with her on expeditions.

She tossed the prey in her hand onto the ground—a plump rabbit, its snow-white fur stark against the bright red bl00d. Feng Qingzhu’s hands were drenched in bl00d, and even her face bore splatters of crimson. At this moment, she seemed unusually flustered in front of Chris, a far cry from her usual composed demeanor.

Chris: “……”

Chris flapped her wings and swiftly climbed onto Feng Qingzhu, sniffing her all over.

Feng Qingzhu stiffened, frozen like a statue. She didn’t know whether to move or stay still, her head ducked low like a rain-soaked chick with patchy feathers.

“Ch-Chris…” Feng Qingzhu lowered her head, her voice dry and hesitant. Realizing the little dragon didn’t seem to mind her killing, she finally raised her hands in surrender after standing rigidly for so long that her legs had gone numb. “H-how much longer is this gonna take?”

The response was a fierce glare from the little dragon—Chris already carried the aura of a future wicked demonic dragon.

“Not taking care of yourself,” the juvenile dragon scolded in a mumbling, childish voice. “Chasing a rabbit and getting covered in bl00d. I’m not done checking yet. If you’re hurt, you have to treat it right away—especially wounds tainted with another creature’s bl00d. Otherwise, it’ll get complicated.”

Chris meticulously inspected every inch of Feng Qingzhu, muttering, “How did you even end up like this? Aren’t you cold standing out here?”

“Ah—!” Feng Qingzhu paled when Chris poked a wound on her waist, flinching involuntarily.

“Stop squirming!” Chris snapped. “Come here. I’ll clean you up first, then apply medicine.”

“I… I can do it myself,” Feng Qingzhu shrank back, pitifully whispering, “D-don’t hate me…”

“Hah?” Chris gave her a are-you-stupid look, staring at her like she was an idiot.

“I… didn’t mean to kill her.” Feng Qingzhuo murmured, staring down at the still-bleeding rabbit at her feet. “So please don’t hate me.”

Chris: …

What’s wrong with this kid?

“Hahahaha!” The dragon spirit, appearing in the form of a slender white eastern dragon, laughed uproariously in midair. It couldn’t fathom why someone would worry about a dragon disliking them for hunting, to the point of freezing out in this snowy wilderness.

After all, gluttonous dragons were all skilled hunters. What young dragon didn’t have hundreds of rabbit kills when first learning to hunt? Besides, Feng Qingzhuo had merely killed one small rabbit—clean and efficient, one swift motion and the rabbit’s head was off.

Though if they’d used traditional dragon hunting methods, eating outdoors would mean either charring the rabbit with dragonfire before consuming it piece by piece, or spotting prey from above, folding their wings to reduce air resistance, then diving like arrows to snatch the running creature with their claws before snapping its neck with their sharp talons to carry the prize back to their lair.

Chris shot the floating white eastern dragon a venomous glare, mentally cursing, “Shut your damn mouth!”

“Can’t speak properly? Then don’t speak at all—no one thinks you’re mute!”

“Hey now, youngster, don’t talk to your mentor like that!” The pure white eastern dragon coiled itself atop Chris’s head. “I’m here to guide your growth. Once you’ve learned all my knowledge and can stand as a proper dragon, I’ll naturally disappear.”

Chris impatiently tried to swat it away, but the dragon easily dodged, adding, “Hey now, I contain millennia of draconic wisdom. You might be talented, but show some respect to your elders.”

Rolling her eyes, Chris muttered, “Why couldn’t you just dump the knowledge in my head like normal dragons? What kind of ancestral memory manifests as an annoying dragon?”

“Tsk tsk, call me Dragon Spirit next time, child. I am you, and you are me…” The little white dragon said mischievously, “So hitting me is technically hitting yourself.”

“Damn it!” Chris gritted her teeth. “You weren’t this annoying in my dreams!”

“Now now, mind your manners, youngster.” Dragon Spirit dodged another swipe. “Better tend to that human’s wounds and get her to bed. You don’t want anything happening to her, do you?”

“Hmph.” Chris complied grudgingly. Being subordinate to another dragon rankled, but she’d never jeopardize Feng Qingzhuo’s wellbeing.