“Celeste. Bow your head to Elara and apologize. Do that, and I’ll take you out at once.”
Inside the Tianshui water prison, Theron Kirkland stood in black robes, the hem hanging over the dark water yet clean as if not a speck of filth in the world could touch him. His face was beautiful enough to steal a man’s breath, but there was nothing gentle or refined in it. That beauty was steeped in frost, edged with cold pride, like something born on the knife-thin heights of Luofu.
People always said that seeing Theron Kirkland was like seeing evening mist buried under old snow, like a lone winter plum rooted on the summit, looking down on all living things.
And now that winter plum was staring straight at Celeste Hargrove in the water cell with a pair of eyes sharp enough to see through the Ninefold Nether.
Forty full days in the water prison had soaked her skin till it looked like wet rice paper, ready to peel at the slightest touch.
The black water reached her chest. Beneath it slithered the bone-devouring snakes bred for this place. Fine as strands of hair, they slipped through open wounds, gnawed flesh from within, and left behind numbing venom so she could stay awake and feel every bite clear as day.
She was sick of it.
One more day here felt like too much.
“System,” she asked in her mind, “how much energy is left?”
[Warning: System energy remaining: 3%. Original plot correction force has reached 97%.]
Celeste tugged at the corner of her mouth.
That tiny movement split the scabbed wounds on her face open again.
Beads of blood rolled down, tapped the water, and were swallowed at once by the passing bone-devouring snakes.
Five years ago, when she had first crossed into this cultivation world, the system had told her this was an easy beginner mission.
All she had to do was stop the Xuanzhao Sect from being wiped out.
In the original story, this minor sect had hidden a fragment of an ancient divine artifact. Because of that, the junior sister protagonist, Elara Sinclair, who had entered the sect in disguise, slaughtered the whole sect to the last.
Celeste’s task had sounded simple enough. Change the fate of a few supporting characters at key moments, and the mission would be done.
Now it looked like the system had played her for a fool.
Celeste cursed in silence.
She had spent three years clawing her way from an outer sect drudge to an inner disciple. Then another two years to become a direct disciple of Qinglan Peak.
She had helped her eldest senior brother break a heart demon. She had stood in front of heavenly tribulation for her second senior brother. She had even saved her master’s life.
And just when the system showed mission progress at 89%, the original female lead, Elara Sinclair, had appeared three years ahead of schedule.
In less than half a year, Elara had washed away all of Celeste’s three years of effort like it was nothing but east-running water.
Just because Celeste would not let her touch the spirit fox she had raised for years, her master had thrown her into the water prison.
The stone door groaned open.
A blade of long-lost light stabbed into the darkness. Celeste shut her eyes by instinct, but then she heard that familiar sweet, spoiled voice.
“Master, I think Senior Sister knows she was wrong now. Why not forgive her?”
When Elara peeked out from behind Theron Kirkland, showing half her face, the bone-devouring snakes in the prison suddenly went still.
Every fiend and devil thing listened to Elara.
Yet Theron Kirkland had chosen, as always, not to see.
No wonder.
Elara was born to trick the eye. The corners of her eyes drooped softly like a newborn fawn’s. She looked frail, pitiful, the kind of girl whose lashes only had to tremble once and tears would fall.
“Celeste,” Theron said, lifting his gaze, his dark-jade pupils clouded with complicated feeling, “you secretly cultivated demonic arts. That alone is a grave sect taboo. And now you still slander Elara. Tell me, how am I supposed to protect you?”
Celeste raised a shaking hand and pointed at Elara. Her voice came out dry, worn thin.
“I told you already. I’m not a demonic cultivator. She is. How many times do I have to say it before you believe me?”
She was tired of saying it.
From the day Elara first stepped into the sect, Celeste had warned Theron Kirkland that Elara was a demonic cultivator.
He had never believed her.
Later, Elara struck first, planted demonic cultivation aura into Celeste’s body, and made sure it burst out in front of Theron himself.
Theron had flown into a rage and sent her straight into the water prison.
During these forty days, Celeste had explained herself again and again. She had sworn she was not demonic. She had even stripped bare before her master and told him to inspect her if he dared.
But Theron had only turned his head away in cold restraint and called her stubborn beyond saving.
Celeste was tired.
Worn out to the bone.
Whatever feeling she had once held for her master had long since been ground away by all those useless explanations.
“Master, Senior Sister is this stubborn. I fear the demonic qi has already invaded her heart. She may have fallen into qi deviation,” Elara said from the side, still feeding the fire.
She wore her hair in twin ring buns, and over her shoulders lay a snow-white sable cloak.
Celeste froze.
She knew that fur at a glance.
It was the pelt of the snow spirit fox she had raised for three whole years.
Her voice turned raw, shaking hard. “What did you do to Xiaoxue?”
“You mean that beast?” Elara toyed with a strand of hair, her face innocent as spring water. “That beast tried to bite me. Master killed it and had it made into clothes for me. Isn’t it pretty?”
After saying that, she even turned in a circle in front of Celeste.
That pure little face could not hide the malice and triumph underneath.
“You... you killed my Xiaoxue...” Celeste trembled from head to foot. Her voice was so hoarse it hardly sounded human.
Her Xiaoxue had always been afraid of the cold.
It loved burrowing into her robes to steal warmth.
And now these two bastards had skinned it and turned it into a cloak to keep themselves warm.