Buried Beneath the Spring, Bones Turn to Dust, Part 2

With one glance, the color drained from Yun Yao’s face.

Mu Hanyuan seemed slightly surprised, a flicker of emotion hidden deep in his eyes, softening their usual frost as his lashes lifted.
*‘Master?’*

The blood-red threads, invisible to others, twitched slightly, probing at Yun Yao’s wrist.

She stiffly tore her gaze from the window.

As a minor immortal from the Celestial Palace, overseeing the flow of time in three thousand small worlds, Yun Yao lived carelessly, fearless of heaven or earth—except for one thing.

Ghosts.
Or, as mortals called them, “drifting spirits.”
Skeletons walking and chatting beside you, grinning brightly, were enough to make her soul flee.

She’d always suspected, during her immortal days, that in her mortal life before ascension, she must’ve done something heinous—like wiping out a family—to fear ghosts so much. It was the Celestial Realm’s top joke.
But the realm, wary of vengeful immortals smuggling mortal grudges, erased all pre-ascension memories during the immortal seal’s branding.
Yun Yao, the sole exception, couldn’t recall or verify her past.

Yet her fear of ghosts was etched into her soul, unchanged even in the Qianyuan Realm.

“I, uh…”
Her thoughts froze as she turned slowly.

Even Ding Xiao, seeking rescue, noticed her pallor. “Uncle-Master, what’s wrong with you too?”

Yun Yao couldn’t voice her terror.
The thought of the city full of animated skeletons outside, all smiling, sent shivers from her scalp to her toes.

Mu Hanyuan finally sensed something from her strange state. Puzzled, a faint amusement crossed his eyes.

His cool, slender fingers lifted, leaving her pale wrist to retract the blood-red threads.

But the sudden emptiness sparked greater fear. Without thinking, Yun Yao grabbed his hand, her grip whitening his knuckles.

“?” Mu Hanyuan raised his eyes slowly.

Master-disciple propriety demanded he pull away, given her reckless nature.

Yet the faint warmth, laced with a familiar cold fragrance, seeped through their touching skin.
It threatened to drag him into a fathomless abyss.
He recalled days ago, back from Hidden Dragon Mountain’s temple to the inn. Placing the unconscious red-robed girl on the bed, as he moved to leave, her three slender fingers had loosely gripped his wrist.

A searing spiritual force flowed from her fingertips, meant to restrain him.
He could’ve dodged, clear-headed, yet lingered by the bed for ten breaths—
Until her energy fully sealed his meridians.

He let her rise, push him against the bed. Her loosened hair cascaded, brushing his neck. Her heated breath drew close, stray strands slipping into his loosened collar, tickling his collarbone.

Only then did he snap awake.
Like a drowning mortal saved at the last moment, he felt drenched, breathless, sinking into a starry night.
The only light hovered beside him.

[*Mu Hanyuan.*]
The red-robed girl straddled him, wrinkling his pristine robes, her expression filling his eyes.
[*Has your master ever praised you?*]

Her fingertip hovered, as if to touch his eyes—his lashes trembled, closing, but a cool sensation brushed his eye’s corner.

Yun Yao tapped the faint mole beneath his lashes, laughing softly.
Leaning to his ear, like a kiss:

[*You’re truly beautiful.*]

—

“…Legs weak.”

Her voice, overlapping with the memory of her whispered words, made Mu Hanyuan pause.
He looked up.

The red-robed girl who’d caused that mischief sat at the table, gripping his wrist, her eyes avoiding him entirely.

“Lend me your support, just for a bit.”

Yun Yao wanted to act tough, uphold her master’s dignity, but her body refused—especially facing the inn, where Cui Xiao’er, still repeating his earlier words, held a steaming teapot before her eyes.
Or rather, five chilling, rotting skeletal fingers.

She ached to turn away.

When Cui Xiao’er finally left, she felt her soul return. Pale, she faced the oblivious disciples. “This realm… is indeed eerie.”

He Fengming, watching her, frowned. “Uncle-Master, why do you look so bad?”

Ding Xiao nodded. “Yeah, what’s wrong?”

Yun Yao: “…”
Tell them the truth and scare them? She’d rather die outside.

She deflected, “Nothing… I tried probing the realm, forced my spiritual energy, and got backlash.”

The disciples, unaware of her lie, relaxed.

Ding Xiao asked, “Did you find anything, Uncle-Master?”

The inn’s clamor now sounded like ghostly wails.
Yun Yao inhaled, loosening her stiff fingers from Mu Hanyuan, who’d stayed silent since her glance. She forced a smile. “Well, unluckily, Cui Xiao’er’s likely telling the truth. The people here have no spiritual energy and are, um, ageless.”
—In a different form.

“So we really need the Dragon Heart Scale to leave?” a disciple asked.

“Probably. Ask around to confirm,” Yun Yao said, feigning a stretch to loosen her terrified body. “Three days is short, and this city’s endless. Without spiritual energy, it’s like finding a needle in a haystack. Split up.”

She paused, remembering Mu Hanyuan should lead, and awkwardly glanced at him, avoiding his gaze. “Senior… Brother, your thoughts?”

He nodded. “Spread out from here.”

A disciple asked, “But how do we share news without signals?”

Mu Hanyuan lowered his eyes calmly. “I’ll check on you every three hours.”

Ding Xiao and the others lit up, nodding—none doubting how Hanyuan would manage in this spiritless, soulless place.

After assigning directions, the disciples descended, scattering into the crowd.

As He Fengming’s reluctant figure vanished, Yun Yao’s kindly smile collapsed. She turned expressionlessly to Mu Hanyuan, warming a teacup. “You knew these people were off from the start?”

“Yes,” he replied, his voice gentle, lashes lowered.

“Skeletons passing by, and you didn’t react at all?”
She couldn’t tell what was scarier—the city’s skeletons or her disciple, serene and saintly amid them.

He didn’t answer, only offering the warmed teacup.

She took it instinctively, then recalled Cui Xiao’er’s claws. “…”

He seemed to read her, his lips curving faintly, lashes lifting. “It’s purified.”

“…The last one too?”

“Mm.”

Parched from fear, she downed it.

But before she set the cup down, the stairwell rang out: “—Tea’s here!”

Yun Yao flinched. “…………”

Was there no end!?

As she nearly hurled Cui Xiao’er out, Mu Hanyuan raised his sleeve, his finger flicking.
A faint red glow flashed.

Cui Xiao’er froze, stiffened for a moment, then turned and left.

Yun Yao’s eyelid twitched.

…Manipulation technique.
In the realm’s tales, the demonized Mu Hanyuan could make cultivators slaughter each other with a zither strum.
Did these evil techniques stem from the ineradicable blood-red threads in his body?

“These techniques…” she began.

“If Master dislikes them, I won’t use them,” he said, looking at her.

“Techniques aren’t good or evil. Controlled by a person, they’re lawful; controlled by the technique, they’re evil,” she said seriously, meeting his eyes. “Understand?”

He lowered his gaze. “I heed Master’s words.”

“But,” she hesitated, “use them discreetly, not in front of others—even Qianmen disciples.”

She felt she’d overstepped.
For three hundred years, Mu Hanyuan’s saintly reputation shone like the realm’s moon, untarnished. Even in tales, his demonic turn was unforeseen.
No one hid their thoughts better.
Did he need her warning?

Yet he seemed unbothered. “Yes, all as Master arranges.”

“…”

His compliance made her uneasy. She coughed, turning away. “You’re sure these skeletons won’t harm Ding Xiao and the others?”

“I’ve checked. They won’t.”

Seeing her lingering worry, her gaze on the departed disciples, he added, “The skeletons have no intent to harm. They may not even realize they’re no longer living.”

She turned back. “So someone’s controlling them?”

“Find the Dragon Heart Scale, and it’ll resolve.”

“Then let’s go. By noon tomorrow, gather all leads on the Dragon Heart Scale.”

“Yes.”

Yun Yao descended into the bustling night market, freezing for a moment before steeling herself and heading in a direction the disciples hadn’t explored.

Two steps in, she sensed something and turned—
A pristine white robe, then up to Mu Hanyuan’s clear, snowy eyes.

“…Why’re you following me?”

“I’ll go with Master.”

“? Won’t that double our time?” She blurted, then realized, turning guiltily. “I mean, I wasn’t scared before, just… caught off guard.”

“I understand,” he replied gently, still trailing her.

She bristled. “Then why follow?”

“Mm, I’m scared. Please protect me, Master.”

Yun Yao: “…Whatever.”

Her face warmed as she clenched her fists, striding forward.

His cool, snowy aura lingered, neither too close nor far, always within reach. No matter who she questioned, she felt him nearby.

Perhaps due to the demon seed, she craved his touch. In this strange realm, his proximity calmed her.

The tension in her chest eased unknowingly.

…Having a disciple wasn’t bad.

—

In Dragon-Serving City, the Dragon Heart Scale was a known relic. Leads about it were endless.

Yun Yao investigated all night and half a day, chasing credible ones—all dead ends.

In a teahouse, she propped her chin, listlessly staring at her dangling left hand.
The gold bell on her wrist jingled softly.

Ding Xiao and the others, summoned by Mu Hanyuan’s threads, returned.

No results.
They slumped, discussing, but Yun Yao stayed silent. Ding Xiao leaned over. “Uncle-Master, what’re you thinking?”

“Which spot’s got good feng shui.”

“?” Ding Xiao blinked.

Yun Yao stood lazily, stretching. “Good feng shui, that’s where I’ll be buried.”

Ding Xiao: “……”
Ding Xiao: “?”

Her words paled the disciples, two turning desperately to Mu Hanyuan, pinning their hopes on him.

He looked up helplessly, calling softly, “Yun Yaojiu.”

“Hm?” She turned innocently.
“Stop teasing them.”
“…Oh.”

Under Ding Xiao’s brightening gaze, Yun Yao nodded. “Let’s go.”

Ding Xiao and He Fengming followed without hesitation, the other three glancing at Mu Hanyuan, who rose without objection, their faces hopeful.

Ding Xiao trailed Yun Yao into the market. “Uncle-Master, you know where the Dragon Heart Scale is?”

“Not sure.”

“…Then where’re we going?”

“Let fate decide.”

“?”

Yun Yao didn’t answer, shaking her wrist. The bell chimed, and a small turtle shell on the chain “floated” into Ding Xiao’s view.

With no spiritual energy and her own sealed, the turtle shell’s levitation had one explanation—

As Yun Yao moved, it hovered, always pointing one direction.

It was pulling its bearer.

“It can guide us!?” Ding Xiao exclaimed. “No spiritual energy, and it works—what treasure is this, Uncle-Master?”

“Just a fortune-telling turtle shell,” Yun Yao said. “Mostly used for card luck before. Didn’t expect it to shine in this creepy realm.”

Ding Xiao, curious, wanted to ask who used such a powerful tool for cards but hesitated. Yun Yao’s playful tone carried a deep sadness, like mourning a lost friend.

She shifted topics carefully. “Is it accurate?”

“Great for cards. For the Dragon Heart Scale…” Yun Yao blinked innocently. “No idea.”

“Then we’re following it…?”

“I’d rather not, but I waited for you all,” she said, scanning them. “Problem is, you didn’t bring a flying turtle shell.”

“…”

“Don’t sulk. That’s why I said let fate decide. Maybe it’s picked us a prime burial spot.”

“……?”

The disciples’ pleading eyes turned to Mu Hanyuan, the saintly figure.
His lashes swept, a lingering smile in his eyes.
Ding Xiao couldn’t hold back. “…Hanyuan, she’s burying you too, and you’re smiling?”

Yun Yao turned. “Don’t stir trouble—I said I’m burying *them*—”

Mu Hanyuan, smiling, cut her off softly. “Let her bury me.”

“?”
The others: “???”

—

By the turtle shell’s guidance, on the second evening, Yun Yao’s group crossed half the city to its northern end.
Before them stood a palace, abandoned for countless years.

Weeds reached their knees, moss climbed broken jade pillars, and carved dragons bore cracks. Between ruins, the palace gates stood shut, their gilded hue dulled, red lacquer peeling.

Beyond the desolate street, the bustling market thrived.
Yet this once-grand palace stood cold, forgotten for millennia, isolated in the royal city’s corner.

Before the gates, their iron exposed beneath peeling lacquer, Ding Xiao and the others hesitated.

“Uncle-Master,” Ding Xiao hid behind her, “this place looks deserted. Could it… be haunted?”

“I passed here yesterday and never saw this palace. Something’s off, right?”

Another disciple nodded. “Compared to the lively market, this is too weird.”

“…”

Yun Yao glanced at the oblivious disciples, not revealing that the market’s “liveliness” was the real horror—skeletons.
She calmly pushed Ding Xiao, nearly clinging to her, aside. “In Dragon-Serving City, if I had to pick a burial spot, I’d choose this palace, not that market.”

She stepped forward.

But a shadow fell across her path.

She paused, looking up.
Mu Hanyuan.

His white robe blocked her, his lotus crown steady, inky hair like clouds. At this distance, the silver-threaded dragon-claw patterns on his sleeves were clear.

“What?” she asked, tilting her head.

Blood-red threads slipped silently from his sleeve, coiling cautiously onto her red dress, vanishing as if never there.
His clear voice rang in her ears alone.
*‘Let me handle it, Master.’*

Without thinking: *‘With me here, what’s there for you to handle? Be good, move aside.’*

“…”

Mu Hanyuan stood firm, his gaze gentle but edged with rare sharpness. *‘Master’s seclusion failed, and you’re injured. What happened at Hidden Dragon Mountain won’t happen again.’*

She froze, realizing he meant her leading them into danger that night, nearly not escaping. *‘That wasn’t your fault. I didn’t expect nightmare beasts…’*

Her hand rose to pat his wrist but was caught midair—

*‘I’ve offended, please forgive me, Master.’*

Yun Yao: “?”
Why did that sound familiar?

Before she reacted, her bell chimed, and the turtle shell fell into Mu Hanyuan’s palm.

“!” Her face changed, lunging to grab it.

But with her spiritual energy sealed and no immortal arts, she couldn’t stop Mu Hanyuan, who wielded the threads.

His white robe vanished before her.
The next moment, at the peeling gates, he reappeared, offering the turtle shell forward—

Faint golden lights flickered within it.

The cracked dragon carvings on the jade pillars trembled, their coiled bodies rising, as if alive.

“My clan’s blood…”

A bell-like voice, ancient and vast, echoed in their ears.
The dragon’s sigh carried wistful regret.
“You seek the Dragon Heart Scale?”

Yun Yao seized the moment, grabbing Mu Hanyuan’s wrist under his sleeve, and spoke firmly, “Yes. Who are you, Senior, and why trap us here?”

“No senior, merely a remnant soul… The Dragon Heart Scale you seek isn’t with me.”

Her expression chilled. “Then where?”

The dragon’s whiskers flared, its head straining toward the shut gates, as if bound.
“Only in that illusion can you find the world’s sole Dragon Heart Scale.”

“…Illusion? With one day left, how’s there time?”

“A millennium in the illusion is a moment outside.”

Yun Yao frowned, then relaxed. “So, enter the illusion, retrieve the scale, and we can leave?”

The dragon nodded. “Yes, but the illusion has a limit—not all can enter.”

She looked at Mu Hanyuan.
On his saintly, emotionless face, she saw, for the first time in ages, true emotion beneath the frost.

—Unnoticed, he’d gripped her wrist back, tight as iron, his veins stark against his pale fingers, sharp with resolve.

His voice was cold, a first. “Yun Yaojiu.”

Behind them, Ding Xiao panicked. “Uncle-Master, listen to Hanyuan…”

“Mu Hanyuan,” Yun Yao’s words were clear, echoing outside the gates, “you dare defy your master?”

“—”

Ding Xiao’s words stopped.
The group stood thunderstruck.

Mu Hanyuan’s eyes wavered, torn between darkness and light.

“…What’s the fight?”
In the heavy silence, the dragon yawned. “Forgot to mention, the illusion requires one man and one woman to activate.”

Yun Yao turned. “?”

Before she could meet its eyes, her vision darkened.
The dragon’s voice trailed off.

“Just you two, then? Off you go.”

Her soul felt wrenched away.
As the voice faded, her consciousness plunged into darkness.

—

Awakening, Yun Yao was jostled awake.
Blinding red surrounded her, the “ground” beneath swaying.

Instinctively, she tore off the covering, seeing a small space.

A sedan?

Uncertain, she checked her hand—a delicate woman’s, not hers. Lifting the curtain, she froze.

—The grand dragon palace.

Unlike the decayed ruin, its gates now gleamed blood-red, gilded brightly. The jade pillars, free of moss, bore pristine dragon carvings, radiant as jade.
Armored guards stood vigilant.

Yun Yao gaped. “What’s this situa—”

Before “-tion” left her lips, a girl in ornate palace attire appeared, her jewelry clinking, face beaming with excitement—

“Princess, we’ve reached Dragon City! Look, the wedding procession awaits outside!”

Yun Yao: “…?”
Yun Yao: “?????”