I Seek the Path Through Flowers, Part 2

The dusk was vast, the sun setting in a cascade of twilight. A sliver of evening light slipped through the window, flowing over the carved wooden table shrouded in fragrant mist, casting golden ripples across the room.

Inside, Mu Hanyuan sat on the bed, meditating.
The silver lotus crown gleamed faintly, beads of sweat on his brow. His eyes were shut, lashes trembling, his usual refined composure tinged with a trace of ferocity.

Beneath his left eye, the faint mole shimmered, now glowing with an eerie golden hue.

He was trapped in a nightmare.

Unlike sinking into the Sea of Seven Emotions, losing present-world memories, today, from the moment he stepped into the gray mist, he knew his consciousness was not in reality.

Yet an invisible force seemed to pull him, irresistibly drawing him deeper into the fog.
At its end, he saw a “mirror.”

Or rather, a world hidden behind it.

Endless smoke, seas of blood, and rotting remains piled with struggling survivors stretched to the horizon of that world—
Black clouds veiled the sun, a single golden scale piercing the sky.
Before that faint light, a pitch-black figure loomed above the heavens.

His long hair danced, a dark lotus crown high, blood-red demonic marks trailing from his pale brow to his slender eye corners, vivid as blood seeping into cold white jade.

An eerie zither melody rang through the wilds, strummed carelessly, weaving decadence across the land. Wherever it passed, it killed invisibly.

“Mu Hanyuan! Your injustices will bring divine retribution!”
“How can you face Qianmen’s grace?!”
“Madman!”
“Your sins flood the heavens!”
“A demon seed like you deserves no mercy!”

Beneath the sky, vengeful spirits and malevolent ghosts swarmed, their curses echoing across all directions. Every soul seemed eager to tear the black-robed figure apart, to feast on his flesh and blood.

Yet all feared him, dreaded him, powerless against him.

Countless resentful ghosts and souls, tangled in malice, shrouded the sun with filth. But the twisted, hateful faces in the black mist stayed meters from him, not daring to graze his robes.

Above the myriad dead, he seemed weary of killing. The zither’s song slowed, his gaze lowered from the heavens, his tired face lazy, blood marks trailing like jade tears, a scarlet glint in his dark eyes.

Suddenly, a cold, ruthless, yet indifferent glance pierced through the endless sky, meeting Mu Hanyuan’s across the mirror-like veil.

Their figures trembled.
Their features mirrored each other, as if from a past life’s cycle.

One stood atop the heavens, pure as snow and moonlight, an immortal descended. The other trod on wailing ghosts, demonic flames flooding the skies.

—Behind the mirror, the heavens shifted.

Blood-red demonic flames seeped from every crack in the six realms and eight wastelands.

The world-ending demon’s laziness vanished, his face contorted with savage madness.
He stared at Mu Hanyuan, lips parting slowly.
The blood marks at his eyes gleamed vividly.

*“Return her—”*
*“To me.”*

The words fell.

Wherever eyes could see, ghosts wailed, and towering demonic flames ignited the world.
A boundless blood-red flood, forming a colossal dragon with countless ghastly faces, roared with world-shattering force toward Mu Hanyuan!

“—!”

On the bed, Mu Hanyuan’s eyes snapped open.

The room glowed with twilight.

A dreamy haze of sunset light cloaked the room, gently covering bottles, tables, and chairs.

A stick of dragon’s amber incense burned quietly, its mist swirling.
The floor flowed with golden light.

Mu Hanyuan’s eyes still trembled with lingering emotion.

…Who was the figure in the dream?
And what was he to return?

“…Uncle-Master Yun!”

Outside, a female disciple’s urgent voice rushed past. “Trouble! He Fengming’s fighting Fuyu Palace’s people—for you!”

—

The cultivator clashing with He Fengming was Ying Tianqi, an elite disciple of Fuyu Palace’s Seventh Palace, part of their third group sent to Hidden Dragon Mountain.

Before this fight, Ying Tianqi and He Fengming had no enmity—rather, they were acquaintances. Their masters, Yuan Songqing of Fuyu Palace’s Seventh Palace and Qianmen’s Elder Lu Chang’an, were close, their disciples often interacting.
Ying Tianqi, passing through, had come with friendly intentions, hearing that Qianmen’s leader, disrespected by Chu Tianchen and Lu Chang’an’s faction, had taken in a “bastard daughter” and came to mock her in support.

But He Fengming, far from appreciating it, exploded at the slight, and the fight began.

Now, swords flashed overhead.

The town, already teeming with rogue cultivators, buzzed as spectators gathered to watch the clash between disciples of the current top sect, Fuyu Palace, and the former top sect, Qianmen.

Both fighters were fueled by rage.
Ying Tianqi, feeling unjustly attacked, shouted, “He Fengming! I only said a word about your useless uncle-master! Why the madness? Was I wrong?!”

“Shut up and draw your sword!”

Ying Tianqi dodged with a yelp. “Fine, you’re serious? The whole immortal realm knows your leader took in a useless bastard daughter, daring to claim her as Uncle-Master Yun Yao’s disciple! Such betrayal is laughable! If you’ve got the guts, fight every gossiping mouth!”

“After today, anyone who dares speak will face my sword,” He Fengming roared, his blade surging. “Starting with you!”

“You—You’re insane! She’s your leader’s bastard, not your master’s! …Argh!!!”

Ying Tianqi’s taunts were cut short as He Fengming’s merciless sword slashed overhead, leaving him disheveled, his sect’s dignity gone.
Furious, he stopped holding back, charging with a yell.

“Uncle-Master, why’re you watching the show?” Ding Xiao fretted. “Stop them! If this escalates, it’ll be a sect feud!”

Yun Yao leaned against the tea stall’s pillar, looking up. “Why rush? No one’s hurt. Call it a spar.”

“That won’t do! That Ying Tianqi from Fuyu Palace may be foul-mouthed, but his master is Yuan Songqing, the Seventh Palace Lord!”

“Seventh Princess?” Yun Yao glanced back. “Bold name.”

“Not the name! The point is, he’s the disciple-grandson of Fuyu Palace’s Supreme Elder, Bixiao! If He Fengming harms him, Qianmen and Fuyu Palace will have endless trouble!”

“We’ll settle accounts anyway.”

“Huh?” Ding Xiao turned. “What’d you say, Uncle-Master?”

“Nothing.” Yun Yao shifted topics. “Who’s this Bixiao? Impressive?”

“Fuyu Palace’s founding ancestor, their top Supreme Elder. You tell me!”

“Founder…?”

A spark lit in her mind.
She remembered why the name was familiar—

In Mu Hanyuan’s Sea of Seven Emotions, at Yao City, the white-bearded elder leading the group to provoke her about Mu Hanyuan called himself Bixiao.

The groveling schemer from three hundred years ago was now the immortal realm’s most revered elder?

She sneered. “So he’s still alive.”

“Of course. Fuyu Palace’s status owes much to his influence. Their disciples say Bixiao’s nearing the Tribulation Realm! That’s the final step before ascension. In the last millennium, only you, Uncle-Master, were said to have reached it!”

“…”

Her gaze cooled.

Alive was good.
If Mu Jiutian’s death was tied to Fuyu Palace, she’d storm their gates, shatter their top sect’s plaque, and nail that old dog to their mountain gate.

During their talk, the swordfight above grew terrifyingly intense.

He Fengming, at early Divine Transformation, was strong enough to lead a smaller sect. Ying Tianqi was slightly weaker, but Fuyu Palace’s deep resources supplied endless talismans and artifacts.
Fighting all out, they stirred storms and dust above the town.
The watching rogue cultivators finally sensed danger.

“He’s Divine Transformation!”
“Two lunatics! Divine Transformation fighting like this?!”
“Immortal sect disciples are terrifying…”
“Stop gawking, run!!”

As chaos erupted, with mortals at stalls suffering most, Yun Yao frowned, stepping forward, her golden bells jingling, but paused.

“Uncle-Master?” Ding Xiao was puzzled.

Yun Yao glanced at a second-floor window. “No need for me.”

Ding Xiao: “?”

Before she could ask—

A zither note from the inn pierced the air, shattering clouds.

The two fighters, causing the town to flee, were halted by an immense spiritual force.

Ripples of pressure spread outward.

At the center, He Fengming and Ying Tianqi, under the overwhelming spiritual might, lasted mere breaths before being flung back like broken-winged birds, their robes shredded.

The storm calmed, the town fell silent.

Like falling petals, the scattered cloth drifted down, leaving the crowd in awe.

Only Ding Xiao, alerted by Yun Yao, recovered first, gaping at the inn. “Is that… Hanyuan?”

Her voice sparked a chorus—

“It’s Hanyuan!”
“Crushing two Divine Transformation cultivators so easily—what’s his realm? Peak Void Refinement?”
“With this might, probably peak Void Refinement.”
“A zither cultivator overpowering sword cultivators with one note—after Hanyuan, the realm’s cultivation hierarchy might shift!”
“Nonsense, not everyone’s an immortal like him! This is Tianyin Sect’s land, thriving for centuries, yet their geniuses combined can’t match one Hanyuan!”

The rogue cultivators’ praise was endless.

Amid them, Yun Yao’s expression was odd, gazing at the second floor.

Ding Xiao paled. “Uncle-Master, is Hanyuan angry? His zither was never this fierce.”

Yun Yao stayed silent, guilty.

…Yes.
After all, he’d never been tied to a bed with silk and nearly violated, had he?

Before she could speak, “All Qianmen disciples, enter the inn for admonishment.”

Mu Hanyuan’s voice, clear as a midday sun, carried no anger but landed like frost in deep winter.

The scattered Qianmen disciples wilted.
“Yes, we obey.”

He Fengming, landing alongside Ying Tianqi, looked paler, clearly expecting the harshest reprimand.

Ying Tianqi fared no better, bowing to the air. “I didn’t know Hanyuan was here. Forgive my offense…”

“Go back, Friend Ying,” Mu Hanyuan said lightly.

Ding Xiao, heading inside, muttered, “Hanyuan let Ying Tianqi off unscathed? He should’ve at least scolded him, made him apologize to you.”

Yun Yao said wryly, “No, not cursing me is already saintly virtue.”

“Huh…?”

Outside, as Ying Tianqi rejoiced to slip away, Mu Hanyuan’s voice rose again. “As for your words insulting my sect—”

“!”
“?!”

The words froze Ying Tianqi and Yun Yao, who was turning away.

The red-robed girl looked up, unsure if he’d slipped or was deliberately reminding her of their master-disciple ethics, about to reveal her identity.

Before the inn, Ying Tianqi spun back. “Hanyuan, I was misled! My words were about Yun Yaojiu, not a single mention of your Uncle-Master’s name!”

Among Qianmen disciples, Yan Ruoyu, still present, paled, clutching her hands in panic.

“Yun Yaojiu is my junior sister, recorded under my master. Insulting her insults my sect.”
Mu Hanyuan’s voice was calm but unyielding. “After this, I’ll visit Fuyu Palace’s gate to seek an explanation from Leader Wen.”

“—!”
Ying Tianqi’s face drained, nearly collapsing.

—

After entering the inn, Yun Yao reasoned that Mu Hanyuan’s call for “Qianmen disciples” didn’t include her.
So, she wisely avoided his scrutiny.
Then Yan Ruoyu, eyes red from crying, came to her door, sobbing an apology for gossiping with Ying Tianqi and relaying that Hanyuan requested her at the main hall.

Along the way, Yun Yao marveled. “Mu Han… Senior Brother scolded you over this?”

Sniffling, Yan Ruoyu argued, “It’s not scolding—Hanyuan’s personal guidance is a blessing.”

Yun Yao: “…”
Fine.

She couldn’t fathom how Mu Hanyuan’s saintly demeanor could reduce Yan Ruoyu to such tears.

Glancing aside, she thought, *Not just tears, a deluge.*

But her curiosity to see the scene was thwarted—by the time she entered, even He Fengming, the most reprimanded, was done. Like a frostbitten quail, his usual pride subdued, he stood silently, head bowed.
When Yan Ruoyu reported Yun Yao’s arrival, he glanced up briefly, then dropped his gaze.

Yun Yao was about to tease him when—

“Yun Yaojiu.”

A clear voice made her heart skip, guiltily snapping to attention. She met Mu Hanyuan’s frost-covered eyes by the carved window.

The strange feeling of being caught before doing wrong…

Unsure of his true stance on her earlier misdeeds, she played it safe, her tone eager. “Senior Brother, you needed me?”

“…”

The disciples who’d entered Hidden Dragon Mountain with her froze, as if choking on dry rice, their expressions odd.

Mu Hanyuan, used to her antics, remained calm. “A sect message arrived.”

Golden light shot from his sleeve, unfolding before her.
She scanned it, frowned, and waved it away. “They’re sending people to Hidden Dragon Mountain too?”

“Led by Elder Lu Chang’an, the second team is on the way.”

As they spoke, she moved to the main seat.

Mu Hanyuan had already risen, yielding the spot.
Standing beside the table, eyes lowered, his slender fingers touched the crane-patterned jade teapot, pouring a cup of fragrant tea and offering it to her.

Seated, lost in thought about the message, she took it without thinking.

“…”

The hall’s disciples gaped at Hanyuan standing and Uncle-Master Yun sitting, eyes nearly popping out, but none dared speak.

Yun Yao, oblivious, cooled her tone. “All for some illusory ascension?”

“Not only that.”
Mu Hanyuan said directly, “Recently, sword messages from Hidden Dragon Mountain claimed a secret realm emerged where the miasma cleared, called ‘Buried Dragon Valley.’”

“A secret realm?” She froze. “Impossible.”

Secret realms only formed where spiritual energy converged.
Others in Qianyuan might not know, but as a former minor immortal of the Heavenly Palace, she was certain—secret realms couldn’t appear from nothing.
When she entered Hidden Dragon Mountain, she sensed no spiritual convergence.

Yet Mu Hanyuan said, “The news is true.”

“Proof?” She set down the teacup. “You know how dangerous Hidden Dragon Mountain was. Now, with these strange rumors and an unheard-of secret realm—I’m certain it’s a trap. If you want to take disciples in, fine, but give me a reason you believe this.”

His lashes lowered, the faint mole flickering beneath like frost.

In the standoff, Ding Xiao whispered, “Uncle-Master, Junior Sister Jianxue already went to investigate. An hour ago, a sword message came from her.”

“…”

The air stilled, the room growing weirder.

“Chen Jianxue again,” Yun Yao’s expression lazed, her amber eyes glancing at Mu Hanyuan. “So you trust her, not me?”

“—”

Realizing her words were off, she scanned the room. The disciples barely hid their excited expressions.

They were all ears, more attentive than at any elder’s lecture.

Yun Yao: “…”
That wasn’t what she meant.
It was the sting of a master “betrayed” by her disciple—did they get that?!

Clearly, they didn’t.

Even He Fengming, the corner quail, couldn’t resist, transmitting, “Hanyuan and Jianxue have been close siblings for years. You can’t compete. With so many disciples watching, Uncle-Master, don’t… humiliate yourself.”

“?”
Defiance flared.
She turned to the corner—*Explain ‘humiliate yourself.’*

But before her gaze landed, Mu Hanyuan spoke calmly, “This has nothing to do with Jianxue. I have my reasons.”

Her half-turn halted, swiveling back.
Eyebrows raised, she pressed cheekily, “Oh? If not Jianxue, how do you, in town, know what’s happening in a miasma-covered mountain hundreds of li away?”

The red-robed girl dragged her tone, lazy and bold.

Mu Hanyuan’s brow lifted slightly.
Standing beside her, his mole faint, he gazed coolly, pausing a breath, then softened helplessly. “…Be serious, Yun Yaojiu.”

His voice brushed her ear, stirring her heart.

“…”

Her mischief faltered, her gaze stalling.

She *was* serious.
Until he spoke.

“Fine, go then.” Yun Yao, self-aware, knew she couldn’t handle his unintentional yet lethal charm and surrendered, dodging aside.

He had his reasons.
Her disciple, her indulgence.

With her reluctant agreement, the plan to enter the secret realm in Hidden Dragon Mountain’s depths was set.

The sect meeting ended, disciples dispersing to prepare.

Yun Yao meant to slip away before Mu Hanyuan settled scores, but his clear voice cut through the noise, landing solely on her.
“Yun Yaojiu, stay.”

“…”

Qianmen disciples fell silent, passing her like mute chicks.
Only Ding Xiao gave a sympathetic glance—then left.

Soon, only Yun Yao and Mu Hanyuan remained.

He lowered his gaze, his bamboo-like fingers brushing the jade zither ornament on his belt.

A transparent barrier enveloped them, sealing the room.

Outside, eavesdropping disciples were gently brushed by a force, realizing they’d been caught, and scurried off.

When Mu Hanyuan turned back, the red-robed girl had seated herself sloppily, lounging in the chair, toying with her teacup, not looking at him. “What’s Chen Qingmu been feeding you to make you toil so hard, risking safety to train these juniors?”

“I only do what I can for the sect.”

She smirked, tapping the cup. “Didn’t see such loyalty when I brought you back.”

“—”

His gaze landed, and she felt a burn, looking up in confusion, unsure which word stirred him.

“Since you left seclusion, you’ve not mentioned the past. I thought you’d forgotten it all.”

She grew guilty. “Well, I remember some.”

“No, you forgot.”

“?”

Baffled, she met his eyes.

In a flash, like lightning, she recalled something.

*[…Come back to the immortal realm with me. There’s a mess no one’s handling. Once you’re grown, you can work for me.]*

Her fingers, jingling golden bells, paused on the teacup.

“…Oh.”
She released it, scratching her cheek awkwardly, leaning back. “Just because of what I said then?”

He watched her silently, his eyes deep as an abyss, unfathomable.

After a moment, he lowered his gaze, the mole shimmering faintly. “I said I’d die for you, Master. You never seemed to believe it.”

Her eyelids twitched.

Later, she’d insist she was swayed by his beauty or the demon seed’s influence, blurting without thought:

“Of course I don’t—how do I know if one day, I’ll die before you again?”