Chapter Sixty-Six: Ji Mo’s Origins (Part Two)

“Elder Ao Feng, it’s not that I look down on demons. It’s just that, in my memory, both my parents were ordinary humans. How can I simply believe, just because of a few words from you, that one of them was a demon? Take you for example, Elder—you’re a divine beast. I suppose your parents are both divine beasts as well. If one day someone suddenly told you that one of your parents was of another race, could you accept it calmly?” Ji Mo had tried to answer as gently as she could, but the moment Ao Feng questioned her, the anger she had just suppressed surged up again.

She remembered clearly that when her parents died, there had been no change in their bodies. Normally, even shape-shifting demons would reveal their true forms upon death, wouldn’t they?

“You?” Ao Feng was angered that Ji Mo would use his own parents as an analogy, but then he realized he could understand her feelings. This wasn’t about prejudice; it was an instinctive reaction of sentient beings. How absurd—he had lived so many years, only to end up bickering with a girl not yet out of her teens. He couldn’t help but mock himself.

“Heh, little girl, it’s fine if you can’t accept what I said for now. When you’ve calmed down, think it over carefully. If there were no demon blood in you, it wouldn’t be so easy to cultivate the Celestial Demon Body Tempering Art.” Having figured it out, Ao Feng no longer held on to his anger. He chuckled and spoke with a gentle tone.

But while Ao Feng could let go, Ji Mo could not. Though he hadn’t said much, those few words were enough to set off a raging storm in her heart, forcing her to reconsider many things. All these years, the self-deceptions she had clung to were shattered by Ao Feng’s remarks.

She had always believed her parents were mortals, and she herself just an ordinary person. Yet everything she had encountered in recent years pointed to a hidden and momentous secret in her origins. But what exactly was it? Ji Mo had no idea.

She searched her memories: from as far back as she could recall, she had lived with her parents in Zhao Family Village. As a child, she was mischievous and often returned home covered in mud. Her mother would gently clean her up and change her clothes, all the while complaining to her father, “Look at your daughter—she’s as wild as a little monkey.”

“Let her be wild. She’s just a child. If we kept her indoors all day, she’d go silly. Even if our little Ji Mo turns into a cheeky monkey, she’ll be the prettiest, most lovable monkey of all. Isn’t that right, little Ji Mo?” Her father would always smile, tapping her nose affectionately.

Her father was exceedingly handsome, with a graceful and refined demeanor, while her mother was so beautiful she hardly seemed of this world. Both of them—whether in bearing or knowledge—were not the sort of people one would expect in a remote village. Such a remarkable couple, with their wondrous medical skills and their charming, lively child, seemed to the villagers like immortals who had accidentally fallen from the heavens.

While living in Zhao Family Village, her parents not only tended to the villagers’ injuries and ailments, but would sometimes speak of the outside world, imparting bits of knowledge. They gathered herbs in the mountains by day, prepared medicines at home, and treated people from nearby villages. Their days were simple and peaceful. The only event that stood out in Ji Mo’s memory happened when she was four.

That autumn, Zhao Hu’s father, Zhao Changfeng, was gravely injured by a mutant beast while hunting. He was carried back, barely clinging to life. Ji Mo’s father looked at him and said, “Brother Changfeng can still be saved, but one key ingredient is missing. I’ll go into the mountains to find it.”

He returned soon after, prepared the medicine, and gave it to Zhao Changfeng. Despite the severity of his wounds, Changfeng recovered completely in just a few days.

After that, Ji Mo’s family was held in even higher esteem. In a village that lived by the mountains and depended on hunting, injuries were common, and skilled healers were deeply respected. Her parents’ outstanding appearance, knowledge, and kindness made them beloved by all.

As a child, Ji Mo had thought her parents could save Zhao Changfeng simply because they were excellent doctors. Looking back now, she understood that wasn’t the case. With wounds as severe as his, no ordinary healer could have saved him—only a spiritual medicine master could have.

Her memories drifted to the winter when her parents died. The sky was gray and oppressive, the air cold and heavy. Her parents returned from gathering herbs, then suddenly coughed up blood and fell unconscious. They remained comatose for three days and nights. Upon waking, they called her to their side and said, “Little Mo, our old illness has returned and there is no cure. We fear we cannot watch you grow to adulthood. We’re sorry, child.” At only five years old, Ji Mo was terrified and could only stare and wail.

“Silly child, don’t cry. If you can, little Mo, we hope you never set foot on the immortal path. That world is too dangerous and cruel. If you wish to live a happy life, try to be an ordinary mortal.” Her mother held her close, tears flowing as she whispered these words.

Back then, Ji Mo had thought her parents simply didn’t want her to suffer. Now she realized they feared that if she entered the immortal world, she might uncover their true origins and become embroiled in endless strife and bloodshed. They wanted her life to be simple and joyful, not burdened with things she should never have to bear.

Yet many things in this world cannot be avoided, no matter how much one wishes otherwise. No matter how her parents tried to shield her from conflict, she was drawn into it all the same.

Father, Mother—who were you, truly? And who am I? What was the real cause of your deaths? Ji Mo felt a bitter dryness in her mouth and throat, as if fate itself were a net and she its prey, bound tight no matter how she struggled.