Mountains and Rivers Doubled, Seemingly No Path Forward, Part 4

Spurred by Ding Xiao’s frantic outcry, Yun Yao felt that if she arrived a moment later, Mu Hanyuan would be on the executioner’s block.

Yet, hurrying to the temporary palace’s grand hall, she hadn’t even reached the courtyard corridor when a wave of impassioned voices erupted from within, echoing across the palace, startling cranes atop the mountain to scatter far away.

“Nonsense!”
“Lord Hanyuan cultivates the zither, not the sword, and never kills—how could he have killed Wuyan?!”
“Everyone knows the origin of ‘Mercy for Life’—you can’t slander him!”
“This is defamation! The most shameful, absurd defamation!”
“Does Fuyu Palace think it rules the immortal realm alone? Does the Immortal Alliance now bear the surname Wen?!”
“Three hundred years ago, my sect’s disciples in Qishui Village of the Eastern Realm faced demonic calamity. If not for Lord Hanyuan’s team passing by and generously saving us, none of our thirty elders and disciples would have survived! If Fuyu Palace insists on framing him today, they make an enemy of my sect!”
“Three years ago, Lord Hanyuan saved my senior brother’s life! I stand with him!”
“Tianyin Sect stands with Lord Hanyuan!”
“…”

Yun Yao slowly halted behind the left corner of the hall, squinting leisurely.

Ding Xiao, not daring to overstep her senior’s position, stopped too, asking uneasily, “Uncle, why stop?”

“I’m pondering a question.”

“Hm? About who the killer is? Do you have an answer?”

“No,” Yun Yao’s expression grew grave. “I’m wondering why, despite sharing the same lineage, Mu Hanyuan is so well-liked, while back in my day, I was treated like a pariah in the immortal realm?”

Ding Xiao: “…”
Ding Xiao: “?”

Recalling the infamous… no, widely known rumors about Little Uncle-Grandmaster, Ding Xiao felt this wasn’t a question worth pondering.

But with three hundred times her courage, she wouldn’t dare speak so bluntly to Yun Yao’s face.

After all, an uncle is an uncle, but an ancestor is an ancestor.

So Ding Xiao buried her conscience, nodding fervently with conviction. “Exactly, how odd! They must have been jealous of your dazzling talent and unmatched grace back then!”

“Really?” Yun Yao turned, considering. “That makes sense.”

Ding Xiao: “…”

“…Uncle Yun?”
A hesitant female voice sounded behind.

Yun Yao turned to see Chen Jianxue approaching, alongside Li Wuhuan, the Spirit Transformation cultivator injured saving her in Hidden Dragon Mountain.

The two walked along the corridor bridge, their robes fluttering together in the wind—not intimately close, but far closer than typical cultivators.

These two were sticking together like shadows?

“Hearing disciples say Senior Brother… Lord Hanyuan faces Fuyu Palace’s accusations, I rushed over.” Chen Jianxue, clearly hurried, paused, clutching her chest to suppress a cough. “Uncle, what’s happening inside?”

“It’s fine. Most believe him.”

Chen Jianxue’s expression eased.
Perhaps relaxing, her suppressed cough surged. She turned aside, coughing low and rapid.

Yun Yao’s eyes flickered, about to raise a hand, but Li Wuhuan stepped forward, expertly grasping Chen Jianxue’s wrist, channeling spiritual energy gently into her meridians, soothing her lungs.
The technique’s practiced flow showed this wasn’t the first or second time.

Yun Yao silently glanced at Ding Xiao.

They communicated via divine sense.
Yun Yao asked, “Has your Senior Sister Jianxue ever been this close with anyone before?”
“Besides Lord Hanyuan, never,” Ding Xiao paused, adding cautiously, “Actually, not even with Lord Hanyuan.”
“Has Mu Hanyuan treated her congenital ailment?”
“During his travels, he brought back remedies for congenital defects, handed to the sect leader. But Senior Sister’s spiritual body is flawed, with a congenital void in her heart. Jiuxia Valley’s Medical Saint examined her years ago, saying it’s incurable unless she ascends.”
“That unlucky…”

Yun Yao had considered checking Chen Jianxue herself but, seeing their intimacy, refrained.

“You’ve said not to waste energy like this…” Chen Jianxue, recovering from her coughing, tried to pull away but couldn’t, her voice weak and helpless. “This is congenital, incurable. Wasting your spiritual energy only delays it briefly.”

“Then let it be wasted,” Li Wuhuan said casually, his fingers never leaving her wrist. “I cultivated it, so it’s mine to spend. Even if it only eases you for a moment, I find it well worth it.”

“…”
Chen Jianxue didn’t respond, but Yun Yao saw the faint blush beneath her hair.

Yun Yao raised an eyebrow.

While Mu Hanyuan risked life and death in Buried Dragon Valley, his little junior sister had been thoroughly charmed by this loose cultivator?

Li Wuhuan seemed to sense her gaze, not hiding it. He turned, smiling faintly. “Little Uncle, still prejudiced against me?”

Yun Yao squinted, smiling lightly. “Don’t act familiar. Do I know you?”

Li Wuhuan, unoffended, grinned charmingly. “My apologies, junior.”

Chen Jianxue glanced back with some concern, about to speak.

“Your sect raised a beautiful, fairy-like girl, and in just a few days out, a playboy loose cultivator sets his sights, trailing her closely,” Yun Yao said airily, tone neither heavy nor light. “—If it were you, would you have no objections?”

Li Wuhuan paused, then smiled.
His peach-blossom eyes sparkled mischievously. “Qianmen’s Little Uncle is right. I was too forward.”
He withdrew his fingers from Chen Jianxue’s wrist, saying, “It’s chilly outside. Worried for your senior brother? Go into the hall.”

“And you?” Chen Jianxue asked.

“Me? I’m fine. Loose cultivators are tough, built for wind and rain,” Li Wuhuan, with a face fit for a brothel’s top courtesan, spouted nonsense. “Besides, Little Uncle’s right—my following you harms your reputation. I’ll wait outside. Send a sword signal if you need me.”

“…”

His words, paired with those soulful eyes, softened even Ding Xiao, who tugged Yun Yao’s sleeve, whispering, “Uncle, this Li seems frivolous in speech but decent in character, truly fond of Senior Sister. Don’t make it hard for him.”

Chen Jianxue looked over, hesitant.

Yun Yao: “…”
How many naive, pure cabbages did Qianmen grow for these two to be so easily swayed?

But in matters of romance, interference only fuels the fire, and Yun Yao was too preoccupied to meddle.

Her only disciple was “on trial” inside.

No more words wasted, Yun Yao signaled Ding Xiao, bypassing the corner to the grand hall, where disciples from various sects gathered in threes and twos.
Outside, mostly ordinary disciples without access to the hall’s deliberations whispered about the commotion, keeping their voices low.

“Wait, this is the Immortal Alliance’s assembly—you can’t enter.” Two Fuyu Palace disciples blocked Yun Yao and Ding Xiao.

Ding Xiao stepped forward. “We’re Qianmen disciples. Lord Hanyuan is inside—why can’t we enter?”

The two exchanged glances. The closer one, stone-faced, said, “This is Fuyu Palace, hosting the Immortal Alliance’s assembly. We say you can’t enter, so you can’t. No questions—ow!”

His hand, pushing toward Ding Xiao, was deflected by an invisible spiritual force.
Clutching his wrist in pain, he glared at Yun Yao. “You dare strike? Do you know my master is Fuyu Palace’s fifth-generation elder—”

“I’m Mu Hanyuan’s junior sister, Yun Yaojiu. By sect hierarchy, your grandmaster would call me great-grandmother.”
Yun Yao lazily cut him off.
She couldn’t bring herself to say, “I’m Yun Yao’s disciple.”

The two paled, and the surrounding cultivators’ gazes turned odd, some stepping back as if she were demonic spawn.

…Was she some demon remnant to be so avoided?

Sensing Yun Yao’s puzzled frown, Ding Xiao leaned close, whispering, “Uncle, you don’t know—while you were… meditating these past days, Lord Hanyuan announced to the sects that breaking Buried Dragon Valley’s secret realm was your sole doing, not his.”

Yun Yao turned. “They believed him?”

“Not at first, but Xuangjian Sect’s Elder Lü, the leader we saved at Hidden Dragon Mountain’s temple, vouched for your peerless swordsmanship and heavenly cultivation, escaping countless nightmare beasts and defeating Wuyan unscathed, bearing the legacy of Little Uncle-Grandmaster!”

“…Well, thank him for me.”

With this backing, the Fuyu Palace disciples, weighing their options, dared not block further. Yun Yao and Ding Xiao entered the hall smoothly.

Though the entrance was tightly guarded, the immortal realm was vast, with countless sects. The Immortal Alliance alone included dozens. Beyond the four major sects, each had a leading elder at the forefront, disciples behind.
Smaller sects, without Spirit Transformation elders, crowded noisily at the hall’s entrance.

Blending into the crowd, Yun Yao glanced at the two Fuyu Palace masters at the head, sneering softly. “Such rigid hierarchy—one might mistake this for the demon realm’s palace, not the Immortal Alliance.”

Ding Xiao’s face changed, glancing around to ensure no one noticed, then whispered nervously, “Uncle, that remark… If you spoke as yourself, no one would dare refute, but now…”

Before she finished, a heavy hum from the hall’s head, laced with oppressive spiritual pressure, silenced the unrest.

Yun Yao’s gaze settled.

A middle-aged man in a lake-green robe, sporting a long beard and stern expression, spoke. “Fuyu Palace believes in reason! Vermilion Bird City’s young lord Wuyan’s body lies in the rear hall, bearing the unmistakable Naihe Sword Technique’s aura, unmatched in the world! It’s Qianmen’s Little Uncle-Grandmaster’s creation, with no second lineage in Qianyuan. You claim it’s unrelated to Lord Hanyuan—then explain the Naihe Sword aura on the body!”

“…”

Amid low murmurs, Ding Xiao rolled her eyes, whispering to Yun Yao, “Uncle, that’s Yuan Songqing, Ying Tianqi’s master, Fuyu Palace’s Seventh Palace Master.”

“Ying Tianqi?” Yun Yao blinked, confused. “Who?”

“You really don’t hold grudges,” Ding Xiao sighed. “The one Wu Fengming beat for insulting you. He’s unlucky—Fuyu Palace’s team to Hidden Dragon Mountain was led by two palace masters, including him. He’s likely bitter over Lord Hanyuan confronting Fuyu Palace for you, hence this targeting.”

Yun Yao nodded. “No wonder. Fuyu Palace was fawning over Mu Hanyuan before—why the sudden turn?”

“Exactly. If he doesn’t pin this on Lord Hanyuan, back at Fuyu Palace, the future Daozi’s master will have his head.”

“…”

Indeed, behind Yuan Songqing, Seventh Palace disciples chimed in, determined to pin Wuyan’s death or some grudge on Mu Hanyuan.
Yun Yao’s brow furrowed, glancing at Qianmen’s seats—aside from the four major sects, Qianmen was the only one seated prominently despite not being listed. Yet now, Qianmen disciples sat silent, as if oblivious to the accusations hurled at Mu Hanyuan in the hall’s center.

Hidden in the crowd, Yun Yao’s expression cooled.

Ding Xiao, despite her boldness, was keen at reading moods. Noticing Yun Yao’s gaze on Qianmen, she hesitated, then said directly, “Uncle, I forgot to mention—Brother Wu and the others are under Elder Lu’s watch. The Qianmen disciples here today are all under Elder Lu.”

“So?” Yun Yao’s voice was icy.

“Elder Lu and Yuan Songqing… have always been close.” Ding Xiao spoke softly, avoiding Yun Yao’s reaction.

After a few breaths, a clear, melodious laugh rang beside her, charming yet laced with a sword’s chilling menace.
“Good. I thought only Fuyu Palace was rotten to the core, but it seems…”

“Lord Hanyuan.”

A sharp call cut through Yun Yao’s words.
Yuan Songqing, Seventh Palace Master, glared with near-aggressive intent. “I don’t believe others, but you, Lord Hanyuan, I’ve always admired. Why not speak yourself? If the Naihe Sword aura on Wuyan wasn’t yours, does that mean your master Yun Yao has emerged from seclusion?!”

“—”

The name, long forgotten yet thunderous, silenced the hall.

Yun Yao’s expression shifted, turning to Mu Hanyuan in the hall’s center.

His robes white as snow, his figure like jade—untouched by dust.

Yun Yao frowned. “Trouble.”

“What?” Ding Xiao turned, alarmed. “Trouble what?”

“…”

Yun Yao had no time to answer.

Nor did she need to.

The next moment, in the deathly silent hall, Mu Hanyuan’s cool, calm voice rang out. “This matter concerns neither Qianmen nor others.”

Ding Xiao’s face changed.
The crowd stared, stunned—his words implied he’d take the blame himself.

Mu Hanyuan lowered his eyes, saying faintly, “It was my doing—”

“Wuyan was wounded by me.”

A clear, crystalline female voice overpowered his, resounding in every ear.

The next instant, beside the refined figure in the hall, a vibrant red dress appeared, its hem falling over Mu Hanyuan’s snowy robes, like flowers on snow.

The red-clad girl spoke, glancing back, meeting the surging emotions in Mu Hanyuan’s deep eyes.

In a private transmission only they heard, Yun Yao huffed. “Playing the hero? I’m the master, you’re the disciple. What master hides behind her disciple?”

“…Yes.”

A smile bloomed like flowers in snow. Mu Hanyuan lowered his eyes, suppressing an uncontrollable lip curve, stepping back slowly.

Only then did the crowd snap back.
Seeing Mu Hanyuan about to confess, only to be interrupted, Yuan Songqing was most enraged. “Who are you to barge into the Immortal Alliance’s assembly?”

Yun Yao had confirmed before entering—the Buried Dragon Valley expedition cost many sects dearly, and most prominent figures had returned to their sects. At least for now, no old-timers from her seclusion days remained in the palace.
Facing only juniors, unafraid of recognition, she spun her tale boldly.

“I’m Yun Yaojiu, disciple of Yun Yao, junior sister to Lord Hanyuan,” Yun Yao paused, then grinned at Yuan Songqing’s darkening face, preempting him. “Oh, and perhaps the savior of those who survived Buried Dragon Valley?”

The crowd: “…”

Behind, Ding Xiao palmed her forehead, muttering through gritted teeth, “With Uncle’s mouth, hoping for Lord Hanyuan’s popularity? Being a pariah is already thanks to no one outfighting her…”

The “savior” label silenced the hall.
Elders from sects about to speak swallowed their words, coughing awkwardly.
After all, every sect had disciples who, thanks to Yun Yao, escaped that deadly valley.

—Except one.

Fuyu Palace, which only sent disciples to guard the valley’s entrance, never entering.

Yuan Songqing glared coldly. “I’ve heard of you—Sect Leader Chen took you as Yun Yao’s second disciple on her behalf. Setting aside whether the Immortal Alliance recognizes this status, you’ve been in Qianmen mere days. Yun Yao’s been in seclusion three hundred years—you likely haven’t even seen her portrait. How dare you claim to have learned the Naihe Sword Technique?!”

“…”

The crowd held their breath, watching Yun Yao, expecting a reasoned rebuttal or a faltering retreat.

But after a moment, the red-clad girl, as if unbothered, chatted with the snowy-robed, dark-haired youth beside her, ignoring Yuan Songqing entirely.

Yuan Songqing, furious, slammed the table. “Yun Yaojiu! I speak for Fuyu Palace, and you dare ignore me? Have you—”

“Palace Master Yuan.”
Before he finished, a frosty voice cut through the hall, like chilling snow sweeping over. The crowd’s divine senses went silent, as if the world stilled.
Higher-realm cultivators faintly heard a clear zither string’s hum.

“…”

Every Spirit Transformation cultivator and above showed varying degrees of shock.

Even at Qianmen’s seats, Elder Lu Changan, previously aloof, paused his teacup, turning in astonishment with the crowd toward the hall’s center.

A senior disciple behind whispered, shocked, “Master, Lord Hanyuan’s cultivation—”

Lu Changan’s glare silenced him.

Unnoticed, the snowy-robed, dark-haired figure had stepped before the red-clad girl.

The lotus crown gleamed with cold frost. For the first time in three hundred years, the Immortal Alliance saw Lord Hanyuan’s eyes so stern, his voice chilling. “Yun Yaojiu, appointed by my master, is Qianmen’s second-generation disciple. Even in Fuyu Palace or the Immortal Alliance, no one may berate her.”

“…”

Even when questioned earlier, Mu Hanyuan hadn’t wavered. Now, he was clearly angered.

After the zither’s hum, Yuan Songqing’s face changed, his gaze wavering between anger and wariness.
As his eyes darkened, seemingly ready for a desperate move, a short laugh sounded behind him.

“No need to anger, Lord Hanyuan. My junior brother meant no offense to your master or sister.”

A figure emerged behind Yuan Songqing—a short, rotund man, more like a wealthy mortal than a sect cultivator. His address revealed his identity—
Fuyu Palace’s other leading palace master, Duan Songyue of the Fifth Palace.

“Junior Brother, sit.”
Duan Songyue, round and smiling, patted the rigid Yuan Songqing. The lion-like Yuan became a pliant cat before him, retreating obediently.

The fat man turned, his face so fleshy his eyes nearly vanished. “Lord Hanyuan’s junior sister, Yun Yaojiu, yes? By hierarchy, I should call you Uncle.”

Yun Yao’s eyes flickered.
Compared to Yuan Songqing, this adaptable smiling tiger was more dangerous.

Duan Songyue continued, “Here’s the thing, Little Uncle. You’ve been in Qianmen mere days, claiming to have learned the Naihe Sword Technique. It’s not some common cabbage—if it were so easy to master, wouldn’t that be a joke?”

“…”

Yun Yao sneered inwardly. A clever retreat to advance.

After a silent moment, before Mu Hanyuan’s frosty expression deepened, Yun Yao turned, laughing lightly. “Palace Master Yuan, know why I didn’t answer you earlier?”

Yuan Songqing, stiff in his seat, sneered. “Guilty conscience?”

“Same reason I don’t answer your senior brother—one sentence,” Yun Yao blinked innocently. “How my master teaches her sword technique, when, and to whom—none of your damn business.”

“…”
“Yun! Yao! Jiu!”

Yuan Songqing leapt up, nearly crashing into the hall’s beams, as sects erupted in shock and chaos.

No one expected Qianmen’s Little Uncle-Grandmaster’s disciple, Lord Hanyuan’s sister, to be so… brazen.

“Her words are a bit crude.”

The voice came from Jiuxia Valley, one of the four major sects.
A child in the back row scribbled furiously, recording the hall’s events.
Jiuxia Valley’s practices were odd, and other sects were used to it.
Pausing at “damn,” the child tilted his head, nibbling his pen, asking a disciple beside him, “Brother Xiao, why does this scene feel familiar?”

The young man, dressed like a scholar with a cloth headwrap, twitched his mouth. “Perhaps because, per our valley’s records, Qianmen’s Little Uncle-Grandmaster Yun Yao had this… unique style three hundred years ago.”
His memory was sharp, vaguely recalling similar bold phrases in her residence logs.

“Unique style?” The child blinked. “What style?”

“Not needing face… cough,” the brother caught himself, adopting a gentlemanly air. “Unconventional.”

“I see.”
The child nodded, scribbling eagerly. “Then I must learn from Senior Yun!”

“?” The brother turned. “!?”

In the hall, Duan Songyue clearly hadn’t expected the young red-clad girl to be so unrestrained.

After a stunned moment, he smiled. “Yes, yes, prying into your sect’s affairs was abrupt. I apologize for my junior brother. However—”
His tone shifted, his slit-like eyes glinting coldly despite his smile, making it eerie. “This matter is grave. Buried Dragon Valley’s losses were heavy, with a sinister mastermind, possibly tied to the demon seed’s world-ending prophecy. Wuyan was a key witness, and his death affects centuries of peace between immortal and demon realms. If Uncle wishes to clear Lord Hanyuan, words alone won’t suffice—you need convincing evidence.”

“…”

Hearing Duan Songyue mention the immortal-demon conflict, the crowd’s expressions varied.
After reflection, many nodded.

Yun Yao smiled. “At Hidden Dragon Mountain’s outset, I fought Wuyan before the mountain god temple, wounding but not killing him, then stayed to duel him alone. Xuangjian Sect’s elders and disciples can confirm.”

An Xuangjian elder rose. “Indeed. Senior… cough, Senior’s righteousness, we’re deeply grateful.”
Calling a seventeen-year-old-looking girl “senior” was awkward; he saluted and sat quickly.

Yun Yao, unbothered, turned to Duan Songyue. “Satisfied?”

“This only proves you fought Wuyan, not that you left the Naihe Sword aura on him,” Duan Songyue’s smile grew colder. “Uncle, in Qianmen mere days, you claim to have mastered Naihe Sword Technique from Senior Yun Yao, even killing Wuyan—”

“Hey,” Yun Yao cut in, “don’t twist my words. I said I wounded Wuyan with Naihe Sword Technique, not killed him.”

“Wuyan’s body bears only Naihe Sword aura,” Duan Songyue paused. “Wound or kill, we can debate later. But that Naihe Sword Technique came from Yun Yao—who can prove you wield it?”

“—”

Meeting Duan Songyue’s barely restrained true emotions, Yun Yao’s gaze chilled.

She finally understood.
This wasn’t about Wuyan—Fuyu Palace, stunned by Naihe Sword Technique’s reappearance, suspected Yun Yao’s seclusion had failed. They aimed to force her out through her “disciple.”

In the hall’s eerie silence, the air seemed strung with a zither string, heavy with tension, ready to snap with one more push, collapsing heaven and earth.

At the final moment—

“Amitabha.”

A Buddhist chant, like mist from the Western Paradise, drifted in.
With the chant, the crowd turned in surprise.

At the hall’s entrance, gathered disciples parted, revealing a clear path.

Holding a glazed vajra in his left hand, twirling jade prayer beads in his right, the blood-robed monk Liaowu stepped through the mortal dust into the hall.
He walked unhurriedly to the center, stopping behind Yun Yao.
Smiling, his prayer beads turned, a swastika faintly flickering in his eyes.

“This humble monk will vouch for Benefactor Yun.”

“…”

The hall fell deathly silent.

Yun Yao sensed an unkind gaze.
Frowning, about to check if some Fuyu Palace fool was glaring, she met Mu Hanyuan’s cool, frosty eyes.

Yun Yao: …?