I Seek the Path Through Flowers, Part 4

According to the Fuyu Palace disciple, the entrance to the Buried Dragon Valley secret realm was located in a valley deep within Hidden Dragon Mountain.
To prevent any disturbances, Fuyu Palace had stationed disciples to guard the entrance around the clock—claiming it was to maintain the realm’s stability and to assist disciples entering or exiting.

These words shifted the attitude of sects previously critical of Fuyu Palace’s apparent claim over the realm. They now praised Fuyu Palace as “worthy of the immortal realm’s top sect” and “a model for the Immortal Alliance.”

Even some Qianmen disciples shared this view.
Yun Yao couldn’t be bothered to argue.

This trip to the mountain was rushed. By the time Qianmen’s group followed the Fuyu Palace disciple from the temporary palace, it was dusk.

The vast twilight cloaked half the mountain, one side ablaze with a thousand trees under the setting sun, the other shrouded in creeping night.
The group crossed the boundary of dusk and darkness, heading into the mountain’s heart.

Yun Yao observed along the way, her mood peculiar.
This time was starkly different from her last visit. Back then, even at the mountain’s outskirts, nightmare mist had enveloped everything, obscuring the sky.
Now, though mist lingered, the nightmare silk was so sparse it was negligible—capable of causing minor illusions for low-tier cultivators at most, but those at Golden Core or above could pass freely.

This puzzled her.

The mastermind had orchestrated such a grand scheme, even summoning long-extinct nightmare beasts to fill the mountain. “Faceless” hadn’t died by her hand that night, so why would they abandon their plans, disperse the mist, and allow so many to enter?

Could it be, as before, that the nightmare silk was exhausted by the terrifyingly massive emotional orb in Mu Hanyuan’s Sea of Seven Emotions?

She muttered to herself.

“Does Master have concerns?” Mu Hanyuan appeared beside her, unnoticed.

“Just find it odd that the nightmare silk dropped so sharply,” Yun Yao tilted her face. “Speaking of which, I forgot to ask—why was there such a massive orb in your Sea of Seven Emotions?”

His lashes trembled, his dark eyes lifting. “How did Master know?”

“Didn’t I mention?” She feigned innocence. “You know, the master-disciple bond. I used it to enter with you.”

“…You entered my Sea of Seven Emotions?”

“Yup.”
She tilted her head, studying his expression. “What, is there something I shouldn’t see?”

“…”

After a few breaths, the emotions in his eyes settled, returning to his saintly composure.
“Just old, unresolved feelings. I made Master laugh.”

“Unresolved? That’s an understatement…” Recalling the blinding “sun,” she still felt shaken. “What kind of emotion was it? Not fear—why such a terrifying manifestation?”

He looked deeply at her, lowering his gaze with a faint smile.
“All kinds.”

Yun Yao: “…”
Fine. Keep your secrets.

“But about that—how did you escape so smoothly, waking even before me?”

“After the Demon Realm journey ended, my emotions resolved, and I left naturally.”

“?”

She halted.

He stopped too, turning with confusion. “Master?”

She asked slowly, “…You’re saying, after crossing Two Realms Mountain and reaching Yao City, your soul had already left the Sea of Seven Emotions?”

“Yes.”

Their conversation paused.
Ahead, where Qianmen’s group followed the Fuyu Palace disciple, a surprised voice carried on the night breeze.
“…Master, you arrived early?”

Yun Yao, stunned, didn’t notice, staring at Mu Hanyuan, her memories in disarray.
If he’d already left back then…
Who was the “Mu Hanyuan” in the Sea of Seven Emotions’ orb, accompanying her from Yao City to her seclusion?

—

“It’s been years since we parted, old friend.”

A monk’s voice, distant yet near, carried a smile. “I came to see you.”

“?”

The voice began far off but landed close by.
Yun Yao, forgetting her earlier question, instinctively stepped aside, her sleeve flicking to shield Mu Hanyuan.
She looked up, peering through moonlight and tree shadows.

The moon stirred, the wind swayed, shadows danced.

Approaching through the flickering light and shadows was…

A demonic monk.

Yun Yao made her judgment.

A jade Buddhist staff, over a zhang tall, stood beside him, its swastika seal glimmering with watery ripples under the moon—unlike the solid vajra staffs she knew, this one was translucent crystal.
As the monk approached, his right hand hovered before him, red robes draped diagonally, prayer beads slowly twirled, chanting softly.
Under the moonlight, his phoenix eyes and arched brows were jade-like, his forehead marked with a mole, both saintly and demonic.

The Red Dust Buddhist stopped, reciting a Buddhist phrase, then fixed his gaze on the red-robed girl a zhang away. Moments later, he raised a brow, noticing the snow-robed, lotus-crowned Qianyuan Daoist she shielded—Hanyuan.

His beads paused.

He’d heard during his travels that Qianmen’s Hanyuan was saintly, untouched by the seven emotions or six desires. When Fantian Temple’s former abbot passed, his greatest regret was failing to convert Hanyuan to Buddhism.
From afar, it seemed true, but now…
When Hanyuan glanced from behind the girl, his eyes were far from emotionless.

His eyes, swirling with a faint swastika, lingered. He stepped forward.
“Why not come closer, old friend?”

“…”

Yun Yao’s chest tightened.
Countless Fuyu Palace guards, Qianmen’s group, and Alliance officials turned their stunned gazes at his words.

She knew exactly who this was.

Fantian Temple’s worldly wanderer, the Red Dust Buddhist, Master Liaowu.

—After all her dodging, to meet him at the secret realm’s entrance? Could there be a more despairing scene?

The first to react was the Alliance official who’d greeted Liaowu, bowing to Mu Hanyuan. “Greetings, Hanyuan.”
Mu Hanyuan nodded silently.
The official turned to Liaowu. “Master Liaowu, these are Qianmen’s junior disciples, here for Buried Dragon Valley. Who is the ‘old friend’ you mean?”

Liaowu smiled, silent, turning to the pair standing together.

“…”
Yun Yao tensed her shoulders.

Behind her, Mu Hanyuan lowered his gaze. From his angle, he saw the taut, pale neck of the red-robed girl, like a drawn bowstring or a beast ready to pounce, hidden beneath her harmless, lazy facade.
For some reason, he felt an urge to smile.

…He rarely felt such impulses.

“Yun Yaojiu.”

In the silent night of the mountain forest, Mu Hanyuan’s hand gently pressed her shoulder. Stepping out, his lotus crown gleamed coldly under the moon, his tall, jade-like figure moving before her, blocking their line of sight.
His lashes lifted, his snow-clear eyes meeting the monk’s auspicious mole.

“Long time no see, Master Liaowu. I trust you’re well.”

“—”

Liaowu’s eyes flickered, then dimmed. He twirled his beads, smiling. “Indeed, Hanyuan.”

“…”
The crowd blinked, confused.

So Liaowu’s “old friend” was Hanyuan.

It seemed logical, yet they felt they’d missed something vital.

Behind Mu Hanyuan, Yun Yao hadn’t exhaled her held breath when the monk spoke again. “And this benefactor is?”

“…”

She stiffly looked up, meeting Liaowu’s smiling gaze.

That cursed monk.

Mu Hanyuan, unshaken, said calmly, “Our leader’s disciple, my junior sister, Yun Yaojiu.”

Liaowu smiled, lowering his brows. “No wonder, she resembles an old friend.”

Yun Yao: “…”

Crowd: “?”
Which old friend?

His words chilled her spine. Unable to stay, she turned to the Fuyu Palace disciple. “Since we’re entering the realm, shouldn’t we move?”

“Oh, yes, almost forgot—Hanyuan, Master Liaowu, and others, follow me.”

Yun Yao froze, glancing at the red-robed monk, speechless.

At that moment, Mu Hanyuan, catching her look, spoke. “Master Liaowu’s joining us?”

The monk clasped his beads, smiling. “At another’s invitation, I must trouble you all in the realm.”

“…”

With Fuyu Palace, Qianmen, and Alliance officials present, pleasantries dragged on, nearly making Yun Yao yawn.
The monk’s occasional glances chilled her neck, so she found an excuse to slip to the realm’s entrance.

It was a massive stone like a water mirror, its reflections vague, shifting with indistinct figures, shrouded in mist. At its edge, three blood-red characters were scrawled: *Buried Dragon Valley*.

“This is the entrance?” Yun Yao scanned, frowning.

Two Fuyu Palace disciples guarded it. One, a woman, had eyed her with hostility since Mu Hanyuan shielded her.
Now, at Yun Yao’s question, she turned away, displeased. “Yes.”

Yun Yao noticed but ignored it. “How long has the realm been here?”

“…” The woman glared.

Her companion hesitated, answering, “Over five days.”

Yun Yao pressed, “How many sects and disciples have entered?”

“We don’t know exactly,” the second woman said apologetically. “My senior sister and I arrived yesterday.”

Yun Yao nodded, casually asking, “Heard or seen anyone come out?”

The second woman shook her head. “Not yet…”

Before she finished, the first, arms crossed, snapped, “Xin Chuling, why waste words? She’s neither a sect elder nor an Alliance official—why should we answer her?”

Xin Chuling froze, timidly turning. “Senior Sister Qiao, just a few words, no trouble.”

“You!” Qiao Yan glared. “You’re not troubled, but groveling like this shames Fuyu Palace’s three-hundred-year legacy as the top sect!”

Xin Chuling stood stunned, silenced by grievance.

*Snap.*
Yun Yao flicked her fingers, drawing Qiao Yan’s angry gaze.
She smiled brightly. “That’s more like it. If you’ve got a grudge, come at me. Bullying a junior with your seniority—what’s that about?”

Qiao Yan fumed. “Don’t stir trouble!”

But Yun Yao ignored her, raising a finger from her bell-wrapped hand. “One thing I’m curious about—Fuyu Palace’s three-hundred-year top sect face… is it built on your lineage’s arrogance and supremacy?”

The commotion drew attention from the Alliance officials and Liaowu, with Mu Hanyuan turning first, their gazes converging.

Catching their looks, Qiao Yan flushed, lowering her voice. “Don’t slander me! When did I act superior?”

“Oh? If not a sect elder or Alliance official, I can’t even ask a question—that’s not acting superior? Or do you need to step on my shoulders?”

“You—!”

Qiao Yan was about to retort when the crowd approached.

Mu Hanyuan led, his light robes flowing, stepping through moonlight, his lotus crown ethereal, like an immortal on a pristine lake.
Yun Yao’s heart skipped, distracted, missing her chance to speak—

“Hanyuan, uphold justice!” Qiao Yan rushed forward, accusing. “Your junior sister, relying on your status, bullied us to answer her!”

Yun Yao: “…”
Yun Yao: “?”

Three hundred years, and while immortal realm cultivators’ skills hadn’t advanced much, their shamelessness had soared.

Before Yun Yao could counter, Qiao Yan pressed, “Worst, she questioned Fuyu Palace’s prestige, calling us arrogant! The realm’s open to all; we’ve never blocked anyone, only stationed disciples to guard. Her slander’s baseless!”

“…”

Her words silenced the crowd before the mirror stone.

Qianmen’s side, led by Mu Hanyuan, thought, *This uncle-master’s temper sure stirs trouble*, but their gazes scattered, feigning deafness.

Alliance officials watched from the sidelines.
For other matters, they wouldn’t let anyone drag Hanyuan into disputes, but something that could sow discord between him and Qianmen? They’d hold off adding fuel.

The monk, chanting “Amitabha,” twirled his beads, enjoying the show.

All eyes, overtly or covertly, fell on Mu Hanyuan.

Recently, the realm’s biggest buzz, besides the secret realm, was this oddly-origined disciple of Qianmen’s Uncle-Master, Hanyuan’s true junior sister—a rare honor. Everyone was curious how the saintly Hanyuan would handle her to prove his impartiality.

Yun Yao was curious too.

Swallowing her sarcasm, the red-robed girl blinked, watching him eagerly.

Meeting her carefree, spectator-like gaze, Mu Hanyuan: “…”

After a breath or two, he lowered his eyes, a hint of helplessness and faint amusement flickering beneath his frosty lashes.

Like snow melting, spring bursting forth.

Even Qiao Yan froze, her smugness faltering with a bad premonition.

“I know Yun Yaojiu best,” Mu Hanyuan said, his fleeting smile gone, his tone clear and firm. “If she’s one part wrong, I’m ten parts to blame.”

His words stunned everyone, including Yun Yao, except him and the nearby Liaowu.
She’d expected him to defend her, but with reasoned fairness—not this unwavering declaration without question.

The others were even more shocked.

“Hanyuan, that’s improper…” An Alliance official forced a smile, stepping forward.

“Nothing improper.”
Mu Hanyuan’s gaze cooled, turning to Qiao Yan. “As for this Fuyu Palace disciple, Yun Yaojiu’s words and questions were proper, concerning the safety of those entering the realm. Her intent was good, yet you twisted the truth. Did you think I wasn’t listening, or that my junior sister, new to the realm, is weak and easily bullied?”

“…”

Yun Yao realized he’d been listening, no wonder his confidence seemed like favoritism.
*Wait.*
Who’s weak and easily bullied?

She wasn’t the only one stunned.
Qianmen disciples who’d been with her at Hidden Dragon Mountain wore vivid expressions. Some, too expressive, gaped, eyes nearly falling out, rubbing their ears as if questioning how “weak and easily bullied” applied to their fierce uncle-master.
One of their senses had to be faulty.

With Mu Hanyuan’s saintly reputation and Xin Chuling’s timid corroboration, the accusations against Yun Yao didn’t touch her.

Qiao Yan, scolded by Alliance officials and Fuyu Palace elders, left in disgrace, shooting Yun Yao a resentful glare.

Yun Yao noticed but didn’t look up, leaning toward Mu Hanyuan, transmitting, “Since becoming your junior sister, my popularity in the realm’s getting worse.”

She felt a twinge of guilt.
Three hundred years ago, Mu Jiutian would’ve laughed, “When was your popularity ever good?”

But Mu Hanyuan was nothing like Mu Jiutian.

Instead, the disciple she’d “wronged” with her accusation answered calmly, as if it were obvious, “Master is the realm’s finest. Why care for others’ opinions? No one’s worthy of you. In time, you’ll reign as the realm’s pinnacle, and I’ll handle the trivialities.”

Yun Yao: “…?”
Yun Yao: “…Huh?”
The “supremacy” she’d mocked was herself?

No time to clarify—she only wanted to uncover Mu Jiutian’s death, maybe topple Bixiao, not rule the realm.

The secret realm’s entrance opened.
Array light glowed beneath their feet. Mu Hanyuan was ushered forward by Alliance officials to prevent trouble.

Yun Yao instinctively moved to follow.

In that instant, a flash of red robes and gold patterns crossed her vision, dreamlike.
A gentle yet eerie whisper crept into her ear.

“Before your seclusion, I warned you: your master-disciple bond is a fated calamity, unbreakable. Now, with the evil manifesting in your brow, do you still not believe?”

“—” Yun Yao: “?!”

The red-robed girl spun, startled, meeting the monk’s smiling eyes, inches away.

She opened her mouth to question.

But the next breath, white light surged, engulfing the group before the mirror stone—

The light faded.
Everyone vanished, leaving only moonlight casting the stone’s lonely shadow.