I Don’t Believe the World Holds White-Haired Ones, Part 2

It was the first time Yun Yao saw Mu Hanyuan’s sword within the zither.

The blade was dual-colored, divided at the midpoint from tip to hilt: the left side white as radiant snow, cold as jade; the right side cloaked in black demonic flames, with indistinct blood-red threads surging within, exuding a terrifying aura that devoured souls.

Yun Yao stood frozen, staring at the sword’s blade.

The spot on her lips, brushed by his kiss, still faintly burned, as if the intimate sensation lingered.

Impossible…
This time, she had done nothing to breach the boundaries of master and disciple. Why had Mu Hanyuan acted so? And why had his zither-sword emerged, looking as if it were on the verge of demonic possession?

She wasn’t the only one shocked.

The black mist figure seemed overwhelmed, instinctively stepping back at the sight of the black-and-white blade, their voice betraying unmasked astonishment. “You’ve cultivated the demonic path—!”

Yun Yao’s pupils constricted.

Whether they cut off or had said all they meant, the figure abruptly silenced.
Then they froze. Their face, shrouded in black mist, revealed only five eerie voids for features. Yet, from the violently churning mist around them, Yun Yao could guess the turmoil within—
Were they hesitating to act?

Was it the sword’s terrifying aura, crossing boundaries, or…?

Yun Yao leaned closer to Mu Hanyuan’s shoulder, whispering loud enough for all three to hear, “He’s not one of your admirers, is he?”

Mu Hanyuan: “…”

The Mercy for Life zither on the right, the Dragon Chant sword on the left—both hummed without wind, trembling with clear resonance.

Yun Yao could tell the trembling wasn’t fear but excitement—
A divine weapon, long concealed, unveiled for the first time, eager to clash with the black mist figure.

The black mist figure, perhaps for the first time in their life provoked by a zither and sword, saw their mist churn even more fiercely.
Their hoarse, distorted voice jeered, “I never imagined the revered Lord Hanyuan, saintly and world-saving in immortal realm rumors, secretly walked the demonic path!”

“?”

Mu Hanyuan hadn’t reacted, but Yun Yao was incensed.
The red-clad girl nearly rolled up her sleeves to charge. “I can tolerate your sneak attack, but slandering him crosses the line—demonic path? It’s just the sword’s pattern. Ever heard of style?”

As she spoke, she gripped the air, pulling Mu Hanyuan’s Dragon Chant sword toward her with spiritual force. “Besides, this is my sword. Mu… Senior Brother’s just holding it for me!”

“…”
Mu Hanyuan glanced back at her.
In the backlight, his emotions were unreadable.

Yun Yao didn’t notice, too distracted by the sword. Instead of resisting as expected, it trembled with… excitement?

Baffled, she looked down to see the hilt tilt, dragging the seemingly reluctant yet eagerly compliant black-and-white blade in circles around her. It even tried to nuzzle her, only to be swatted away by a flick of Mu Hanyuan’s sleeve.

Yun Yao grew more confused.
With its lofty, sinister, unmatched aura, how could this sword be so… obsequious?

“Lord Hanyuan, with such an adoring, protective junior sister by your side day and night, how enviable,” the black mist figure sneered coldly.

Yun Yao: “…”
Had Mu Hanyuan not inexplicably hugged and kissed her earlier, she could’ve cursed the figure soundly.
Alas, no such luck.

“You control the zither, I’ll wield the sword,” Yun Yao transmitted hurriedly. “Tell your spirit sword to behave.”

“No need to worry, Master. It’s your sword.”

Yun Yao froze. “Huh?”
Slicing through a ghostly mist face, she blurted, “Dragon scale?”

“Yes. It’s not yet complete, and its spirit veered astray for unknown reasons. I planned to visit Fantian Temple to have a high monk purify it before returning it to you.”

As Mu Hanyuan spoke, his fingers danced over the zither strings like clear water striking stone, pearls falling on a jade plate.
In the resonant notes, Yun Yao felt her spiritual energy recover faster, bolstered by a vortex of cosmic forces surging from all directions into the crumbling building.
The trembling structure, on the verge of collapse, shook under the strain.

Sensing the sword hilt occasionally rub against her hand during lulls in the fight, Yun Yao’s eye twitched.

…Indeed, quite sinister.
Mu Hanyuan must’ve been influenced by it, acting so improperly earlier.

Though the sword’s spirit was skewed, its power was terrifying.

Yun Yao was certain even her Naihe Sword couldn’t compare. Rather than controlling it, she felt she was restraining it—lest its sinister nature consume the blade, leading to outcomes she dreaded.

Thankfully, it obeyed her for now.

With Mu Hanyuan’s zither aiding her, Yun Yao didn’t need Naihe Swordsmanship.
As one side waned and the other waxed, after the time of a cup of tea—

Whoosh—

Under the moonlight, the black mist dispersed, the figure’s form melting into the endless night, their chilling voice echoing from every corner.

“I didn’t want to take risks, but now, you two can taste the agony of a hundred ants devouring your flesh.”

As their words fell, the encircling black mist sank, transforming into countless tiny, horrific black ants, surging toward Yun Yao and Mu Hanyuan in a dense tide.

Calling it a hundred ants was modest—thousands, if not more, filled the building.
Yun Yao’s scalp crawled. “What are these vile insects?”

“Music excels at controlling spirits, but these aren’t real insects—no souls, no consciousness,” Mu Hanyuan said calmly, pausing his strings. “They’re his spiritual energy, poisoned, feeding on the vitality of the living and cultivators.”

Yun Yao corrected herself, “…What vile spell! How do you know—?”

She didn’t finish.
Turning, she saw Mu Hanyuan had summoned a black ant with spiritual force, letting it land on his finger to feed.

Like a blemish on pristine jade.

Yun Yao’s temper flared inexplicably, her spiritual force snapping out, instantly obliterating the foul energy.

“Can’t you keep such filthy things off you?”

Mu Hanyuan seemed to pause, then, beneath the ant tide, Yun Yao heard a suppressed chuckle.
“Very well. Hanyuan… obeys Master’s will.”

“?”

The pause in his words felt odd, but the dire situation left no room for overthinking.

The black mist figure’s spell was bizarre, unheard of.
Even a spiritual barrier would be eroded by the ants, feeding their growth, making the tide seem endless.
If the figure could sustain this form, exhausting their spiritual energy was only a matter of time.

Yun Yao’s brows furrowed, her mind racing. “He didn’t use this earlier, so it’s not foolproof. It must have a flaw.”

“He’s half-step Tribulation, not fully there. You and I, both in Unity Realm, together match him. Even an evil spell has limits.”

Yun Yao thought, Not necessarily. In the stories, Mu Hanyuan, as an unparalleled demon lord, wielded endless zither and evil spells. Immortal cultivators hoped to overwhelm him with numbers, only to find his abyss-like power consumed the entire immortal realm, hastening their doom.

But she didn’t think this black mist figure was worthy of comparison to her disciple.
Following Mu Hanyuan’s logic, she hesitated. “You mean, outlast him?”

“Yes.”
Mu Hanyuan nodded calmly.

Hearing his serene, elegant tone in this life-or-death moment, Yun Yao couldn’t help but admire him. “You truly disregard life and death. I can’t match that.”

“Life and death?” Mu Hanyuan seemed surprised, pausing before replying, “Not entirely.”

“How so?”

“With Master here, I don’t fear living or dying together,” he said. “My second greatest fear is dying alone. Before you emerged from seclusion these past three hundred years, I valued my life most.”

Yun Yao paused, then teased, “So our peerless Lord Hanyuan can joke?”

“Not a joke. It’s true.”

“I don’t believe—”

Before she finished, the ant tide outside their barrier surged.
Accompanied by the figure’s enraged roar, “Who! Who dares ambush me!?”

“?”

Yun Yao turned to Mu Hanyuan. “Is he cursing himself now?”

Mu Hanyuan closed his eyes briefly, then opened them, his gaze odd. “Someone’s here.”

“Who?”

As the ant tide receded, condensing, Yun Yao saw the moonlight again and the scene beyond their barrier.

Under the pale light, two black mist figures faced off.

Yun Yao was baffled. “What’s this? He got ‘stuffed’ and split?”

“…”
Mu Hanyuan seemed both helpless and amused. “Two people, Master.”

Yun Yao looked closer.

Indeed.

The newcomer’s black mist was thicker, cloaking them entirely, unlike the first, who was only half-covered.
Yun Yao might say this one was too poisoned, beyond saving.
But the mist tied to their evil cultivation, and the first figure was visibly wary, glaring but not daring to speak. “Who are you? Under whose command? How dare you ruin my plans!?”

The newcomer crossed their arms lazily. “I’m your dad.”

Yun Yao: “…”
Yun Yao: “?”

The words stunned not just her but the first black mist figure.

Moments later, Yun Yao heard a deafening roar through the barrier. “Argh! Vile cur! I’ll kill you!!”

“…”

The threat was fierce, but the fight was another matter.
Both were dual cultivators of immortal and demonic paths, but the newcomer’s evil cultivation far surpassed the first. Having ambushed them amid the ant tide, the gap became a chasm.
Within the time of an incense stick, the first fled in defeat.

“Wait,” the retreating figure snarled. “We’ll find you, leave you no path to heaven or earth!”

“…”

The remaining figure waved generously yet lazily toward the brightening sky, bidding farewell.
Turning, they met Yun Yao’s curious gaze through the barrier.

Their mouth twitched. “An incense stick’s time—wasn’t that enough to escape eight hundred miles?”

Yun Yao nodded. “Plenty.”

“Then why are you still here?”

“Waiting for you,” Yun Yao stepped forward. “Who are you?”

The figure glanced at the vanished horizon. “His dad.”

Yun Yao wanted to press further.

But the black mist dissipated like true mist, vanishing, leaving only a voice lingering.
“An old saying for you, friend: meddle less, live longer.”

“…”

Standing amid the ruins for the time of a cup of tea, Yun Yao gazed at the horizon until the rising sun cast a thin red line, stirring the mist in her eyes.

She turned back. “Guess who they were?”

Mu Hanyuan had just dealt with the trembling innkeeper, settling matters.
“The first two—one dead, one fled—are from the Immortal Alliance.”

“I thought so,” Yun Yao paused, her smile cold. “Especially the second. Didn’t he nearly slip, shocked by your sword?”

Mu Hanyuan considered, then said calmly, “No proof.”

“Right. No proof, and since he slandered you at the Immortal Alliance’s council, if you accused him of evil cultivation, they’d think Lord Hanyuan petty, retaliating so soon.”
As she spoke, Yun Yao swiftly sent a sword message to someone unknown.
She turned briskly. “Let’s go. Pick up the bald donkey—oh, and his donkey. We must hurry to Fantian Temple. If we don’t resolve my cultivation issue, someone’s going to turn the heavens upside down.”

Mu Hanyuan followed. “Not curious about the third’s identity?”

“He said it himself—the first one’s dad,” Yun Yao blinked innocently. “For a righteous hero aiding the helpless, we shouldn’t care if it’s infighting. Let’s assume he’s telling the truth.”

“…”

Mu Hanyuan fell silent, saying no more.

Yun Yao retrieved the shivering donkey from a stable, and the two shot toward the city’s edge.

Soon after, on the mountain path to Tianyuan Mountain in the Western Regions, dawn’s light fell. Beneath the trees, two figures and a donkey carrying a person cast slanted shadows.

The morning breeze brushed the monk’s bald head, slung across the donkey, gleaming faintly.

Yun Yao raised her hand, impishly hanging two leaves on the monk’s head. Playing with a third leaf, she asked casually, “When your zither-sword emerged earlier…”

“What?”

“…Never mind.”
Yun Yao shook her head slightly.
The two figures she’d seen in his eyes during the sword’s emergence were likely illusions from her strange nightmare.
After all, she’d touched the seal, and the Flame of Finality could induce hallucinations—normal enough.

Shifting topics lightly, she asked, “You said your second fear was dying alone. What’s the first?”

Mu Hanyuan’s gaze lowered. “Living alone.”

Yun Yao paused, turning. “Hm?”
She blinked, teasing, “I thought you were above such things, a saint. When did you ponder life and death so much?”

“When Master was in seclusion. Every few years, Jiusi Valley sent manuscripts to Qianmen. One was the Huangting Sutra, saying ‘between life and death lies great terror.’ I read it in Tianqi Pavilion and thought long on it.”

“That terrifying? Scared our Lord Hanyuan?” Yun Yao teased.

“Yes.”

Especially then, when Yun Yao had been in seclusion for a hundred and three years, eleven months.
He woke from nightmares nightly.

But Mu Hanyuan didn’t explain.

Between life and death lies great terror.
To him, the most terrifying thing was living while she died.

If separated by life and death, never to meet again, he’d search the heavens and underworld to bring her back.

Thinking this, he led the donkey through the forest.

Tree shadows draped over him.
Amid the rustling leaves, he seemed to hear a low, mocking laugh from the depths of his soul, cold and demonic.

The trio and donkey hurried to Tianyuan Mountain in the Western Regions.
Five days later, before the donkey collapsed, Yun Yao and Mu Hanyuan delivered the monk and beast to Fantian Temple’s gate—
Beneath twelve jade steps.

Two majestic jade lions flanked the steps’ base. As the red-clad figure ascended, their fur bristled, ready to pounce.

Yun Yao stopped awkwardly beneath the steps.
The lions turned, their massive eyes glaring fiercely at the petite, innocent figure.

Outside, three young monks sweeping the grounds stared puzzled at the lions.

One scratched his head. “Don’t the lion Buddhas seem restless today?”
Another nodded. “A bit, yeah…”

The third, more reliable, approached Yun Yao with a broom, bowing with a Buddhist chant. “Benefactor, Fantian Temple has been closed to visitors for a century. May I ask your purpose?”

“Oh, I’m here to deliver someone.”
Yun Yao lifted the tattered sackcloth off the donkey, revealing a shiny bald head.
“—Your person.”

“Red Dust Buddha!”

The monks exclaimed, bowing hastily.
After some Buddhist transmission, seemingly gaining approval, they divided tasks—leading the donkey, guiding the way, guarding the gate. “Thank you, benefactors. Please follow us into the temple.”

“Mm.”

Yun Yao lagged a step, whispering to the snow-white veiled Mu Hanyuan. “You know, four hundred years ago, I caused a bit of trouble here. Lion One and Lion Two seem to… remember me.”

Beneath the veil, his refined profile was shadowy, his voice tinged with a cool smile.
“Will Master still enter?”

“…Have to, don’t I?” Yun Yao covered her eyes, muttering. “Had I known I’d need their help, I wouldn’t have chased those two around the mountain.”

Mu Hanyuan chuckled softly.

As they neared the lions, Yun Yao warned, “I’ll go first. Wait—if lightning strikes, don’t get caught.”

“Yes, Master.”

“…”

Yun Yao climbed the steps cautiously, her skirt lifted with more grace than a noblewoman, crossing the temple’s red threshold. When both feet touched the temple ground without incident, she exhaled.

The red-clad girl turned, her bright eyes beckoning. “It’s fine. Come in.”

“…”

Mu Hanyuan stepped forward as instructed.

But in that instant, two earth-shaking lion roars tore into the sky.
Clouds split, countless thunderbolts formed a dragon, roaring down onto Fantian Temple’s gate—
Aiming for the lone, refined figure beneath the white veil.

Amid the deafening roars, only Mu Hanyuan heard the lions’ true voice:
“Demon of Heaven’s Wrath, how dare you enter the temple?!”