A Boat Full of Clear Dreams Weighs Down the Starry River, Part 2

The final zither note was a killing stroke.

In the endless night and swirling white mist, the unguided Nightmare Beasts scattered, fleeing into the depths of Canglong Mountain’s forest.

Mu Hanyuan didn’t stop them.
His long robe touched the ground, and with a sweep of his wide sleeve, the *Mercy* zither dissolved into countless firefly-like specks, vanishing in midair.

“…Master?” His voice, inexplicably hoarse, tilted slightly in the darkness, betraying a rare trace of panic.

Yun Yao looked up, seeing Mu Hanyuan in a disheveled state unseen by the world, and felt an odd stir in her heart.
She tried to speak, to comfort him, but no sound came.

Startled, before she could process—

*Thud.*
A faint yet heavy sound rippled through the night forest.

His snow-white robe dusted with dirt, Mu Hanyuan paused, then knelt before the temple’s open ground.

Yun Yao: …???
Her fate wasn’t strong enough for *this* kneel!

She lunged to stop him: “Don’t!”

Before reaching him, she froze.
After a breath or two, she slowly looked down at the ground before him—

If she was awake, who was the “Yun Yao” lying there, blood butterfly mark glowing at her brow?

In the void, the red-robed girl looked down, stunned, at her translucent hands.

Yun Yao: …
Yun Yao: ???

The ethereal little immortal opened her mouth several times, then expressionlessly swallowed her unrefined words.

After some mental preparation, she unceremoniously hiked up her red skirt, squatting across from Mu Hanyuan, facing her own body on the ground.
He couldn’t see her anyway.

Dodging his healing hands, she peered at the “herself” lying there. The glowing blood butterfly mark confirmed her immortal sigil remained, proving she wasn’t dead—else her soul wouldn’t be floating.

But if she wasn’t dead, what was this state?

Puzzled, she looked up from her squat—
Mu Hanyuan knelt beside her, trying to wake her. In moments, countless golden runes flowed from his jade-like fingers into her body.
All sank like stones in the sea, useless.

“My soul’s out here; your healing spells won’t work,” Yun Yao propped her chin on her arm, tilting her head boredly. “Why not take me back to Qianmen? Someone might save me in time.”

“…”

Mu Hanyuan stopped, lifting his head toward her.

Yun Yao flinched, shrinking back. “You *heard* that? I’m—”

Her futilely moving lips froze as she saw his face.

Even kneeling, his dust-stained white robes didn’t diminish his saintly grace.

But one thing had changed:
Under his lotus crown, the white silk over his eyes was slowly seeping with vivid blood.

Yun Yao’s gaze turned horrified. “…Is this necessary?”

Before she could dwell on it, he sat cross-legged, meditating. Blood stained the silk, his face frosted over.
Moments later, faint blood-red glimmers swirled around his body beside the white robe.
Their crimson threads led to…

Yun Yao looked down, unsurprised yet surprised, at the glowing red butterfly mark on her body’s brow.

Guided by those threads, it burned like a bewitching flame in the dark night.

This was the master-disciple bond she’d placed on him?
Her expression turned odd.

Even a mortal could tell this “bond” wasn’t proper. Yet Mu Hanyuan let her place it, never objected, and hadn’t removed it in three hundred years?

—Wait.

Her eyelids twitched, staring at her body’s brow.
The blood butterfly seemed ready to take flight.

So her holy golden immortal sigil had been twisted into this demonic form by this “bond”?

…Harming both herself and others, Yun Yao!!

“Master.”

“Huh?”
She answered instinctively, then realized, “He can’t hear me. Why’d I respond?”

Mocking herself, she looked up to see the blood-stained, silk-draped figure. The icy chill in his brow softened, his bloodless lips curling faintly.
“I heard you, Master.”

Yun Yao: “—?”
Yun Yao: “???”

If not for the heavenly punishment for using immortal arts in the mortal realm, she’d pry open his soul to check for an immortal sigil!
How else could he sense her disembodied soul?

As if sensing her shock, he said gently, “It’s the master-disciple bond.”

Yun Yao hesitated. “…You can see me?”

“No,” he shook his head, “but I feel and hear you.”

She wasn’t pleased, only troubled, frowning at her body’s brow.
The more she understood, the more suspicious and terrifying this bond seemed.
What *was* it?

“Master, is your soul adrift due to the Nightmare Threads?” he asked.

“Probably. I broke free from the Sea of Seven Emotions like this.”
Sure he couldn’t see, she sat casually, hugging her knees through her skirt. “They likely told you about the threads, so I won’t explain. Don’t ask me how to fix it—I don’t know.”

“Ancient texts say, ‘Nightmare Beast threads—those who dream, die.’” His throat bobbed subtly before continuing, “Master, is it true?”

“…Seems so.”
More irritated, she furrowed her brow, leaning on her knee.

“But you’ve escaped the dream.”

“Maybe I did it wrong?” She paused, the strange yet familiar voice echoing in her ears.

[*Yun Yao, come back.*]

She shook her head, banishing the voice and images, her fingers brushing her body’s brow in the void.

Where they passed, her shell turned translucent, revealing faint white Nightmare Threads in her spiritual veins under the night’s glow.
Confirming, she lazily withdrew.

“I left the dream wrong, so only a fraction of the threads dissolved. Most remain in my spiritual mansion and veins.”

Mu Hanyuan asked, “If the threads leave your body, can you return and wake?”

She considered. “In theory, yes. But don’t waste spiritual energy on healing spells—threads cling to spiritual veins and mansions. It’s futile.”

“…”

After a long silence, he lowered his head. “I understand.”

“…?”
She glanced back, propping her cheek.

He seemed back to his usual refined calm, the earlier emotion that moved her gone, as if her sentiment was one-sided. The saintly disciple remained saintly.
Tch, disheartening.

She sighed lightly. “Fine, take me back to Qianmen. Maybe over time, the threads will—”

Her words cut off.
Moments later, she gasped, “What are you doing?”

—

Her shock was justified. Mu Hanyuan suddenly grasped her limp hand, lifting it to slide her golden bell bracelet aside, exposing her pale wrist.
Pausing, he said softly, “Forgive my offense, Master.”

Yun Yao: “??”

Before she could ask, his left index and middle fingers, sharp as a blade, lightly sliced her wrist.
Bright red blood flowed, faintly glimmering with white.

Her mouth twitched. “…You’re not planning to bleed me out, are you? The threads might not be gone, but I’d be dead.”

His fingers, holding her wrist, paused slightly.
Surprisingly, he offered no explanation, instead bending down—

His white silk trailed, pooling on the ground.

The blood on his eye-covering silk deepened, his lotus crown teetering in the night.

In stark contrast to his divine, impassive face—
His lips pressed against her wrist.

“…!”

In the void, her soul shadow shuddered.

No explanation was needed; she saw clearly. The threads in her veins, drawn by his spiritual force, surged like a tide, rushing eagerly into his willingly opened spiritual mansion.

In mere breaths, her veins were nearly clear.

She viscerally felt how irresistible his spiritual mansion—future Qianmen leader or first Demon Lord—was to the threads.
They abandoned her without hesitation.

Too late to stop him, she forgot to try.

Even as she averted her eyes in panic, the image burned into her mind like a carved blade—

Under the mountain’s clear moon, the white-robed immortal bent down. His lotus crown trembled, ink-black hair cascaded, white silk veiled his eyes, and his pale lips, touching her blood, stained vivid red.

She was immensely grateful he was blind.
If he’d lifted his gaze, kissing her blood, that look might have damned her forever, barring her return to the immortal realm as a carefree minor deity.

The last threads faded.

She turned back, forcing a steady voice. “…Nightmare Beast threads—those who dream, die.”
She repeated, asking, “Aren’t you afraid of death?”

He straightened, head lowered, as if gazing through the silk.
She noticed his lips held a faint smile, fleeting as a mirage.

“Hanyuan would die for Master.”

“…”

Stunned, she found tonight’s Mu Hanyuan strange, unlike his sect self, stirring her heart.
She instinctively avoided his sightless gaze. “You’re emotionless; the threads’ dreams may not affect you… Maybe sleep it off, and you’ll be fine by morning.”

She didn’t believe her own words.

But he seemed to, nodding gently. “Good.”
He smoothed his bloodied white robe, adjusted his lotus crown, and straightened the silk behind his shoulder with his dark hair.
Done, he sat by a tree beside her body, as if staring at her through the silk.

After a moment, he said softly, “Master, see you tomorrow.”
“…”

His words fell, and he closed his eyes, his soul sinking into a dream.

Guilty, wondering if tricking her savior would bring heavenly retribution, she felt a dizzying pull from her body—

Her consciousness plunged into darkness again.

After an unknown time, she “opened her eyes.”

…Another Sea of Seven Emotions.

Faint glimmers flickered beneath her feet like a starry river, but unlike her own sea, this one was pitch-black. Beyond the time-retracing glimmers, there wasn’t a single orb or speck of light.
Three hundred years, and someone had truly severed all seven emotions and six desires.

Yun Yao stared, awed and desolate.

If she’d doubted before, now it was certain—this barren Sea of Seven Emotions could belong to no one else in Qianyuan Realm.

—Somehow, she was in Mu Hanyuan’s Sea of Seven Emotions.

The stronger the emotion, the larger the orb.
By this sea’s state, he’d had nothing worth remembering in three hundred years.

“If those Nightmare Beasts were here, they’d kowtow thrice and flee,” she chuckled, recalling her jest to the disciples, though the situation was hardly laughable.

Following the river’s faint glimmers, she strolled leisurely, voice lazy.
“Or rather, no one knows a disciple like their master?”

After walking long without a single spark, even her self-soothing couldn’t ease the stifling sense of no exit.

She stopped amid the indistinguishable river of light.

“Looks like I need to find this sea’s master first.”
Sighing, she clasped her hands in a halfhearted prayer:
“Gods above, bear witness—it’s not me misusing immortal arts in the mortal realm. This sea’s master is fit for Shakyamuni’s lecture hall. I can’t let the immortal realm miss such a rare gem, plowed from three thousand worlds. Pardon the offense…”

Her words fell, and she touched her brow.

At that moment, under the ancient locust tree outside the temple, the blood butterfly mark on the red-robed girl’s brow flared, its crimson vivid, forming a near-tangible butterfly shadow that darted toward—

*Swish.*
It sank into the white-robed figure’s brow.

In the Sea of Seven Emotions, Yun Yao’s shadow vanished from the river, her soul traversing endless glimmers, landing where Mu Hanyuan’s soul resided—

Found him.

Relieved, she opened her eyes, nearly blinded by a searing white filling the heavens and earth.

“…Did the Nightmare Beasts explode from rage?”

She muttered instinctively.

Straining against the blinding light, she peered forward, spotting a tiny figure being swallowed by the vast, ocean-like whiteness.

She shuddered, realizing.

Mu Hanyuan’s Sea of Seven Emotions hadn’t exploded.
This was his only emotional orb.

It was an endless ocean.