The World’s Seasons Cycle in Reincarnation, Part 1

“[…Don’t you wish to enter the Reincarnation Tower to defy fate?]
[They are your cautionary tale with the Flame of Finality.]”

Even as the bamboo chamber faded into the mountain forest behind her, the monk’s final warning echoed in Yun Yao’s ears.

“Master?”

A clear, low voice pulled Yun Yao’s thoughts back.
She looked up, meeting Mu Hanyuan’s gaze. Following his indication, she noticed a sword message circling her skirt’s hem for some time.

With a flick of her finger, the sword message unfurled in golden light—
She glanced at it. “It’s from Ding Xiao, likely about sect matters.”

Skimming it quickly, the golden light dissipated in midair, and Yun Yao’s brow furrowed.

Seeing this, Mu Hanyuan asked, “Trouble in the sect?”

“Yes, about your little junior sister.”

Mu Hanyuan sighed softly. “Master.”

“Fine, not your little junior sister—Chen Jianxue,” Yun Yao said, rubbing her brow with irritation. “Ding Xiao says, through Chen Jianxue’s introduction, Li Huanhuan has formally joined Qianmen. At month’s end, Chen Qingmu will hold a disciple-acceptance ceremony to take him under his wing.”

Mu Hanyuan replied, “Chen Jianxue, having lost her spirit body and her mother early, has always been doted on by the sect leader out of guilt, indulged in all things. On matters of principle like this, he can’t refuse her.”

Noticing no trace of surprise in Mu Hanyuan’s expression, his calm demeanor undisturbed, not even a ripple in his deep, lake-like eyes, Yun Yao found it odd. She stopped, turning to him.
Amid the rustling bamboo shadows, she studied his face intently.

Under her gaze, a rare unease flickered across Mu Hanyuan’s features.

His long lashes lowered slightly, the shadow of his silver lotus crown trembling in the breeze. “…What is Master looking at?”

“You,” Yun Yao answered frankly. “Even if you have no romantic feelings for Chen Jianxue, with so many in Qianmen calling you Senior Brother, though you never refute them, she’s the only one in a century who’s gotten close to you, right?”

Mu Hanyuan remained silent, his expression gentle.

Yun Yao continued, “In other words, she’s the most special to you. How can you be so unaffected by her affairs?”

“Master has seen my Sea of Seven Emotions.”
Mu Hanyuan spoke suddenly.

“?” Yun Yao nearly lost her train of thought, nodding instinctively after a pause. “Yes, so what…”

Her words halted.
She froze, realizing a mistake she’d made all along—
Having seen Mu Hanyuan’s Sea of Seven Emotions, a desolate wasteland devoid of starlight over three hundred years, how could she think he held feelings for anyone or anything?

“Then why get close to her?” Yun Yao asked, more puzzled.

Mu Hanyuan held her gaze for a moment before lowering his eyes, sighing softly. “I said, she’s Chen Qingmu’s most cherished, trusted, and indulged only daughter.”

“Hm?”

“And Chen Qingmu—Master couldn’t bear to refuse him, so you joined the Dragon Burial Mountain expedition, didn’t you?” His dense lashes veiled his emotions, and Yun Yao only caught a faint, heavy note in his usually clear voice.

She didn’t dwell on it.
Stunned, Yun Yao turned her face aside. “You mean…”

“Because Chen Qingmu is the only disciple of Master’s Fifth Senior Brother, whom you care for deeply. If something happened to him, you’d be heartbroken.”
Mu Hanyuan bowed his head, his voice low.
“Qianmen is Master’s Qianmen, Chen Qingmu is Master’s nephew, Chen Jianxue is the descendant of Master’s old friend. Only matters tied to Master do I never treat lightly.”

Yun Yao struggled to understand. “Just because of me?”

“Does Master not approve?” Mu Hanyuan frowned slightly.

“Not that. It’s just… your ties to the world seem too faint,” Yun Yao said softly. “I know your youth was rough, and you don’t care for others’ opinions, nor am I saying you should. But… the world has spring’s birth, summer’s growth, autumn’s harvest, winter’s storage—all things hold meaning. Only by seeing and caring can you truly live in it. Otherwise, like rootless duckweed, how can you withstand fate’s tidal waves?”

Mu Hanyuan’s eyes rippled. After a long pause, he bowed slightly. “Hanyuan understands. Thank you, Master, for your guidance.”

“…”

His earnest thanks made Yun Yao, now self-conscious, scratch her cheek and avert her gaze, coughing lightly.

…Had she been too influenced by Qianyuan’s ways, spouting such words so naturally, as if from her heart?

A breeze stirred her dark hair, a strand brushing her cheek, unsettling her thoughts.

The tickle snapped her back. She tucked the strand behind her ear, coughing again, a bit embarrassed.

“…Let’s hurry up.”

Mu Hanyuan turned, following her.
Her red skirt cast a light voice amid the dappled bamboo shadows.
“I’ve seen your Sea of Seven Emotions and understand it. Even a saint, no matter how devoid of emotions or desires, could never—”

“Hm?”
Yun Yao glanced back.

Mu Hanyuan’s fingers rested on the jade ornament at his waist, lifting the zither pendant. Since earlier, faint black-and-white light flickered within its tassels, as if sealed by an invisible barrier, unable to break free.

“This is…” Yun Yao eyed the light, hesitating. “The Dragon Chant Sword wants to unsheathe?”

“Yes.”

“The sword’s sinister nature…” Yun Yao realized. “Is it tied to your Seven Emotions?”

“When emotions arose, I played the zither at night, channeling them into the zither’s body to keep myself clear.”
Mu Hanyuan seemed helpless. “The Mercy for Life zither holds… something. Over three hundred years, infused with my emotions, it formed a zither core, which I only recently discovered. Its nature is unique, unmatched, and paired with dragon heart scales, it forged an extraordinary spirit sword for Master.”

Yun Yao pondered, still confused. “But it’s your sword. Why does it obey me?”

“…The zither’s core and the emotions poured into it are all tied to Master.”

Yun Yao: “…”
Yun Yao: “?”

Before she could unravel his words, a distant call of “Benefactor” interrupted.

Looking ahead, she saw the young monk who’d led them into the temple, his bald head gleaming in the sunlight, hurrying toward them.
His voice carried on the wind. “Martial Uncle says the Refining Sun Furnace is open. Benefactors, you can send the artifact for purification!”

“Got it,” Yun Yao said, passing the monk and ruffling his head. “Please lead the way.”

The young monk pouted, not daring to protest, chanted a Buddhist phrase, and turned to guide them.

Purifying a divine sword and witnessing its first emergence was significant, so Yun Yao naturally went along.
She never expected it would lead to her greatest embarrassment.

Purification, as the name suggests, corrects an artifact’s spirit. The ceremony, led by monks, uses chants to purge its malice and tame its essence.

When Yun Yao and Mu Hanyuan reached the Buddhist hall for the ceremony, the temple’s monks were assembled.
At the hall’s center, a Buddhist stabilization array flared with golden light over a meter high.
Within, golden Buddhist runes floated like ants, exuding the righteous aura of Buddhism.

Around the array, monks sat on cushions, eyes closed, hands on prayer beads, chanting softly.

The presiding high monk opened his eyes, gesturing to Mu Hanyuan. “Release the sword, enter the array.”

“Thank you.”

Mu Hanyuan’s sleeves rose, and the Mercy for Life zither appeared.
He caressed its body, releasing the Dragon Chant Sword. Black-and-white light illuminated the hall.
With a dragon’s clear cry, a true dragon’s shadow loomed in the sky, its head raised, clouds swirling, its form poised to pierce the heavens, its aura awe-inspiring.

Golden light waves surged around the hall’s Buddha statues. The monks, preparing to purify the sword, opened their eyes, stunned into silence. Only after the high monk’s chant did they resume, bowing and reciting.

But then—

Under all eyes, the sword, after standing proudly for mere moments, paused.
Its spirit probed the array’s golden light, like a curious child peeking out a door. Then, it surged—
The stabilization array held for only three breaths before shattering into countless light specks amid gasps, scattering away.

At the hall’s center, the “mischievous” Dragon Chant Sword shot upward, racing toward the door with a terrifying killing aura—

A breath later, it halted before Yun Yao.

Black-and-white lights clashed on its blade, inseparable.
The hilt trembled, abandoning its earlier divine majesty for an eager, fawning demeanor, circling Yun Yao like an excited puppy—
Its oscillations rippled, resonating with low hums of excitement or delight.

The monks were dumbfounded. A young monk on the last cushion gaped, forgetting his chants.

The high monk glanced hesitantly at Mu Hanyuan. “Lord Hanyuan, though this sword’s spirit is odd, it doesn’t seem malicious. Where lies its evil?”

Before he finished—

Yun Yao, annoyed by the sword’s fawning, swatted it away.
She meant only to push it back, assuming a divine sword wouldn’t be harmed by a light tap.

But unexpectedly, her casual swat sent the Dragon Chant Sword flying—
It toppled three candelabras, a censer, and tore two altar cloths before embedding itself in the floor with a zing.

The jade bricks, shielded by Buddhist light, parted like tofu under the blade, edges so smooth no dust remained.

…One could imagine how effortlessly it would slice through a body.

Yet the sword seemed oblivious, its clear hum tinged with a “whimpering” grievance.

“…”

Before the hall’s door, Yun Yao pretended not to hear, turning her face away expressionlessly.

On the nearest cushion, a young monk swallowed, chanting softly, trembling as he reached to pull the sword from the floor inches from his knee.

Before his fingers touched the hilt—

Buzz!!

The sword, moments ago a pitiful abandoned child, erupted with malice. Demonic flames flared, blood-red threads surging wildly. The dark half threatened to overpower the white.
A sharp, demonic screech exploded, nearly driving the monks to madness.

“A-mi-ta-bha.”

At the critical moment, a grand Buddhist chant echoed from the temple’s rear mountain.

A new stabilization array surged up—

Simultaneously, before the hall, Mu Hanyuan’s jade-like fingers pressed the zither strings. His gentle pluck shot like an arrow, locking the sword in place with successive notes.
The monks, snapping back, resumed chanting, bolstering the array’s golden tide…

After a cup of tea, the sword’s malice finally subsided.

The high monk turned, his expression complex. After a glance at Yun Yao, he faced Mu Hanyuan. “Lord Hanyuan, was the sword’s outburst due to others touching it, or… related to this benefactress?”

Mu Hanyuan paused, rare for him. “It dislikes others’ touch, but earlier, it was frustrated and angered by unfulfilled intent.”

Yun Yao: “?”

The high monk paused, chanting a Buddhist phrase.

“Please, Lord Hanyuan and this benefactress, rest in the guest courtyard for now.”
As they turned to leave, the monk, fearing misunderstanding, added, “Until the purification is complete, please, benefactress, avoid the hall to prevent stirring the sword’s evil.”

Yun Yao tried to protest. “It shouldn’t…”

But at that moment, as if echoing the monk, the sword, trapped by strings and light, wriggled toward her, letting out a reluctant, fawning wail.

The monks’ chants paused briefly, then continued as if deaf.

Yun Yao: “…”

In two lifetimes across Qianyuan and the immortal realm, she’d never been so embarrassed.
Farewell.

Purifying the Dragon Chant Sword wasn’t easy. Halfway through, the full moon—the day to enter the tower—arrived.

Before nightfall, a young monk came to the guest courtyard, saying the Master Ancestor summoned them.
Mu Hanyuan was at the hall, aiding the sword’s purification. Yun Yao, after a thought, left him a sword message and followed the monk to see the Master Ancestor.

The temple was serene, silent at night.
Feeling bored, Yun Yao asked, “Has the Red Dust Buddha awakened?”

“Not yet. Master Ancestor says his soul, sealed in the ghost prison, is severely damaged. He needs ten days in seclusion.”

“What about his nightly practice?”

“Nightly practice?” The monk looked puzzled. “We don’t know the Buddha’s practice. Only Master Ancestor speaks with him often and should handle it.”

“…”

Though true, the Master Ancestor had been clear.
Once the Ghost Body Buddha practice was achieved, Liaowu faced “nightly soul entry into the ghost prison,” enduring “a hundred ghosts devouring his soul, flames scorching his spirit,” inescapable until death.
With his soul now damaged and sealed, the resentful spirits would likely torment him worse…

Frowning at the thought, Yun Yao couldn’t help it.

As an outsider, she couldn’t judge whether Yan Taxue’s choice to become the Red Dust Buddha for Third Senior Sister was right or wrong. But as Xiu Xin’s junior sister, Yun Yao was grateful.
At least in those hundred years, though stern and reserved, Xiu Xin wasn’t broken by love, living harmoniously with their master and sect mates.
And a century later… she died honorably.

Having repaid her past life’s debts, her senior sister should have a next life, right?

Yun Yao’s heart eased, her sadness lifting as she exhaled.
“Then I won’t call him bald… donkey…”

The red-clad girl’s budding smile froze.

“Benefactor?” The young monk, hearing her stop, turned back puzzled.

Yun Yao’s mind echoed with countless voices.

Bald donkey.
Donkey.
Fur donkey.

[This donkey is fated with me.]

The Red Dust Buddha’s compassionate expression flashed before her eyes.

All knew his Reincarnation Eye could see past lives.

Could that donkey be…

Imagining her stern, book-holding Third Senior Sister as a backdrop to their noisy sect days, Yun Yao’s face paled.

The monk, wondering why she stopped, was grabbed by the wrist. “The… that donkey I brought, where is it?”

“B-Benefactress!”
The monk’s face flushed, retreating as he chanted Amitabha. “Master Ancestor placed it near the Buddha’s chamber.”

Yun Yao: “…”
It’s over.
It’s really her senior sister.

She turned to go. “I’ll visit your Buddha’s chamber first.”

“You can’t!” The monk, panicking, blocked her, shrinking back to avoid her grip. “Master Ancestor said the full moon day allows no delay. Please follow me to him first.”

Yun Yao faltered, touching her brow instinctively.

…Fine.
If she didn’t resolve the Flame of Finality, a calamity to the three realms, not just the donkey—nothing in Qianyuan would survive.

“Alright, I’ll see your Master Ancestor first.”

Seeing the monk’s relief, Yun Yao asked, “You keep calling him Master Ancestor, but what’s his Dharma name? I’ve never heard it mentioned, and few outside Fantian Temple seem to know he exists.”

The monk hesitated. “It’s not that we don’t say—it’s that we don’t know.”

“Don’t know?” Yun Yao looked at him oddly.

“Yes. When we entered, Master Ancestor was already here,” the monk said respectfully, bowing. “The abbot said he’s the tower’s guardian, different from us.”

“Tower guardian…”
Yun Yao recalled the Red Dust Buddha mentioning the monk’s sole task was guarding the tower.
It seemed he guarded the Reincarnation Tower.

Her curiosity about the mysterious tower grew—

If, as the monk claimed, it could seal the Flame of Finality, it was a pinnacle immortal artifact.
How could such an artifact end up in Qianyuan, a mere small world among three thousand?

Despite being a minor immortal, even with her immortal status, she couldn’t connect to the immortal realm from Qianyuan. Was there a secret here she hadn’t uncovered?

Lost in thought, she urged the monk to the Master Ancestor’s bamboo grove in the rear mountain.

“…Where’s the tower?”

After the monk left, Yun Yao scanned the unchanged surroundings, voicing a sincere question.

The Master Ancestor opened his eyes. “The Reincarnation Tower has no form or substance. It appears under the full moon.”

Yun Yao frowned. “Just for a moment?”

“Yes, a moment.” He closed his eyes again. “But don’t worry, Benefactor Yun. I promised to send you in.”

With his assurance, Yun Yao relaxed.
Sitting on a prepared cushion, she was about to meditate like him when his fingers flicked a golden light, landing before her.
It bloomed into a tangible, radiant golden lotus.

Yun Yao’s eyelids twitched. “…A Lotus Before the Buddha?”

The monk seemed deaf to her.

Yun Yao couldn’t pretend not to see. Her fingers clenched, her usually languid eyes tightening, lashes trembling, her gaze sharp with rare pressure. “The Lotus Before the Buddha grows only in the Western Buddha Realm, before the Buddha’s seat. Even ten thousand years of hearing the Dharma may not produce one… This is an immortal realm artifact.”

The monk still didn’t open his eyes. “I don’t understand what you mean. This is merely a vessel to seal the Flame of Finality after you leave the tower.”

Yun Yao: “…”
Weren’t monks supposed to avoid lies? Why were Fantian Temple’s monks so unscrupulous?

“You mentioned the Flame earlier, and I thought Liaowu had let it slip. Now I see,” Yun Yao frowned. “You already knew of its existence, or you wouldn’t have said what you did.”

“Which words?”

“—”
Yun Yao paused.
The monk’s warning echoed again.

[They are your cautionary tale with the Flame of Finality.]

Yun Yao clenched her fist. “Who are you? Are you from the immortal realm?”

The monk finally opened his eyes. “Is that important to you?”

“…”

Seeing her silence, he continued, “No matter where I’m from or what I said, you’ll enter the Reincarnation Tower, won’t you? Can my words change your mind?”

Yun Yao was silent for a long time, shaking her head. “I trust only my own choices.”

“Then so be it. You’ve always been this way. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have met in Qianyuan.” The monk smiled for the first time, his gaze tinged with nostalgia for an old friend. “Less than a cup of tea remains before the tower opens. Please wait.”

“Once inside, you’ll lose all memories of this life, enduring the most tragic and painful death of your past life. Only by facing death can you fully remove the Flame of Finality from your brow, sealing it in this lotus.”

Yun Yao stiffened, her voice hoarse. “…Past life?”

Was it her life before becoming the minor immortal Yun Yao, washed away by the Immortal Bathing Rite?

For some reason, hearing this, a bone-deep fear surged, as if a terrifying abyss hid in those lost memories, ready to swallow all she cherished.
“No…”

As the moonlight flowed, a formless golden tower materialized beneath it.

Yun Yao’s vision flared with light.

Before she could resist, her soul sank, plunging into a misty expanse.

Splash.

Amid the water’s sound, Yun Yao’s eyes snapped open.

She seemed to be in a mountain forest, surrounded by warm spring waters, moonlight and mist veiling the surface, blurring everything before her.

Her brow ached fiercely, her meridians throbbing, as if she’d just endured a spiritual surge.
Closing her eyes, she rubbed her brow hard.

Where was this?
Who… was she?

Her memories sank into her soul. Moments later, she recalled.

She was Yun Yao, Qianmen’s little martial ancestor, recently emerged from three hundred years of seclusion.

On the day she emerged, her Naihe Sword, sealed three hundred years ago at Qianshan’s peak to deter the Immortal Alliance, let out a heaven-shaking cry, tearing through three sealing arrays before the Alliance’s elders and streaking back to Qianmen with a golden trail dozens of meters long.

It was tantamount to declaring to both immortal and demonic realms—

Qianmen’s Yun Yao, the cultivation world’s foremost figure three hundred years ago, had emerged.

Qianmen was ecstatic, and the immortal realm buzzed with tales of her sword suppressing the demonic realm. Elders and disciples from various sects flocked to Qianmen, nearly flattening its mountain.

But unbeknownst to them, she emerged because the demonic seed sealed in her brow for three hundred years could no longer be contained. Sensing her life’s great calamity, she broke seclusion.
To rid Qianmen and Qianyuan of this scourge, she sought death.

Forcing the Naihe Sword’s recall worsened her injuries. After enduring Qianmen’s welcoming ceremony, she returned to Qianxuan Peak in critical condition.

The demonic seed’s surging power clashed in her brow, threatening to shatter her consciousness, driving her toward possession.

Her last memory before losing control was…
A knock at her cave mansion’s door.

Qianxuan Peak was hers; even Sect Leader Chen Qingmu wouldn’t enter uninvited. The voice seemed to call her.

…Master?

Yun Yao’s eyelids twitched, her heart uneasy.
For cultivators, such instincts weren’t mere feelings but warnings.
What happened next?
Why couldn’t she remember?

Her brow sharpened like a freshly honed blade, edged with malice. She touched her brow, casting a spell to recall.

But despite her efforts, only fragmented images surfaced—

Before her, a graceful arm in a snow-white sleeve, jade-like in its chill. Then, slender fingers painted with red polish fiercely gripped that wrist.
A tea cup was knocked over.
Hot water stained the pristine robe.

Flickering candlelight.

Scalding water and cool jade.
Struggle and restraint.
And…

“!”

Yun Yao’s eyes snapped open.
Her face flushed, her dark eyes like glass beads, swirling with shock, annoyance, and anger.
She stood, her red-tipped fingers hooking a robe from a low-hanging branch, draping it like gossamer over her moonlit form.
With a wave, she cleared the mist from the spring’s surface.

Yun Yao prepared to fly away.

But in the final moment as the mist cleared, a scene unfolded like a painting.
Unobstructed, all was revealed.

By a nearby stone, a solitary figure leaned.

Clad only in a loose white robe, half-soaked by the spring, it clung to his jade-like frame.
His lotus crown was undone, its pin still in Yun Yao’s palm. His loose dark hair cascaded like ink, accentuating his red lips, dark eyes, and picturesque features, exuding a poetic charm.
But his gaze, under dark lashes, was icy as it met hers.

Yun Yao hesitated, her voice dry. “You…”

Before she finished—

“Do what you will, Master,” Mu Hanyuan’s reddened eyes glanced down, cold and restrained. “…Or must I beg you again, like before?”

“—” Yun Yao froze. “?”