Looking Back Ten Thousand Miles, Old Friends Forever Severed, Part 2

Within the main hall of the Fate Palace, an eternal solitude prevailed. The window framed a vast expanse of night-colored river, a scene Yun Yao, as Saint Origin, had casually captured from the mortal realm countless years ago.

Back then, after handling the affairs of the immortal court, she would return to the hall, warm a pot of wine, and sit by the window.

She’d watch the treetops sway by the river, gaze at the dim lights hidden in the distant mountains’ night, and tend to the peace of the mortal realms among the three thousand star lamps.

The most desolate Origin Divine Palace was the most enamored with mortal warmth.

“So that’s why you were trusted for tens of thousands of years, only to be so thoroughly used.”

Yun Yao leaned by the long window trailing to the floor, a golden butterfly dancing at her fingertips, glowing vividly in the night. Staring at the faint silver-blue chain on its wings, she murmured with a melancholic expression.

The butterfly, as if deeply wronged, paused on her fingertip, tapping its antennae.

At that moment, the hall’s candles flared, instantly illuminating the vast chamber.

Yun Yao turned. The golden butterfly scattered into specks of light on her curled fingers.

Mu Hanyuan stood by the tallest candelabrum, cloaked in an ethereal moonlight chill.

The candlelight couldn’t melt the frost-like coldness in his eyes, merely casting a warm sheen over him.

“Master, I’m back.” He lowered his gaze, shedding his outer robe. Hesitating briefly by the pinewood rack, he draped it over a screen instead.

Yun Yao sensed something odd but couldn’t pinpoint it. She attributed it to the dazzling candlelight and turned from the window. “Do you like the Fate Palace so much?”

“Of course,” Mu Hanyuan said, gliding to the window with ease. “But why do you ask?”

“Because every time you return, you light every candle in the hall,” Yun Yao sighed. “You stay a moment, and you burn more candles than I did in a year.”

Mu Hanyuan paused. His gaze seemed to pierce the gauze curtain, though Yun Yao couldn’t read it. Then he chuckled softly. “My mistake. I shouldn’t be so extravagant.”

“…It’s not that serious. The Fate Palace can afford a few candles.”

“…”

After days of torturous medicinal tea, Yun Yao had grown almost accustomed to it. Leaning by the window, legs dangling, she waited for Mu Hanyuan to bring the bitter, unchanging tea.

With a carefree gulp, she held her breath for three counts before waving frantically at him. He smiled, handing her a cup of clear tea to rinse her mouth.

“…Ugh, disgusting,” Yun Yao grimaced, her face contorted. “Is this Green Wood’s tea?”

Mu Hanyuan nodded. “In the immortal realm, Green Wood Divine Lord is the master of medicinal teas.”

“But his are the worst,” Yun Yao rubbed her pained face. “Aren’t you afraid he’ll poison me?”

“Master’s divine body is immune to all poisons.”

“That’s true… Wait, I’ve been away from the court for years. It’s not impossible he’s concocted some new poison,” she said, standing with a serious expression. “I need to visit Green Wood Palace.”

“Master.” Before she could leave the window, Mu Hanyuan gently grasped her wrist, holding her in place.

Yun Yao turned. “Hm?”

“No need. He wouldn’t dare.”

“Why not?”

“Green Wood Divine Lord now listens to…” Mu Hanyuan paused, then smiled faintly. “We’re quite close. He wouldn’t scheme against you.”

“…” Yun Yao stared, blinking slowly.

Silence lingered. Mu Hanyuan lifted his eyes, seemingly puzzled. “Why is Master silent?”

She spoke softly. “I was just thinking…”

Why are you lying to me? How much have you hidden?

“Thinking what?”

This corner was the hall’s only dimly lit spot. Mu Hanyuan leaned closer, as if to catch her faint words.

Through the open window, river breezes stirred his long hair, like willows brushing moonlight.

Yun Yao gazed at his jade-like face, stopping herself and smiling. “Nothing. Just that the lakeside moonlight is perfect tonight—for viewing the moon, the scenery, or a beauty.”

“…?” Mu Hanyuan froze. He’d anticipated many responses, but not such a flippant one.

“Pity, it’s still missing something.”

He recovered, releasing her wrist. “What’s missing? I’ll fetch it for Master.”

“You don’t even know what’s missing, yet you make promises.” She teased, walking to a shelved rack on the other side of the hall. “If I asked for the Heavenly Cold Jade from the Ninth Heaven’s peak, could you fetch it to pair with my wine?”

“Heavenly Cold Jade?”

“Mm,” Yun Yao said, retrieving two wooden boxes from the sandalwood rack and returning to the window. “It’s unmelting for eons, capable of sealing an entire lesser world to preserve its essence.”

Mu Hanyuan pondered, as if calculating, then relaxed his brow and nodded. “When does Master need it? I…”

“Are you a fool?” Yun Yao laughed, sitting on the floor by the open window, tugging his sleeve. Caught off guard, he tilted, revealing a sharp, elegant collarbone.

And below it, a wound leaking blood-red mist.

Yun Yao’s face changed.

Mu Hanyuan paused, turning to adjust his robes fully. He faced her again. “Master?”

The boxes clattered to the floor. Yun Yao clenched her fingers, restraining herself from tearing his robes. “What’s that?”

“A wound.”

“—?”

Feeling her icy glare, he seemed to smile. “I didn’t ascend but bypassed the heavenly gate with the artifact’s power. Some heavenly punishment is only natural.”

Yun Yao frowned.

As the first of the Three Saints, she knew heavenly punishment targeted those who defied the heavenly gate and law—like the malevolent Mu Hanyuan, nearly destroying the world to breach it.

But she hadn’t expected that even being brought by the Wheel couldn’t escape it. Yet, she vaguely recalled that such punishments marked the soul, not the body with such severe wounds.

Recalling the unhealing wound and its blood mist, her expression darkened. “When you got tea from Green Wood, why didn’t you ask for medicine for yourself?”

“It’s heavenly punishment. Medicine is useless.”

He cut off her next words. “What did Master fetch?”

She hesitated, then opened a box, revealing a wine jug she’d sealed away for years. “Hundred Flowers Immortal Brew,” she sighed. “The last Hundred Flowers Divine Lord made it before her hundred mortal tribulations. Only two jugs remain. I meant to share it with you, but your wound…”

“It’s fine,” he smiled. “I’ll drink with Master.”

She tilted her head, meeting his shadowed gaze behind the curtains. “You sure?”

“Mm.”

“…”

Half an hour later—

Bang. The sandalwood table thudded as the upright, gentlemanly figure collapsed, back straight even in fall.

Yun Yao waved a hand before his eyes, getting no response, then leaned closer—

His long lashes trembled with his breath, his sharp nose casting a shadow, his jade-like profile tinged with a flush from the wine. As expected, he was drunk.

“Your cultivation soars to the heavens, but your tolerance hasn’t improved. If you become a saint, the immortal realm’s in trouble.” She sighed, rising to fetch a quilt from the couch, draping it over him.

“Origin, oh Origin, you’ve learned bad habits in the mortal realm. Using the same trick, and it works every time—how could you bear it?”

But thinking of who’d used that trick before, her eyes dimmed. She tightened her grip, steadying herself, her gaze settling on the figure by the table.

“Don’t blame me. I didn’t want this. You lied first, and not even carefully. This is better than a fight, right? Sleep it off, I’ll be back soon. If nothing’s wrong, we can keep playing the filial disciple and kind master.” She finished, gliding toward the hall’s door.

Before stepping out, she glanced back. The Fate Palace glowed with candlelight, and beneath it, a sleeping figure. The scene was both foreign and cherished to her.

With that thought, she stepped out, heading for the main palace gates.

At the steps, she flicked her sleeve, and the golden chains on the doors trembled.

“Even guarding against me inside the palace?” She sighed, resigned to forcing the door open. The seals were looser than when Mu Hanyuan left before—not reinforced with his soul power, so breaking them wouldn’t alert the Ninth Heaven.

After much effort, she opened the doors without disturbing the hall.

Auspicious clouds and radiant light greeted her, with cranes soaring in the boundless sky and immortal music echoing above the Ninth Heaven, as harmonious as the immortal realm ten thousand years ago.

Yun Yao froze at the door. Had she overthought it?

Hesitating, she stepped forward, but just before crossing into the “harmonious realm,” she sensed something and glanced at the door’s side—

Between the ancient gate and the serene scene, there was a nearly imperceptible… gap.

Like two objects stitched together, not fully aligned, leaving a sliver.

Her face changed. She withdrew her foot and unleashed a sharp burst of energy—

Rip!

The serene immortal court tore like fragile canvas before her.

The idyllic scene shattered, dissolving into ash, replaced by an eternal night, an immortal court drowned in inky darkness.

“…” Yun Yao stood frozen at the gate.

Despite her suspicions, she could barely believe her eyes.

If her senses, divine consciousness, and immortal power hadn’t confirmed it, she’d think this was a projection of the netherworld, not the true scene, and the idyllic vision was reality.

No. Even the netherworld wasn’t this lifeless. Each blood-tinged black mark carried a despairing, destructive aura.

Was this… still the immortal court? Where was the pristine, radiant glory of old?

In disbelief, she stepped forward.

As she reached the gate, the void seemed to stir, and after a shift in the air, figures emerged from the inky shadows.

They wore the standard robes of immortal lords and maidens, but their blue-white garments were stained with blood and ink. Identical to the black mist consuming most of the court.

And those faces… Yun Yao found them familiar. Especially the one in front…

“Green Wood… Divine Lord?”

She called out in disbelief.

He seemed to understand her call, looking up, as did the others behind him. Their expressions were calm, desolate, almost lifeless.

Yun Yao’s face darkened to its limit, her voice gritted. “What is this…?”

“The power of the End.”

An unexpected answer, low and hoarse with lingering drunkenness, came slowly from behind the gate.

Her eyelids twitched as she turned.

Before her, the previously lifeless Green Wood Divine Lord and the immortals behind him reacted, their eyes gleaming with near-mad reverence as they bowed low—

“Greetings, Demon Lord!!”

“…”

Footsteps approached unmasked from behind.

He stopped behind her, then embraced her from behind. With a hint of post-wine laziness, intimacy, and reliance, he leaned on her shoulder, his black hair brushing her neck, mingling with his warm breath.

“Was the immortal court I painted for you not beautiful enough, Master? Why tear it apart?”

“Because no matter how beautiful, it’s a lie,” Yun Yao said firmly, pulling his hands away and turning. “If I hadn’t seen it today, how long were you going to hide this?”

“…For a lifetime, perhaps.”

Mu Hanyuan laughed softly, his tone like a vow or a curse:

“Until I die.”