Chapter Forty-Two: Balance

In no time at all, the traces vanished completely, and Yuan Wuji felt not the slightest difficulty. With his current strength, refining the Dragon and Tiger Souls posed no challenge whatsoever; what surprised him were the two Golden Cores.

The hundreds of thousands of streams of vital essence within him had long since been transformed by Xiaoyu’s Yin-Yang Art. If cultivating the Myriad Demon Golden Core was a gain in power, then the seven days and nights with Xiaoyu brought a kind of balance—a balance not in strength, but one far more important to Yuan Wuji: the mastery over his own power.

The Myriad Demon Golden Core could cause its user to lose themselves, ultimately turning into a walking corpse, but balance allowed him to know himself, to see the path ahead. Yuan Wuji resumed his seated meditation, running the two Golden Cores together. His strength was now more easily controlled, flowing at his will, though there were still peculiar situations, such as when activating one would also set the other in motion. Although he had yet to master this, it was already a vast improvement over before.

After a day of rest, Yuan Wuji returned to the very peak of the Celestial Perfection stage. The blood essence of the hundreds of thousands he had absorbed was now entirely transmuted into a foundation of balance through Xiaoyu’s Yin-Yang Art, forming the dividing line in his polarized body—the seemingly ordinary pink monkey fur.

“Xiaoyu, you’re awake.”

As soon as he saw Xiaoyu’s brows begin to twitch, Yuan Wuji immediately gathered her into his arms.

“Little Monkey, are you alright?”

The first thing Xiaoyu saw upon opening her eyes was Yuan Wuji; as for her clothing, she needed no guess to know it was he who had changed them for her.

“Xiaoyu, you are so beautiful.” Their gazes lingered on each other, and Yuan Wuji gently inhaled the scent at her forehead.

“Don’t.” Xiaoyu could feel Yuan Wuji’s restless hands wandering ceaselessly over her body.

The place where they had joined was still red and swollen; Yuan Wuji had noticed this while helping her change, and now he could only satisfy himself with a touch. As for why he hadn’t acted while Xiaoyu was unconscious—truth be told, Yuan Wuji preferred watching her shy, blushing face.

Knowing when to stop, after teasing Xiaoyu for a while, Yuan Wuji ceased, mindful of the injuries he himself had inflicted and which were yet to be treated.

“Xiaoyu, how do we get out of here?”

The Lady of Golden Spirit had brought them to this place, but they had no idea how to leave.

“Her Grace will return to fetch us.”

No sooner had Xiaoyu spoken than an opening appeared in the sky above.

“You may come out now.”

The Lady of Golden Spirit’s voice echoed from within. Whether she had been watching them was uncertain, but her timing was impeccable. Carrying Xiaoyu, Yuan Wuji flew toward the opening and, in the next instant, found himself in the Doumu Palace.

Yuan Wuji’s current state was most peculiar; the Lady of Golden Spirit couldn’t help but regard him a few times, especially the pink monkey fur at his center, lingering there longer than on either end of his body.

“The peculiarities of the Enchanting Body are truly unique,” she mused. In her memory, the virgin of the Enchanting Body offered the greatest possible assistance to the ‘Yang’ in the Yin-Yang Art. In the age of primordial chaos, many with the Enchanting Body had appeared—their ‘Yang’ benefitted in myriad ways, all of them powerful. The Lady of Golden Spirit had hoped to use the unique traits of the Enchanting Body to seal away the Myriad Demon Golden Core within Yuan Wuji.

Yet, the result was quite the opposite: the Myriad Demon Golden Core was not sealed—it had grown even stronger, as had the Tiangang Golden Core. Yet the murderous intent of the Myriad Demon Golden Core seemed unable to sway Yuan Wuji’s mind; more than that, it truly seemed to have become a part of him, acting as he willed.

“Master, I feel incredibly well,” Yuan Wuji could not help but show off his achievements to her, much like a child eager to impress his mother, hoping for her praise. Seeing this, the Lady of Golden Spirit was reassured that Yuan Wuji was safe.

Since his birth, Yuan Wuji had always liked to show off before her, and the Lady of Golden Spirit had always enjoyed it. If there was anyone who loved Yuan Wuji most, it was surely she.

“Why don’t you check on Xiaoyu?”

At this reminder, Yuan Wuji recalled her injuries from their earlier wildness—those he must tend to himself.

Her words made Xiaoyu blush with embarrassment. “Did Her Grace see anything?”

“This is Hundred Flower Dew; apply it to the injury for healing,” the Lady of Golden Spirit said, producing a small, fragrant bottle and placing it in Yuan Wuji’s hand—her meaning clear: he was to tend to Xiaoyu himself. Giving it directly to Xiaoyu might cause misunderstandings.

Without giving Yuan Wuji a chance to speak, she sent him off to take Xiaoyu away. He could never quite fathom her moods, but found nothing surprising in them, so he simply carried Xiaoyu back to their palace.

“It’s been so long since we returned.”

“You’re the one who’s been gone so long,” Xiaoyu replied, slipping from his embrace to sit cross-legged on the soft couch.

“Come, Xiaoyu, let me heal you.” Yuan Wuji produced the Hundred Flower Dew and made to help her. Her injury was in an intimate place, so healing would, of course, entail… Seeing his mischievous grin, Xiaoyu pushed him away as he drew near.

“I can manage on my own.”

“No, I can’t rest easy if you’re alone.”

“Then why are you taking off your own clothes?”

“I’m injured too—don’t you need to help me?”

“Little Monkey, you…”

…

In the end, Yuan Wuji could not get away with any more mischief—he knew well where to draw the line. Only when Xiaoyu’s face was thoroughly flushed did he leave her quarters.

Feeling the power swelling within, Yuan Wuji realized he had yet to enjoy the sights of the Celestial Court—now was the perfect opportunity.

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the Celestial Court—

“Who has harmed my son, and why is there karmic retribution in his body?”

A middle-aged man dragging a pagoda behind him gazed at the child on the bed before him, perplexed.

This pair was known throughout the Celestial Court—Li Jing and his son, Nezha.

When Nezha had been brought back to the South Heavenly Gate by the celestial soldiers, Li Jing had feigned rage, demanding to know who had injured his son, but the soldiers did not reveal the culprit and left as soon as they delivered Nezha.

The Four Heavenly Kings guarded the South Heavenly Gate; how could the celestial soldiers concern themselves with Li Jing?

“Even if you won’t say, I will find out,” Li Jing muttered under his breath.

In his view, no one from the Celestial Court’s Jie Sect would dare attack Nezha openly; it couldn’t have been someone from the Celestial Court. Moreover, Nezha’s injuries contained much karmic retribution—clearly not the work of any benevolent soul.

Although Li Jing appeared to hold a high position in the Celestial Court, in truth he wielded little real power. He was timid by nature, always cautious not to offend anyone. Even with his own son injured, all he dared do was put on a show before the celestial soldiers, who, having no respect for him, ignored him entirely.