Chapter 278

The old woman finally closed her eyes, dying with regret and reluctance to part with the girl, sorry she had never given her a happy childhood.

The girl wept, her sobs heart-wrenching, agonizing to witness.

Yet no one could help her.

All she received was helplessness, and the wound seared into her bones—the unforgettable sight before her.

She saw the tribal chief, the old man who always brought her delicious food, crushed to pieces by the residual force of the ancient gods' battle.

All were dead.

The villagers who had smiled and greeted her just yesterday were buried in flames.

The uncle who always shielded her behind him when she misbehaved, who laughed and calmed everyone down, the one who spoiled her most—was dead; a broken spear tore through the sky, piercing his body and driving him into the earth.

The little friend who played jump-rope with her was dead too.

The girl watched as the child ran toward her, just as before, always coming to her for protection when bullied—but the child never reached her; struck by the residual force of the ancient gods, the child's soul was instantly obliterated, leaving only an empty shell that collapsed before her.

In death, the child still clutched tightly the jump-rope they had woven together, its fibers stained with the child's blood.

That jump-rope symbolized lasting beauty in their tribe.

The girl wept bitterly, great tears falling like raindrops.

She longed to run out, to save them all.

She had cried, she had prayed—for someone to save her people—but nothing worked; only helplessness remained, echoing in her ears the final words of her grandmother and tribe members.

"Survive."

"You must survive."

The divine blood crystal emitted a faint, dim glow, like a mother's embrace, granting her the last trace of warmth.

"Grandma, Lanlan, Uncle, Chief Grandpa…"

She murmured the names of all the Nine-Tailed Fox tribe, not one left out, not one forgotten; as she spoke, tears kept flowing.

She no longer remembered how long time had passed.

She only knew she must keep her eyes open, forcing herself not to close them from exhaustion, to etch every detail into her memory—the faces of her people, the appearances of the ancient gods and demons who had destroyed her tribe.

Within her frail body burned a hatred fierce enough to burn heaven and earth.

After witnessing the last of her tribe die…

"One thousand eight hundred and ninety-five."

She whispered this number—the total of her tribe's people, and now, the number of the dead.

At last, her exhausted body could hold out no longer; she sank into a deep, final sleep.

In that final moment, she imprinted the last scene before her eyes.

An unimaginably grand, vast, majestic expanse, towering over the earth, solemn and awe-inspiring, surrounded by divine principles and cosmic laws, with celestial phenomena constantly manifesting.

A supreme imperial shadow stood tall, wearing a flat-topped crown and bright yellow robes, like an ancient mountain rising from the earth.

Even the Dao itself seemed insignificant before it.

Even as a mere memory, that supreme aura left an indelible imprint—everyone trembled, their knees bent, they fell prostrate, unable to resist bowing in worship.

At the other end of the heavens…

A supreme demonic shadow stood, facing the imperial shadow, opposing it, equally powerful, no less formidable than the imperial shadow.

Yet the demonic shadow appeared wounded, pursued by the imperial shadow.

"Huang Di!"

The supreme demonic shadow spoke, its voice shaking the nine heavens, ten lands, and the eight wildernesses; the entire cosmos trembled, even the Dao itself quivered.

Then—

There was no "then."

The scene before her vanished the moment the demonic shadow uttered those words; the girl closed her eyes, and the heavens and earth disappeared with her.

The hall returned to normal.

Twelve pillars stood firm, reaching up into the starry ceiling, their tops unseen.

Inside, cold and quiet, still and silent—as if the vast heavens, the beautiful Qingqiu, the ancient gods' war, the girl's tears—none of it had ever happened.

Everyone fell silent.

They knew it had all happened—long ago, in the ancient era, within Su Daji's memories; that pain, that sorrow, was etched into their souls, palpably felt.

It was too cruel.

Who could have imagined that Su Daji, whose beauty dazzled heaven and earth, whose elegance shone across the eight wildernesses, so powerful—had such a tragic past?

Now, everyone finally understood Abe no Nakamaro's words: "The last Nine-Tailed Fox of Qingqiu."

Truly the last—her entire tribe was gone, leaving only her, alone in the world.

And each person trembled.

Someone whispered, trembling: "Huang Di… the ancient gods' war in Qingqiu… who was he fighting…?"

Though all present were foreigners, none failed to know who Huang Di was.

He was the ancestor of China, whose bloodline called itself the Descendants of Yan and Huang—Yan and Huang, the names of two emperors!

They believed the supreme demonic shadow's cry of "Huang Di" referred unmistakably to the Huang Di of Yan and Huang.

For the title "Huang Di" in Chinese mythology and history belonged to only one—no one else dared use it.

And since the Qingqiu war involved Huang Di, a being of Laozu status in Chinese myth, it was certain the battle had been between Huang Di and the supreme demonic shadow opposing him.

"It was Chiyou."

Soon after the question was asked, someone hugged their arms tightly, trembling violently, their voice shaking with deep certainty.

"Why must it be Chiyou? Could it not be 'the one from over there'?"

The first speaker asked, confused why he was so certain the demonic shadow was Chiyou.

The earliest battlefield wars stretched across endless ages, even dating back to the Ancient Era; Huang Di, as one of the oldest deities among the Four Mythic Figures of the Initial Realm, may have faced off against "those from the other side" in ancient times.

The latter looked toward the former and said:

"According to the ancient text 'Guicang · Qishi,' Chiyou was killed by Huang Di at Qingqiu. The scene we witnessed clearly took place in the Ancient Era, at Qingqiu, and involved a brutal great battle—essentially, this must be the Qingqiu Battle recorded in ancient texts, where Huang Di slew Chiyou."

Many people drew in a sharp breath.

Chiyou was an ancient being who contested for dominion with Huang Di, his renown no lesser than Huang Di's or Yandi's, and his strength may even have surpassed that of the Two Emperors; it is said that only by joining forces did Yandi and Huang Di defeat Chiyou.

"So… Su Daji's enemies are Chiyou and Huang Di."

Kamikawa Chie suddenly spoke, her eyes reddening.

Girls are most easily moved; faced with the preceding scene, she cared nothing for having witnessed Chiyou's final battle or the great clash between Huang Di and Chiyou—she only knew this battle had wiped out an innocent tribe, robbed a helpless girl of her childhood, and left her with boundless heartache.

Kamikawa Chie thought of herself, and could not help but feel it deeply.

But Su Daji was more pitiable still—she lost everything: her clan, her playmates, her kin—all dead—while she at least still had an older brother who cared for and protected her, someone to rely on; but Su Daji…

Her words echoed through the hall; everyone, whether before the television or present in person, was stunned.

Though the scene had vanished.

Those present could not forget—the expression in the little girl's eyes within the Divine Blood Crystal: sorrow, helplessness, and an unforgettable hatred.

Even as she fell asleep beneath the warm power of the Divine Blood Crystal, her eyes remained fixed upon Huang Di and Chiyou.

She wanted to avenge her clan.

She did not want her people to die in vain; she wanted her enemies to pay, to atone for the crime of annihilating her people.

Therefore.

This hatred would not fade with time—it would be etched forever, until revenge was complete.

But the target of revenge was Huang Di—could it be done?

…

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