Noon Dreams of a Thousand Mountains, A Shadowed Arrow Through the Window, Part 4

The master-disciple bond.

The phrase was like an invisible switch buried in her consciousness. When Yun Yao uttered it, a flood of long-sealed memories surged forth—

Only now did she realize.

This was merely a memory within Mu Hanyuan’s Sea of Seven Emotions. She wasn’t the Yun Yao of this time—she came from three hundred years later.

Like a drunken haze, she didn’t know when she’d forgotten her original memories, merging seamlessly with the Yun Yao in Mu Hanyuan’s recollection, feeling every moment vividly.
Every word she spoke, every thought she had, every decision she made—
All etched into her soul.

“Is this why it’s so hard to leave the Sea of Seven Emotions? Forgetting the present, forever trapped in memories… How terrifying.”

“Sea of Seven Emotions?”
Not far off, standing before the cliff, gazing at Two Realms Mountain, the young Mu Hanyuan seemed to hear her and turned back.
The night breeze stirred his robes.

“Yes, the Sea of Seven Emotions,” Yun Yao studied his expression closely. “Does it ring a bell?”

His lashes lowered slightly.
She noticed he made this subtle gesture when deep in thought or recollection, identical to three hundred years later.

But after pondering, he shook his head. “I’ve heard of it, I think, but I can’t recall.”

“…No matter, I’ll explain on the way.”

She kept a smile, but inwardly felt troubled.
As the master of the radiant memory orb in this Sea of Seven Emotions, Mu Hanyuan was far more immersed than her, and who knew when he’d awaken.

Yet, since she’d woken, it meant the fiercest emotional tide had passed. With her, an anomaly in these memories, his awakening was likely only a matter of time.

So, this past memory was the source of his terrifying emotional orb?
Was that intense emotion his fear of the demon form?
Given how ruthlessly he harmed himself, that didn’t seem right…

“Master,” the young man approached, his expression odd. “I think I can sense your presence through the master-disciple bond.”

“…Oh, yes,” Yun Yao laughed awkwardly, dodging the topic. “Maybe you’re just… naturally gifted.”

She now understood what a dangerous thing this “master-disciple bond” was.

*Yun Yao, oh Yun Yao, you really dare to draw anything into your body.*

“It’s not an illusion, then.”
Like a child with a new toy, though his face showed little, his long lashes blinked quickly twice—a sign of barely contained delight, she’d learned.

To find such a strange thing fascinating—this child must’ve had a deprived childhood, poor thing.

Lost in thought, she didn’t notice how naturally she’d slipped into the role of “Mu Hanyuan’s master” after these memories, her gaze toward him growing warmer.
Standing from the stone, she plucked a curled leaf from his temple.

He froze, looking up. “Master?”

Up close, his black eyes gleamed like cold jade, less refined than three hundred years later, but purer, like an innocent boy next door.

She smiled, twirling the dirt-stained leaf before him. “Mu Hanyuan, are you even three? Playing with mud?”

“Mas…ter.”
Thin-skinned, her teasing brought a faint blush to his cheeks.

She meant no harm. “So easy to tease now, unlike later…”

“Hm?” He looked puzzled.

“Oh, I mean, I’ve recovered. We can go.” She stood, beckoning him as she headed down.

—

With Mu Hanyuan, her old wounds lingering, Yun Yao couldn’t always fly by sword. Traveling south, camping rough for two or three days, they reached Yao City, the northernmost city of the immortal realm.

At an inn, she booked a room, had hot water brought to fill a tub, and soaked.
After awakening, her mind was a chaotic tangle—she needed rest to sort it out.

First, the “master-disciple bond” that woke her.

This was the obsession she’d sought to resolve since her soul entered Qianyuan Realm. Who’d have thought the truth of the bond, elusive in the present, would be found in Mu Hanyuan’s memory orb?

The truth was laughable.
The “master-disciple bond” didn’t exist. No wonder it was untraceable—it was just a lie she’d spun three hundred years ago to fool Mu Hanyuan.

Until three hundred years later, when Mu Hanyuan perished, it had somehow transferred to her.

In the water, she touched her brow where the evil flame was sealed, its aura hidden.
The reason her immortal seal turned blood-red in the present was clearly that flame.

Her immortal seal, tainted by an evil…

Yun Yao’s face soured.
Gripping the tub’s edge, she sighed at the sky beyond the window. “Good thing my divine core can suppress this so-called demon seed for now… But in stories, if the host and seed perished together, how did Mu Hanyuan later fall to darkness and destroy Qianyuan?”

No one could answer.

“Sigh—”

Her long sigh cut short as a burning sensation at her brow made her glance instinctively at the closed door.

Moments later.

*Knock, knock knock.* The door was tapped from outside.

Eyes closed, she knew who it was.
“Wait.”

“Yes, Master.”

She rose from the tub, her silhouette flickering behind the screen as she donned a fresh dress.
The skirt arced gracefully.
Turning, the tied sash trailed from her waist.

*Click.*

The door opened without wind, the young Mu Hanyuan standing aside.

“Come in.” She lounged on a chaise by the window, gazing out, voice languid.

“Master, there are immortal sect disciples in Yao City.”

“Naturally. Two Realms Mountain is a hundred li north. After the great immortal-demon war, disciples have guarded here against demon invasions.”
Her chest tightened painfully.
She recalled that after the war, her fifth senior brother, her last companion, died guarding Two Realms Mountain, his body taken to White Tiger City.

That was why she’d stormed the Demon Realm alone.

Three hundred years later, some praised her sword quelling the Demon Realm, others cursed her for risking the sect and immortal realm for personal vengeance.
None remembered the last of Qianmen’s Seven Heroes died in that snowy battle.

She exhaled, her breath forming frost in the northern chill.

“Master, they seem to know you’ve returned,” Mu Hanyuan said. “They’re searching for you in the city.”

“…Searching for me?”
Puzzled, she turned. “Let’s see.”

Sensing something off, she brushed past him hurriedly.

She didn’t notice that as her sleeve grazed his shoulder, carrying the faint fragrance of her bath, he slowly raised his head, gazing after her.

His eyes flickered with an icy, almost sinister emotion, unlike the young Mu Hanyuan she’d brought from the Demon Realm.

“Master.”

His voice was low, ethereal, as if crossing ancient mountains and time’s end.
His dark eyes held a vast, chaotic mix of love and hate, settling into one phrase.

“…It’s been a while.”

—

They were indeed looking for her, and not with good intentions.

In Yao City’s relay station, where immortal disciples rested or gathered before Two Realms Mountain, Yun Yao sat in the left head chair of the hall, facing a group of sect elders.

Her fifth senior brother, Mu Jiutian, had always handled inter-sect affairs, while she focused on cultivation. Now, she recognized none of these elders.

“…What does Uncle-Master Yun think?”
Her thoughts drifted until a white-bearded elder, sharing the head seats, spoke.

She turned. “Think of what?”

He faltered, then smiled. “The matter we just discussed—forming the Immortal Alliance.”

“Oh, the Immortal Alliance?”
Recalling its fame three hundred years later, she smirked. “If I say no, will you all abandon it?”

Silence fell.
The elders exchanged glances, hesitant to speak out.

Yun Yao saw through their silent agreement—
The immortal realm, aside from the dominant Qianmen, had already formed a tacit consensus.
She vaguely recalled Qianmen, under Mu Jiutian, had clashed with other sects over something. With her, the realm’s top sword cultivator, no one dared object.
Now, with Mu Jiutian barely gone, they were eager to take control.

If she opposed now, they wouldn’t dare proceed openly.
But Qianmen’s decline and the Alliance’s rise were inevitable trends. Her resistance would only delay, not change, the outcome three hundred years later.

She disliked wasting effort.

“You’ve already decided. Why come to me from afar?” She flicked the golden bells on her wrist. “Besides, Qianmen’s current leader is Chen Qingmu, my fifth brother’s head disciple. Why seek me instead of him? Trying to sow discord in Qianmen?”

*Clang—*

*Naihe* sang sharply as her words fell.

The sword’s cry shifted the hall’s mood.
The elders sat rigid, the white-bearded elder rising to apologize. “How dare we? Uncle-Master misunderstands. We only thought Brother Chen too young to decide for Qianmen. As the realm’s top cultivator, your approval is needed for such a matter. Our approach may have been rash, but we meant no harm.”

“However young, Chen Qingmu is my brother’s chosen leader,” she reminded coolly.

“Understood,” he smiled appeasingly. “We’ll discuss with Leader Chen.”

She lowered her hand, bells swaying. “Anything else?”

“Yes, one more matter for Uncle-Master.”
“Speak.”
“…”

He didn’t answer, his gaze shifting to the young man behind her.

Her heart stirred, sensing their true purpose lay in what followed, not the Alliance.
Frowning, she said, “Why look at him instead of me?”

“May I ask, Uncle-Master,” the elder straightened, voice rising, “is the young man behind you from the Demon Realm?”

“—”

All eyes turned to Mu Hanyuan.

He stood silent, head lowered, as if deaf to their words.

“Demon Realm? Who said that?” Yun Yao smiled, leaning into her chair.

“Word came that the one by your side is from the Demon Realm, tied to the prophesied demon seed of world-ending calamity. He may have bewitched you, tricking you into bringing him here!”
The elder spoke righteously. “For Qianmen’s legacy, you mustn’t spare him—kill him now!”

She locked eyes with him.

Gone was his earlier deference; he met her gaze boldly, as if for the realm’s safety.

The hall fell deathly silent, the air suffocating.

Then Yun Yao laughed, glancing at the others. “You all heard the same?”

“Yes, yes!”
“Don’t be swayed by demons, Uncle-Master!”
“This concerns all sects’ safety—don’t take it lightly.”
“For the prophecy, better kill than let pass. Please decide, Uncle-Master!”

“How well-informed,” Yun Yao drawled, her spiritual pressure silencing the hall.

“I just crossed Two Realms Mountain, not half a day in Yao City, and you know my journey? Strange—I was chased by two main Demon Realm cities’ forces, all buried at Heaven’s Break Abyss. Where did your news come from!?”

She slammed the table, standing.
Her smile vanished, replaced by icy fury. “What, did those kind demons, dead without corpses, turn ghosts to message your sects!?”

“—”

*Naihe* roared in rage.
The hall felt like midwinter, frost scraping bones.

The white-bearded elder, bearing the brunt, paled, barely resisting with his spiritual energy.
His earlier bravado gone, he adopted a submissive look. “Calm down, Uncle-Master! It was just… disciples training in the Demon Realm sending sword messages!”

“Yes, calm down!”
“How could we collude with demons? You misunderstand!”

Their crocodile tears only disgusted her.
Calming, she sat back. “So, none of you saw it yourselves. How do you know who he is?”

The elder bowed cautiously. “What does Uncle-Master mean?”

“His name is Mu Hanyuan, a disciple I took years ago while traveling the immortal realm. Now sixteen, I’ve brought him to the sect. He’ll be a brother to Leader Chen Qingmu, a second-generation Qianmen disciple, your peer.”
She smirked, scanning their shifting expressions, then added lazily,
“Oh, forgot to mention, for years to come, Mu Hanyuan is my first and only disciple.”

“—!”

The hall was stunned.
The elder’s smile froze.

Pleased by their discomfort, she didn’t notice Mu Hanyuan’s complex gaze behind her.

She tapped *Naihe* on the table, her cold eyes sweeping. “I’d like to see who dares splash my only disciple with this demon seed filth.”

“…”

Qianmen’s second-generation disciple.
Brother to the leader.
Yun Yao’s sole heir.

Any of these titles was untouchable in today’s immortal realm.

Especially the last—everyone knew Yun Yao’s legend: emerging from seclusion, challenging all sects, earning the title of the realm’s top cultivator with one sword.
Her sole disciple was beyond their reach.

“We… were rash. Please forgive us, Brother Mu Hanyuan…”
The elder led, bowing in apology.

Failing their provocation, caught in error, they left dejectedly.

Yun Yao leaned back, waving them off with a warm smile, her earlier frost gone.

Until the last.
As the white-bearded elder neared the hall’s exit, a voice called, “Wait.”
He froze, face shifting, nearly fleeing with his sword.
But chanting *she doesn’t know*, he calmed, turning with a smile.

“What else, Uncle-Master?”

Toying with a turtle shell on her bell bracelet, she asked casually, “Forgot to ask—which sect are you from?”

“…”

He exhaled inwardly, smiling. “This junior is Bixiao, Supreme Elder of Fuyu Palace.”

“—”

A glint flashed in her eyes, quickly suppressed. She waved. “Got it, go.”

“Yes, I take my leave.”

His figure faded from the hall.
Yun Yao released the turtle shell, leaning back slowly, her narrowed eyes fixed where he’d left.

…Three hundred years later, Fuyu Palace replaced Qianmen as the immortal realm’s top sect. Was it coincidence they led this attack on Qianmen?

“Interesting.”

She smiled faintly.

Behind, the young man offered tea, asking softly, “Master, talking about him?”

“Yes, and not just him—they’re all interesting,” she took the tea naturally. “Remember that old man. Watch out for him—he’s no good.”

Mu Hanyuan paused, then nodded. “Yes.”

She stretched. “I’ve sent word to the sect for an immortal boat. We’ll return when it arrives. I’m heading to rest… Ugh, my back aches. All this fighting, *Naihe*’s getting calluses…”

Behind, the young man stood silently, bowing as she grumbled and left.
After she was gone, he straightened, smoothing his robes.

His refined air vanished, replaced by a commanding, unyielding presence seeping from his brow.
A ruler’s cold dominance was unmistakable.

His fingers brushed lightly, his deep eyes thoughtful on the elders’ exit. “How did this ant carry the Demon Realm’s cultivator aura, unnoticed back then?”

—

Back at the sect, time flew like an arrow.

With old wounds and the evil flame sealed in her brow, Yun Yao spent her days meditating or circulating energy. Aside from sneaking down the peak to check on Mu Hanyuan, she rarely saw him.

Chen Qingmu visited a few times.

She was wary of him.
More precisely, wary of *this* Chen Qingmu.

She’d swear the future Chen Qingmu, dragged here, wouldn’t recognize this fierce, resolute young leader as the shameless, grinning old man he’d become.

Time was indeed a butcher’s knife.
What had the kid gone through…

“Chen Qingmu requests to see Little Uncle-Master!”

A shout from the peak nearly disrupted her energy flow.
She wiped her face, annoyed. “Said I’m not seeing anyone.”

“Uncle-Master, you must know this!”

“…”

Was the sky falling, or had her only disciple been nabbed? If not, what must a wounded immortal with Qianyuan’s biggest “bomb” in her brow know?

Grumbling, she relented for her fifth brother’s sole disciple.

“Fine. Speak from outside.”
She resumed her energy flow.

Silence lingered outside.

As she wondered if she’d scared off her nephew-leader, a low, somber voice came:
“Uncle-Master, my master was murdered.”

“…”

Her heart trembled.
She forced a slow laugh. “I know. That’s why I stormed White Tiger City, slaying those villains for him. Qingmu, the past is gone, you should…”

“But the mastermind is among the immortal sects!”

“—”

Outside, Chen Qingmu’s face was iron-cold. Inside, silence fell until a stifled cough broke it.

“Uncle-Master?” His expression shifted.

“…”

After a long pause, the cave door swung open.
The red-robed woman stepped out, lips blood-red, eyes sharp as swords.
“Who did you find?”

He snapped back, shaking his head. “Still investigating, but it’s definitely sect forces.”

“No wonder.” She laughed coldly. “When I slaughtered White Tiger City, I cursed him for neglecting cultivation, letting such trash take his life… Well played.”

Her hand clenched, *Naihe* splitting half the mountain’s clouds, rushing to her side.

Chen Qingmu paled. “Where are you going, Uncle-Master?”

“The Immortal Alliance, of course.”

“I haven’t found the culprit or which sects are involved—”

“No matter, I won’t harm anyone.” She swallowed the blood in her throat. “I’ve been… unsteady lately, needing seclusion. Before that, to prevent trouble, I must prepare.”

“Prepare what?”

“Seal my sword—”
Her eyes blazed with killing intent, gazing east. “At the Immortal Alliance, Tianshan’s peak.”

A day later.

*Naihe*’s clear cry echoed across the immortal realm from the Alliance’s peak, where one sword had once subdued all others, declaring Qianmen’s leader, the realm’s top cultivator, Yun Yao, would enter seclusion at midnight.
The divine sword *Naihe* was sealed atop Tianshan.

For three hundred years, this became a legend.

Unknown to the world, that day, among the resentful but silent Alliance elders, the realm’s top cultivator left not only her sword but words:

“Under *Naihe*, three thousand demons fell. I’m not afraid to add more.”
“After I seclude, let all fiends come to Qianmen. We’ll see who dares meet my first sword upon breaking seclusion.”

—

That night, Qianmen, Tianxuan Peak.

The peak’s summit was a smooth stone slab, sliced flat by a sword, as if one misstep could plunge into the abyss.

Sect rumors said the stern fourth brother, Du Jin, had flattened it with his iron ruler when the mischievous Yun Yao angered him.
What she’d done to enrage him was long forgotten.
Later, that generation nearly all perished in the immortal-demon war.

“…This cup, to my gentlest, dearest fourth brother!”

Mu Hanyuan climbed the steps, finding Yun Yao drunk, toasting the moon.
He lowered his gaze, approached, and draped a fox-fur cloak over her thin dress.

She turned, grinning, grabbing his retreating wrist. “Oh, this young brother looks familiar?”

His eyes flickered, but he didn’t meet her gaze, speaking softly, resigned. “Master, you’re drunk.”

“Shh… quieter! Don’t let Taiyi Elder hear! Drunk? This is cultivation—spiritual wine, not liquor!”

“Yes, Master’s right.”
He let her hold him, his sharp fingers gently tucking her skirt under the cloak.

As he tidied her loose hair, tying it with her favorite flower-adorned ribbon, he seemed to wake from a trance, noticing she’d gone still.
He glanced down.

Her light eyes gazed up at him.

He opened his mouth.

“Don’t die.”

Her murmur stunned him. “What…?”

Stripped of her usual laziness or sharpness, she looked like an innocent drunken girl under the moon.
She blinked slowly, raising her hand toward his lashes. “Don’t die… at least, not before me again.”

He froze, her fingers brushing his soft lashes, nearly touching the faint mole.

He snapped back, his face almost contorting.

“Master!”

“?”
Her call jolted Yun Yao from her drunken haze.

She guiltily retracted her hand.
She’d learned in his memory orb that defying the original memories was impossible.

So she could only watch—

His retreat triggered the sealed flame in her brow.

After days of restraint, it erupted, scorching her meridians, flushing her face crimson.
She nearly leapt up.

Sensing her distress, he kept his distance, asking hoarsely, “Master?”

“Stop!” Her face changed, forcing energy. “Stay there, don’t come closer.”

“Why?”

“I…”
She gritted her teeth.

She couldn’t say the flame and his threads’ pull made her want to strip him bare!

“Nothing.”

Before snapping her teeth, she judged: all paths down the peak passed him.
After three breaths of thought, she jumped off the cliff.

“I’m off to seclusion—practice well!”

Her echo lingered before Tianxuan Peak.

His unconsciously raised hand paused, then fell, brushing his silver-lined sleeves.

Regretful, he gazed at his fading, transparent figure. “So it ends here.”
“But no matter.”
“Master, we’ll meet again in the real present…”

He smiled faintly, looking at the cliff where her red skirt vanished, his dark eyes a stormy sea.
His voice grew hoarse.

“…Trust me. I won’t make you wait too long, Master.”

—

The jump felt like falling for an incense stick’s time.

Her organs and limbs burned under the evil flame, sliced and roasted, driving her near madness. Her last shred of clarity held, puzzled—
She’d meant to teleport to her seclusion cave. Why hadn’t she landed?
Had she misjudged and flung her soul into endless hell?

Pondering, she hit something.

*Splash.*
She seemed to land in a cool mountain lake, smooth as silk or jade, glimpsing Mu Hanyuan’s Sea of Seven Emotions again.
Her meridians’ flame slowly calmed.

…Back to three hundred years later?

Relieved, she shuddered with lingering fear.

Good thing she’d secluded in time, or the demon seed’s eruption might’ve led her to—

A sliver of light hit her eyes.
She squinted.

In the dim glow, she saw she was in an unfamiliar inn room.

Who brought her from Hidden Dragon Mountain?
Why was it so dark?

As she raised her hand, the texture beneath felt strange—
Like warm, smooth jade.

The red-robed girl looked down, finally seeing her situation—

She straddled a bed.
No issue there.

The problem was, between her and the bed lay a person.

—Mu Hanyuan.

His long lashes framed a frosty face.
The mature cultivator, no longer youthful, had sharp, jade-carved features. His lotus crown was pristine, accentuating his clear, cold eyes.
Under his parted robe, his chest’s contours rose like rolling hills.

As if touched by desire, the usually faint mole by his eye broke his coldness, adding allure.

The fire-and-water-proof, blade-resistant silk she’d gifted him, meant to veil his brow, now bound his wrists—
Tying him to the bed’s rail.

“—?”

Yun Yao gasped, clutching her fingers.

He stirred.

Turning his face, his lashes trembled, as if shedding frost.
“Master, you gave me this silk for today, didn’t you?”

Yun Yao: “…”

*Wronged! I’m wronged!*