A Thousand Miles of Old Friends, A Thousand Miles of Moonlight, Part 4

Yun Yao had never suffered such a humiliating insult in her life.

—

She, with that scoundrel Xiao Jiusi, in a fleeting romance?!

Who was the malicious wretch who concocted this rumor to ruin her reputation and drag down her status?!

“…”

Mu Hanyuan’s question seemed casual, but his gaze never left Yun Yao’s expression, catching every detail clearly.

As soon as he spoke, Yun Yao’s face flushed red with fury.
She was livid.

Her usually languid eyes practically sparked with fire. “Who. Spread. That?”

Mu Hanyuan paused for a moment, his lashes sweeping down as the corners of his lips subtly curled. “Just a rumor in the streets, Master. No need to get angry.”

“No need?!” Yun Yao gritted her teeth. “Tied to that hypocrite with such nonsense? I’d rather be infamous for eternity!”

“It sounds like Master is quite familiar with this Valley Master Xiao?”

Yun Yao laughed bitterly. “Familiar? More than familiar. Sanctimonious, a refined scoundrel—I’ve never seen a worse hypocrite!”

“…”

After her outburst, Yun Yao turned to find Mu Hanyuan had somehow moved to the pavilion in the courtyard.
He had retrieved a set of porcelain tea cups from some storage artifact, and with a sweep of his sleeve, he began preparing tea with an air of calm elegance.

Yun Yao blinked, bewildered. “What are you doing?”

“It’s still early, and I doubt Master can sleep. Why not share some old stories?” Mu Hanyuan lifted his lashes from behind the glowing red clay stove, his expression gentle and his gaze clear and piercing. “Would Master care to tell them?”

For a moment, she was inexplicably entranced.
Yun Yao nodded.

“Jiushi Valley’s master has long secluded himself, and those who mention him speak only praise,” Mu Hanyuan said, adding water to the pot, his voice as pleasant as the sound of a clear spring. “Why does Master hold such grievances against him?”

The light question instantly reignited Yun Yao’s murderous intent.
She sneered. “Of course they praise him. Xiao Jiusi, that hypocrite, has been playing the humble gentleman since his youth. Not only did he fool others, but when he first came to Qianmen as my Fourth Senior Brother’s named disciple for two years, he nearly fooled me.”

“How did he deceive you?”

“Sweet words, false heart! I thought he was a true friend, telling him everything before I sneaked out to cause trouble, asking him to cover for me at the sect gate to keep my senior brother at bay. He agreed so earnestly, but what happened?”
Yun Yao’s teeth nearly ground to dust as she recalled.
“I’d barely left the mountain when he turned around and tattled to Fourth Senior Brother, detailing every move I made. Yet he sent me sword messages to soothe me, saying all was well at the sect and to return without worry—only for me to come back and get a beating from my senior brother!”

Her anger made her itch with frustration. “The worst part? I didn’t even realize at first. I thought Fourth Senior Brother was omniscient, impossible to outwit. It wasn’t until the last time, when I got so mad I shaved the peak of Tianxuan Peak flat, that in our argument he let slip—and I finally saw Xiao Jiusi’s true face!”

With a bang, Yun Yao slammed her hand on the pavilion’s stone table, making the red clay stove and purple clay teapot jump.

The little Golden Lotus, sleeping nearby, startled awake. Its petals stretched, fiery red core peeking out, looking around in confusion.

“Calm yourself, Master.”
Mu Hanyuan poured the brewed tea into a cup and offered it to Yun Yao.

Her face flushed with lingering anger, tinged with a delicate charm, her bright eyes flicking toward Mu Hanyuan. “Tell me, isn’t he utterly despicable?”

“He is.”

Yun Yao took the cup, sipped, but her anger didn’t fade. “And he hid it from me for so long. I treated him as a true friend, only to find he played me like a fool. When Fourth Senior Brother chased me across the mountain with his ruler, he must’ve been hiding in some corner, laughing at me.”

“…”

Mu Hanyuan’s fingers paused on his teacup, as if pondering something.

Receiving no response, Yun Yao noticed and turned. “What, you think I’m wrong?”

Mu Hanyuan thought for a moment, then smiled faintly, lifting his gaze. “Not at all. I was just thinking—if I could have been by Master’s side in those days, part of those lively, fiery stories, that would be nice.”

“Nice how?” Yun Yao’s brow furrowed, her tone turning listless. “Of the people I knew back then, few are still alive. They were all heaven’s chosen, meant for long lives ahead.”

“Even so, I’d willingly be among them.”

“?”
Yun Yao froze, looking up to meet Mu Hanyuan’s eyes.

But he was already refilling her empty cup with the teapot, obscuring his expression as he spoke.
She couldn’t see his gaze.

Yun Yao hesitated, unsure whether to press further. After the Fantian Temple trip, she felt Mu Hanyuan was growing stranger.

There was an invisible line—if she stepped forward, it might reveal itself, but she wasn’t sure. Deep down, she felt an inexplicable urge to avoid it, as if pretending it didn’t exist would keep it at bay.

In that delicate silence, the sound of tea pouring into the pot rippled softly.

His sleeves rolled up, his slender fingers, meant for wielding a sword or playing the zither with compassion, now poured tea for her with the same grace.

As Yun Yao quietly watched this scene, like a painting, Mu Hanyuan spoke.
“Perhaps Valley Master Xiao liked you.”

“—?”

Yun Yao was yanked from the serene moment.
Her face darkened.

“Did you even listen to me?”

Mu Hanyuan smiled faintly, setting down the teacup. “I just put myself in his place. If I were Valley Master Xiao, admiring your spirited charm and free nature, yet seeing you constantly in danger, returning with injuries, I’d have no choice but to act the same.”

“How so?”

“Not wanting to be the villain and distance you, nor willing to force you to behave, I’d have to let your senior brother handle it,” Mu Hanyuan said gently, looking at her.

“…”
Yun Yao leaned back slowly, her expression so conflicted she seemed ready to flee.

Her chaotic mind began to trace a faint, plausible thread, but she refused to accept it. “Impossible. Absolutely impossible.”

Mu Hanyuan smiled calmly, not arguing.

The more she thought, the more unsettling it became.
Yun Yao shook her head, dispelling the strange ideas, and coughed to change the subject. “Enough about him. Besides, talking ill of Xiao Jiusi on Jiushi Valley’s turf is too risky. You saw that Xiao Zhong today—his disciples act like they’re under his spell. If someone overheard, they’d probably storm in to duel me.”

“You have a disciple too,” Mu Hanyuan said, his eyes crinkling as he poured her another cup. “If trouble comes, I’ll shield you, Master.”

At the end of his words, his eyes flicked upward, shedding his ethereal grace for a moment, sharp as a gleaming blade.

Yun Yao froze for a breath, blurting out, “Since we can’t ride swords to Fuyu Palace, if there’s time on the road, I’ll teach you the Naihe Sword Technique.”

Mu Hanyuan looked surprised. “I thought you didn’t want me to learn swordsmanship.”

“Why would you think that?”

“At Fuling Mountain, you said you’d gift me a zither and told me not to learn such violent arts.”

“…”

Yun Yao stood rooted, stunned.

She knew he hadn’t practiced combat for three hundred years, focusing only on music—playing the zither, not the sword. Many regretted this, believing he’d limited his immortal path. Like others, she’d thought it was his saintly compassion, disdaining violence.
But it was all because of one offhand comment she’d made.

No wonder…
No wonder, years ago, when he thought she’d gifted him that zither to emulate Mu Jiutian, he’d been so despairing.

Her heart ached, a mix of bitterness and frustration. She opened her mouth, but her voice felt too hoarse to speak.

“You forgot,” Yun Yao said, clenching her fingers, forcing a smile as she looked up. “Back at Fuling Mountain, I said that only if you liked the tune I played for you.”

Her voice softened, tinged with sorrow, as if seeing both the Mu Hanyuan before her and the one from her past life—cold-eyed, white-haired, fallen to the demonic.
“I thought you loved music, so I didn’t want you tainted by bloodshed…”

Mu Hanyuan listened in silence.

Perhaps only he knew the weight of those memories.
Back then, it wasn’t the music he loved—it was the red-clad figure who, outside the cave, never abandoned him and played a soul-soothing tune all night.

Years later, even Mu Hanyuan couldn’t fully discern what kind of affection he’d felt for her.
But it didn’t matter—he didn’t care to define it.
He only knew she was the entirety of his emotions.

As long as he didn’t lose her, as long as her heart and soul stayed with him, as long as no one else came between them, whether it was affection or love was irrelevant.

He only wanted his Master, and her alone.

“Hanyuan?”

Yun Yao’s voice pulled him back.
His fingers trembled, realizing the teacup he was pouring had overflowed, as if he’d been bewitched.

“Sorry, Master…” Mu Hanyuan grabbed a cloth to wipe the stone table, then paused, looking up. “What did you call me?”

“Uh, Hanyuan?”
Yun Yao feigned nonchalance, blinking. “The Sect Leader mentioned you don’t seem fond of your surname?”

“No,” Mu Hanyuan said. “Anything Master gives me, I cherish.”

Yun Yao fell silent.

Master’s gifts were fine, but not if they came from someone else, right?

Like a stubborn child in a vast sea clinging to a single piece of driftwood, he’d rather drown than accept one carved with another’s name. He wanted it to exist solely for him.

“Then I’ll teach you the Naihe Sword Technique.”
Yun Yao stood, drawing her sword, and declared, “Remember, this technique is my creation alone, unrelated to anyone else, and I’ll teach it only to you.”

“…”

Mu Hanyuan lowered his eyes, smiling. “Yes, Master.”

…

Sword strokes felled flowers across the garden, the setting sun sank below the branches, and a half-moon rose, casting clear light.

A day of sword-riding and a night of teaching drained her spirit. Yun Yao sheathed her sword, stretching lazily. “I’m going to sleep. Practice on your own. If you don’t understand something, ask me tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Master.”

“…”
Yun Yao lazily waved behind her, acknowledging him.

Once her red-clad figure vanished behind the door, under the pavilion’s stone table, the little Golden Lotus could no longer hold back. With a burst of golden light, it transformed into its human form.

Grabbing handfuls of pastries from the tray, it stuffed them into its arms.
“I want to eat too!”

“No one’s stealing from you,” Mu Hanyuan said, tucking away the peach blossom branch Yun Yao had casually broken for him. Returning to the pavilion, he flicked his hand, making most of the pastries in the little lotus’s grasp fall back to the tray. “Sit properly, eat properly.”

Left with just one pastry, the little lotus was miserably dragged to sit on the stone bench nearby.

After finishing the pastry, it finally had a moment to curl up, resting its chin and looking at Mu Hanyuan. “What Daddy said, is it true?”

“Hm?” Mu Hanyuan didn’t look up.

“Someone likes Mommy.”

Mu Hanyuan finally lifted his gaze from the peach branch, giving a faint glance. “What do you know about liking?”

The little lotus pouted. “I know. Daddy doesn’t.”

“…”

Mu Hanyuan turned to look. “Oh?”

“Daddy shouldn’t tell Mommy,” the little lotus said slowly, its small face serious as it pieced together words. “Knowing is bad.”

Mu Hanyuan seemed to smile.
With that smile, the peach branch in his hand trembled, its tiny buds sprouting green leaves, shy blossoms blooming into vibrant splendor in an instant.

“Wow.” The little lotus’s eyes widened.

Mu Hanyuan lowered his gaze, smiling softly. “You don’t understand Mommy. The more you point it out, the more she pulls away.”

The little lotus looked confused.

Mu Hanyuan’s voice softened. “Because she’s lost people she was closest to and cared about most, she doesn’t want to lose again.
The safest way to avoid loss is to never gain.
That’s just how she is.”

The little lotus listened, half-understanding. “So, now, Mommy’s only close person is Daddy?”

“…No.”
The faint smile faded from Mu Hanyuan’s lips.

He glanced toward the northern part of the courtyard, his gaze distant, as if piercing through layers of pavilions, mountains, and mortal realms to fix on someone unrecognizable.

“She still has an old friend out there, but she doesn’t know it.”

—

At that moment, a thousand miles north of Jiushi Valley, under a cold moon.

In a dense forest, several figures sat together, their expressions grim.

“If not for this treasure’s leak, drawing pursuit across the immortal realm, I’d never have imagined that even Jiushi Valley has been infiltrated by Fuyu Palace over these three hundred years,” one said, his voice heavy, veins pulsing at his temple, betraying his unrest.

Another chimed in, “Good thing we split into two groups and used a diversion to throw them off for now.”

“The real danger begins when we leave the valley for the Immortal Sect Competition. We don’t know how much Fuyu Palace knows about this treasure. If they know everything, they’ll never let it reach the competition.”

“Jiushi Valley has never mistreated its disciples—how dare that traitor betray us!” The first speaker slammed his fist into a tree, leaving a dent.

The others, though silent, shared his sentiment.

In the stillness, a muffled voice broke through.

“They’re in the light, we’re in the dark. How much could they have infiltrated?”

Among the somber group sat an incongruous figure—
Leaning against a tree, one leg propped over the other, his posture lazy to the point of sloppiness, his face covered by a large taro leaf.

The leaf hid his entire face, draping over his jaw, muffling his voice into a sleepy drawl.

“You all demand too much of yourselves, set your standards too high—that’s why you’re so exhausted. Look at Fuyu Palace. No reason, no morals, no shame, no limits. They do every vile thing and still thrive in the immortal realm for three hundred years.”

“…”

His words left them speechless, and to top it off, he yawned, mockery dripping from the sound.

Jiushi Valley prized character in its disciples, valuing “upright clarity,” which produced many straightforward, inflexible scholars.

So when the taro-leaf figure spoke, one could no longer hold back, frowning. “Though the Valley Master, for some reason, bids us follow your lead, if you keep blurring right and wrong, I’ll have to shut my eyes and ears to you.”

The figure under the leaf chuckled, coughing lightly twice.

To his left, a young Jiushi Valley disciple glared at the one who spoke, then turned with concern. “Young Master Wu, don’t take offense. How’s your injury?”

“…”

The taro leaf slipped with his cough, revealing an utterly ordinary face under the cold moonlight.
He wiped a streak of vivid red from his lips.
“No matter. I won’t die.”

Seeing Wu Tianya cough blood, the elder who’d spoken flushed with subtle embarrassment, rubbing his sleeve and struggling to apologize until Wu Tianya cut him off with a laugh.

“No need to hold back. You’re not wrong—I’m no saint who discerns right from wrong.”
He sighed, leaning against the rough tree trunk, looking up at the moonlight filtering through dark branches.
Cold and pure.
Wasted on him.

“The remaining thousand miles—we’ll arrive tomorrow. Now that we’re in Jiushi Valley’s territory, if not for keeping the treasure’s movements secret, a sect message could summon disciples,” the man to his left reassured. “You can rest easy, Young Master Wu.”

Wu Tianya snapped back. “This plan was rushed. You’ve all worked hard, rushing to Two Realms Mountain overnight.”

The man hesitated before asking, “We didn’t dare speak outside Jiushi Valley’s territory during the pursuit. Now that we can breathe, may I ask Young Master Wu something?”

“No need for so much preamble next time,” Wu Tianya said with a half-smile. “Just ask.”

The man didn’t mind. “We learned from the Valley Master that you’ve been undercover in Xuanwu City for decades, planning meticulously. Why didn’t you stick to the original plan, and why this sudden change?”

“…”

Wu Tianya’s usually carefree demeanor betrayed a rare hint of unease.
He coughed lightly, sitting up straighter. “A moment of impulse—I disrupted Fuyu Palace’s game, and they traced it back to me. Seeing they were about to catch me, I struck first, grabbing the backup plan’s item and ran. Alas, as my senior brother said, small impatience ruins great plans…”

The Jiushi Valley group hadn’t expected such a trivial reason, and they couldn’t help but laugh.

Even the one who’d glared at Wu Tianya found it amusing. “Seems Young Master Wu isn’t as heartless or unprincipled as you claim.”

“…”

Wu Tianya’s smile faded.
He turned the taro leaf in his hand, silent for a moment, then flashed a lazy grin at the speaker.

“Hey, long night ahead. How about I tell you a folk tale widely known in the northern demonic realm?”

The group blinked, unsure what story he’d tell.

Wu Tianya, unconcerned, began in a low voice.

“Long, long ago, there was a place terrorized by an evil dragon. It killed and burned, committing every sin, and the people suffered greatly. Many families were destroyed, living in misery. Then, a few brave youths stood up, determined to enter the dragon’s abyss and kill it to save the others.
But one by one, they went, tried every method, and all died in that abyss, never returning. Until the last youth.
He went, he succeeded, he slew the dragon—but he never came back either.”

In the silence, Wu Tianya set down the taro leaf, smiling as he turned. “Know why?”

The cold moonlight pierced the forest, the wind’s cry like a sob.

The youth covered his face with the leaf, hiding the pure light.
A mocking laugh spilled from beneath.

“Because only a dragon can slay a dragon.”