Stone’s Fire, Dream’s Body, Part 2

“Mu Hanyuan, your disciple, respectfully welcomes Master’s emergence from seclusion.”

The voice behind her was gentle yet cold, like jade beads falling on a plate, silencing the myriad sounds of the mountain.

“…”

In all her lifetimes—through Golden Core, Nascent Soul, and Spirit Transformation—the thunder tribulations Yun Yao had endured paled in comparison to the invisible lightning striking her mind now.

Despite the frantic thoughts screaming, *How is this possible? Why is Mu Hanyuan here? How did he recognize me so easily?* her face instantly composed itself.

Yun Yao turned, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, lifting her face.
The butterfly mark on her forehead shimmered, as if ready to take flight.

“This brother, you must have mistaken me… for someone else.”

Her words trailed off.

Years later, even when Little Martial Aunt grew accustomed to Mu Hanyuan—the cultivation world’s revered “Moon in the Heavens”—humbly kneeling before her, his hands, skilled in playing the world’s finest zither, gently slipping socks onto her feet, she would still be captivated by a fleeting glimpse of his eyes through the morning light.

Let alone now, their first meeting.

The man before her wore robes whiter than snow, his dark hair cascading like a waterfall, his face a cold jade immortal’s.
His wide robe bore cloud patterns edged in gold, his hair bound by a crown with a single feather pin piercing a pristine silver lotus coronet.
The coronet, unadorned yet radiant, made it impossible to look away.

Yun Yao recalled this was the highest ceremonial crown of the Daoist sects, symbolizing transcendence from mortal dust.
It suited his frost-cold, ethereal grace perfectly.

—A clear moon on a cold branch, nothing less.

Facing him, it seemed almost reasonable that the former Yun Yao, upon emerging from seclusion, succumbed to base desires.

[*…I saved him with my life as the stake—why shouldn’t he be mine alone?*]

A sinister, secretive voice surged from the depths of her heart.

Yun Yao flinched, startled.
She hadn’t noticed the butterfly mark on her forehead flare briefly before dimming.

“Master?”

That same clear voice, but now Mu Hanyuan’s long lashes lifted slightly, his tone rising at the end.

Like snow softly falling, revealing a glimpse of hidden landscapes.
It allowed her to discern something—

Snapping back, Yun Yao raised her hand, her slender fingers scattering the sunlight filtering through the trees, waving lightly before Mu Hanyuan’s distant, snow-like eyes.

“…Are you blind?” she asked, astonished.
The tales hadn’t mentioned this.

“Before returning to the mountain, I sustained a minor injury in a secret realm. It will heal soon, no cause for concern. Master need not worry.”

Yun Yao’s expression shifted subtly.

Judging by Mu Hanyuan’s demeanor…
Those who knew would think she’d been in seclusion for three hundred years; those who didn’t might assume she’d just stepped out for breakfast.

He seemed utterly unsurprised by her emergence, and even when she spoke out of turn, his composure didn’t waver.
From start to finish, he was serene, flawless in his calm.
As if nothing she said could faze him.

…How could such an impassive sage fulfill the prophecy of the demonic seed, bringing ruin to the Qianyuan Realm?

Yun Yao took a tentative step forward.
“Since you’re… uh, blind, how did you know I’d emerged?”

“I sensed a disturbance in ‘Naihe’ from the secret realm. Upon returning, I activated our master-disciple bond to find you.”

“Master-disciple bond?”
Casually brushing aside a low-hanging branch, Yun Yao paused, glancing at Mu Hanyuan.

What was that?

She instinctively searched the original Yun Yao’s fragmented memories, forgetting her surroundings—

The branch snapped back, whipping toward her eyes.
Her spiritual energy, still clogged from possession, left her too slow to dodge.

Yun Yao shut her eyes.

A breeze swept by—

She caught a faint scent of snow-dusted sandalwood, cool, subtle, and bone-deeply captivating.

“…Master has been in seclusion so long, perhaps you’ve forgotten.”

Yun Yao opened her eyes.

Before her, a wide sleeve embroidered with silver threads blocked half the sunlight.
A jade-like hand, fingers like bamboo, caught the offending branch just beside her temple.

His gentle aura remained undisturbed by the action.
“The master-disciple bond was forged three hundred years ago, when you personally placed it on me beneath the April snow tree by the Broken Sky Abyss in the Demon Realm.”

Yun Yao: “…”
Yun Yao: “Huh?”

She scoured the original’s memories—no trace of any “master-disciple bond.” Wasn’t becoming master and disciple just a matter of bowing and sharing wine? Why a bond?

A bad feeling crept up.

The tales mentioned the original Yun Yao, after her possession and cultivation drop, used some kind of restriction on Mu Hanyuan to treat him as a cultivation cauldron.
Could that be this blasted bond?

“…”

The guillotine of fate seemed to hover over her neck, chillingly close.

“Uh, yeah, forgot about that.” Suppressing a shiver, Yun Yao feigned nonchalance, stepping past Mu Hanyuan’s hand holding the branch.
After a few steps, she stopped and turned back.

The blind, elegant cultivator stood meekly, his eyes lowered, smoothing the last crease in his sleeve.
The pristine lotus crown gleamed, untouched by dust, not remotely like a blind man’s.

Yun Yao wondered if she should probe further.

But Mu Hanyuan, as if sensing her gaze, tilted his immortal-like face toward her.
“Master.”

His eyes caught the light, like flawless ice-glass, untainted.
Beautiful, yes, but his blindness lent a distant, snowy aloofness, contrasting his gentle refinement.

Radiant as the moon, untouchable.

Yun Yao dropped her probing thoughts, grinning innocently.
“Nothing, just that your master’s been starving for three hundred years. I nearly chewed tree bark. Can you cook?”

****

No meal was had.
Halfway back to the peak, Mu Hanyuan was intercepted by a deacon from Mingde Hall.

After a few gentle words to dismiss the deacon, Mu Hanyuan returned to Yun Yao, who’d stepped aside.
“Master, Tianyin Sect cultivators have entered the mountain for Mingde Hall. With the Sect Leader absent, I must attend.”

“Oh, alright.”

Mu Hanyuan bowed to take his leave.

“Wait!”
Yun Yao suddenly recalled something, grabbing his sleeve as he turned.
“You absolutely can’t tell anyone I’ve emerged—I’ve got, uh, earth-shattering matters to handle.”

Mu Hanyuan fell silent, for reasons unknown.

Yun Yao blinked nervously, fearing he’d sensed something.

They stood close, and she studied his expression closely.
Only then did she notice a faint mole beneath his long lashes at the corner of his eye, gilded by sunlight, adding a striking allure to his frosty demeanor, its color indistinct yet captivating.

His lashes, long as feathers, hid it unless viewed up close, with his face turned just so.

After a pause.

“As Master decrees.”
“…You seem unhappy I’m asking you to lie?”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“Then why haven’t you faced me properly since I started talking?”
“…”

Without arguing, Mu Hanyuan’s flawless, sightless eyes finally lowered toward her, as if casting a nonexistent gaze.

Yun Yao followed his line of sight.

Her golden bell bracelet, with its turtle shell charm, was inelegantly tangled in his frost-white sleeve, her fingers gripping his wrist, the outline of his sword-like bones stark beneath.
Yun Yao quickly released him.
The bells chimed softly.

“Ah, sorry, I was…”

Before she could brush it off, she froze.

The moment her fingers left him, a searing energy surged within her, an intense, wicked urge to draw closer to Mu Hanyuan.
Her hand, just lifted, instinctively reached to grab—

*Snap.*
Yun Yao tightly gripped his wrist again.

Both figures froze.

The wind stilled, the cicadas hushed.
The “wicked energy” came and went swiftly, leaving Yun Yao clear-minded in a blink.

…She almost wished she wasn’t.

After two stiff breaths, she cautiously released him, finger by finger.
“If I said I tripped on a rock, would you believe me?”

“The mountain is rugged; please take care, Master.” Mu Hanyuan lowered his eyes, offering no objection.

Yun Yao: “…”
Taking advantage of a beautiful blind man—she deserved death.

But what was that wicked energy?

Yun Yao looked at her offending hand, the golden bells jingling.
Her brows furrowed, the butterfly mark on her forehead trembling, faintly brighter.

…It felt like the original’s possession.

Could it recur?
Who ever heard of possession being relieved by coveting one’s disciple with impure intentions?

“Does Master have further instructions?”

His clear voice broke her thoughts.
She snapped back, guiltily meeting his gaze.
“Oh, no, nothing.”

As if her transgression never happened, Mu Hanyuan tucked his sleeve, his tone unchanged.
“I’ll handle matters at Mingde Hall and return promptly.”

“Alright.”
Yun Yao turned away.
“I’ll head back to my cave abode.”

“I respectfully see Master off.”

Once Mu Hanyuan’s presence faded from her senses, Yun Yao hurriedly turned, her spiritual veins, briefly unblocked by their fleeting contact, surging with energy again.
Her expression odd, she waved a hand, summoning a water mirror in the air.

Thanks to her innate talent, she’d reached the Golden Core stage centuries ago, locking her appearance.
In the mirror, “Yun Yao” was unchanged, her fiery red robes framing a lively, seventeen-year-old visage.
Standing beside Mu Hanyuan, they hardly looked like master and disciple.

Mu Hanyuan likely reached Golden Core in his twenties.
The tales called him a once-in-ten-thousand-years genius, but he didn’t seem *that* superior to her.

The mirror’s girl smirked, leaning closer—

“Good thing my immortal soul is intact. Even if this body dies, I should return to the Celestial Realm… huh?”

Her fingers brushed her forehead, where the red butterfly mark fluttered.
Yun Yao stared, stunned.

“Why has my immortal mark turned red?”

—If her immortal mark was flawed, she couldn’t return to the Celestial Realm.
If this Qianyuan Realm’s Yun Yao died, she’d die with her.

Yun Yao: “…”

Three Saints! Divine Lords! Help!
Your diligent, selfless Sky Palace immortal of three thousand years is about to meet disaster!

But no matter how she tried to contact the heavens, it was futile—

Though she retained a sliver of immortal power, the Qianyuan Realm seemed sealed by a strange barrier.
Her efforts were like mud sinking into the sea, unable to reach the Celestial Realm.

This wasn’t entirely surprising.
In the original’s memories, centuries ago, a “Revelation” descended upon the immortal and demonic realms, proclaiming the demonic seed’s emergence and the eventual fall of the immortal sects.

The Qianyuan Realm called it the world-ending demonic seed prophecy, but despite centuries of searching, the “demonic seed” remained unfound.

Since then, no one in the Qianyuan Realm could connect with the heavens or ascend.

“…Better to rely on myself than the gods,” Yun Yao muttered, tapping her forehead.
“The tales said ‘I’ fell to possession, tainted Mu Hanyuan, and reaped calamity. If I break this bizarre master-disciple bond and keep my distance, I might avoid this fate.”

Yun Yao turned, heading for Qianmen’s library—

Half an hour later, she hadn’t found the library, her terrible sense of direction leading her to the bustling Mingde Hall instead.

And she ran into a “familiar face.”

“Hey, Junior Sister, here for the big show at Mingde Hall?” Wu Tianya waved from a distance, as enthusiastic as if greeting his own sister.

“Big show?” Yun Yao, about to slip away, paused.
“What’s happening?”

“Tianyin Sect brought ‘Crane Feather,’ one of Qianyuan’s ten legendary zithers, as a gift for Lord Hanyuan!”

Their conversation wasn’t discreet, and a passing male disciple overheard, frowning.
“A gift? It’s a tribute of a famed zither to a famed scholar. Tianyin Sect’s fairies are making history, and you make it sound so crass.”
“Tch, all high and mighty. Fairies? What a poseur.”
“What did you say?!”

As Wu Tianya and the disciple seemed ready to bicker—or brawl—

The red-robed girl took three steps back and decisively detoured.

The Tianyin Sect’s gift didn’t ring a bell, but it reminded her of Mu Hanyuan’s zither cultivation from the tales.

Both realms knew the sword was the weapon of slaughter, revered in Qianyuan’s cultivation world. Every young immortal dreamed of wielding a blade to vanquish demons.
Yet Mu Hanyuan was an exception, forsaking his master’s peerless swordsmanship for the zither.
Many lamented this, but none could sway him.

After three hundred years, he was the foremost zither cultivator.
His zither, named “Mercy,” was christened by countless cultivators and mortals he’d saved—

[*With the zither, halt conflict and harmonize all. No strife, no harm—this is ‘Mercy.’*]
[*When Mercy’s notes rise, none can resist.*]

“‘Crane Feather’ may not compare to Mercy, which has accompanied Lord Hanyuan for years, but it’s our sect’s heartfelt offering. In gratitude for his protection of our disciples, even injuring himself, we beg Lord Hanyuan to accept…”

Before Mingde Hall, Yun Yao paused, catching the Tianyin Sect elder’s lingering words.

Nearby disciples whispered in admiration.
“Senior Brother’s heart is truly boundless, choosing the zither over the sword.”
“When will I be like him, saving peers and slaying demons?”
“With his peerless talent, if he’d chosen the sword or any offensive art, he’d dominate every sect competition!”
“He chose this for the sect’s sake… we can’t compare…”

The disciples outside the hall sank into pride and regret.

Yun Yao listened calmly, her eyes rippling faintly.

The world revered him as mountain snow, a heavenly moon, yet the original Yun Yao dragged him down, defiled him, melted his purity with fire, and stained his clarity with desire. No wonder he hated her into madness.
The original was truly sinful.

But the world remained ignorant of two truths.

First, Mu Hanyuan’s zither wasn’t the harmless tool they believed.
Until Yun Yao’s misdeeds led to Qianmen’s fall and his conquest of the Demon Realm, none saw his true zither path—
Defensive, it halted foes; offensive, it buried armies.

Second, his zither was also a sheath.
A hidden sword, unknown to all.

Later, as the supreme Demon Lord over the four demonic cities, his zither’s notes heralded his sword’s instant strike.
Countless great cultivators never saw his blade’s light, hearing only a note before their souls shattered, falling to the underworld.

****

But that was after “Yun Yao’s” death.

In this life, if she avoided evil and kept her hands off this pristine future sage, Mu Hanyuan might retain his unsullied grace, never touching a sword or falling to darkness.

As Yun Yao consoled herself, a bruised, swollen face popped up beside her.

Yun Yao jumped.
The figure leaned in familiarly.
“Why’s Tianyin Sect so full of themselves? Who saved them?”

Yun Yao, still shaken, snapped, “Who are you?”

“?” The swollen face turned, indignant.
“We just met! It’s me, Wu Tianya, Junior Sister!”

“…Huh?”
Yun Yao, stunned, recognized his eyes through the slits.
“Beaten to a pulp and still here for the drama?”

“Oh, forgot. No wonder everyone looks flat.” Wu Tianya fished out a jade bottle, popped a pill, and chewed it noisily.

Yun Yao watched, dumbfounded, as his face healed in moments.

Three hundred years, and the cultivation world had such miraculous pills?

Noticing her stare, Wu Tianya offered the bottle.
“Want one, Junior Sister?”

Yun Yao: “…”
“No, thanks.”
She stepped back, wary of catching his foolishness.

But two breaths later, she returned.
“What did you mean? Mu Han… Lord Hanyuan didn’t get injured saving Tianyin Sect’s disciples?”

“Nope.”

Yun Yao asked, “Then who?”

“Who else?” Wu Tianya gave her a look as if she were the fool, turning with a suggestive smirk.

“?”

Before Yun Yao could roll up her sleeves, Wu Tianya lowered his voice, winking.
“For the one Lord Hanyuan cherishes most—Junior Sister Chen, of course.”

“…” Yun Yao froze.
“Who?”