If the Deep Spring Holds Twin Fish, Part 2

Looking back on that moment later, Yun Yao felt it should have been a beautiful scene, brimming with the deep bond between master and disciple.
If not for that jarring donkey bray.

“Hee-haw—”

The sound snapped Yun Yao back to reality. She stumbled half a step, looking toward the source.

From the forest came the sight—glazed vajra, demon monk, and…
a donkey.

The bizarre trio left Yun Yao dazed, unsure if her eyes or her mind had betrayed her.

Only when the demon monk, with a face more radiant than any female disciple’s, leisurely led the donkey to her did she confirm—
It was the monk’s mind that was faulty.

“Don’t tell me this is your lost mount from the back mountain?” Yun Yao pointed at the donkey, expressionless.

“Amitabha,” the monk clasped his hands. “All beings are equal, Benefactor Yun. You shouldn’t hold disdain.”

“If this were some immortal donkey raised by Fantian Temple, I’d show it respect. But this is clearly an ordinary beast, isn’t it? I suspect you stole it from Fuyu Palace’s kitchen. It’s thousands of miles to Fantian Temple—this thing can’t ride clouds. Are the three of us supposed to take turns carrying it?”

The monk smiled, silent.

Yun Yao paused. “…You actually took it from the kitchen?”

“Back mountain,” the monk corrected patiently. “Not stolen—rescued.”

Yun Yao: “…Fuyu Palace may not have many good people, but they treated you well. How do you call yourself a master when you walk off with their donkey?”

The monk twirled his prayer beads, benevolent and kind. “This donkey and I are fated.”

Yun Yao: “…”

Fine, fine, fine.
Bald monk and donkey—a perfect match.
She understood now why mortals called them such.

Thus, three people and one donkey set off westward.

Unable to endure the incessant “hee-haw” trailing behind, Yun Yao, under the pretense of “scouting the village ahead for Master,” dragged Mu Hanyuan forward.

Hidden Dragon Mountain lay in the immortal realm’s southwest. To reach Fantian Temple on Tianyuan Mountain in the Western Realm, they had to travel northwest, passing through jungles, wild mountains, and finally a desert.
Rest stops were scarce.
One unavoidable town sat in a mountain pass, surrounded by treacherous peaks and mazelike paths. Without endless detours, passing through the town was the only way.
Considering the monk’s “fated” donkey, Yun Yao chose it as their first night’s stop.

When Yun Yao and Mu Hanyuan entered the town, twilight had just brushed the willow branches by the gate.

The night market was already bustling, filled with merchants and escorts traveling southwest, with the occasional cultivator mixed in the crowd.
But this remote pass, aside from the recent deadly stir at Hidden Dragon Mountain, rarely saw cultivators. Most sects, like Qianmen, had suffered losses and returned home. Those lingering were mostly loose cultivators.

Yun Yao had meant to cast a concealment spell on Mu Hanyuan’s appearance, but it failed.

“Your constitution is strange,” Yun Yao said, puzzled, glancing at him as they entered. “I thought it was the evil ghost’s influence, but that’s gone. Why does the concealment spell still have no effect?”

Mu Hanyuan considered, lifting his sleeve slightly. Blood-red threads faintly wove around his slender, jade-white hand. “Perhaps because of these?”

“…!”
Yun Yao pounced, grabbing his wrist to pull it down.
Steadying herself, she turned, half-amused, half-exasperated, to the oblivious Lord Hanyuan. “I told you, you can’t show this in public. If someone recognizes you and sees this, who knows what rumors they’ll spread!”

Mu Hanyuan gazed at her sideways, eyes lowered.

Perhaps it was the twilight or the lamplight’s mischief, but Yun Yao sensed a hint of intimate amusement in his expression.

“Only Master can see it. Others cannot.”

“?” Yun Yao’s attention shifted instantly. She lowered her head, turning his hand over. “That magical?”

“…”
Mu Hanyuan’s gaze flickered, his hand stiffening in her grip. But he didn’t pull away, letting her toy with his palm, her fingers teasing the blood-red threads like swaying water grasses.

The threads were vivid yet seemed to shift to intangible at his will. Yun Yao’s fingers passed through them, feeling nothing.

Frowning slightly, she leaned closer.
These were remnants of the Flame of Finality lodged in Mu Hanyuan’s body. What was their nature, and could they harm him…?

As Yun Yao studied, two women with baskets passed by, brushing past the crowd.

After several glances, their hushed voices carried over.

“Look at that girl, out in public, clinging to her husband, touching and tugging.”
“Oh my, shameless!”
“But didn’t you see? Her husband’s stunning—I’ve never seen such an ethereal figure in our town. Could he be some sect’s immortal?”
“No way. What immortal would let a girl manhandle him like that? I bet he’s someone she snatched to keep at home for her amusement.”
“Tch, what a divine life…”

Yun Yao: “?”

Her hand froze, lifting from Mu Hanyuan’s sleeve.
After a solemn moment, she turned to him. “Who’s the girl they’re talking about?”

Mu Hanyuan, ever compliant, smoothed the wrinkles she’d left on his sleeve, answering gently, “It shouldn’t be Master. Someone else.”

“I don’t think so,” Yun Yao nodded as they walked. “I’m so virtuous—how could I do something as beastly as snatching a husband for amusement…?”

Her voice trailed off.

—She suddenly recalled the former “Yun Yao’s” deeds.
Imprisoning her disciple in a cave for pleasure, cough, and worse—perhaps even more beastly.

Noticing the silence, Mu Hanyuan paused, his long eyes lifting slightly.

“Could it be, Master intended to abduct the Red Dust Buddha back to the mountain for that purpose?”

“…” Yun Yao: “?”
She was only guilty about her predecessor—where was he going with this?!

“Don’t—don’t spout nonsense! Your master is not that kind of person!” Yun Yao’s eyes darted, spotting a stall nearby. She hurried over. “Oh, what’s that? Let’s check it out, looks interesting… hm?”

She stopped at the stall.

It was an art stall, but the painting before her depicted a ferocious, horned, black-smoke-wreathed creature—neither demon nor ghost.

How hadn’t this shoddy work gotten the stall smashed?

Yun Yao’s mouth twitched as she stood before it. The stall owner rose eagerly. “Miss, want this house-guarding painting? It’s powerful—slays demons, wards off evil!”

Yun Yao blinked. “House-guarding? Is this Zhong Kui?”

“Oh no, Zhong Kui doesn’t bother with Qianyuan Realm. For slaying demons here, it’s none other than Qianmen’s famed Little Uncle-Grandmaster!”

Yun Yao: “…”
Yun Yao: “?”

Incredulously eyeing the painting, then touching her face, her voice wavered. “This is… Yun Yao?”

“Exactly! You’ve got an eye, miss!”

Yun Yao: “…”

Chanting “don’t smash” thrice in her mind, she turned from the stall, bearing the humiliation.

The owner, undeterred, called out, “Miss, not fond of Qianmen’s Little Uncle-Grandmaster? No worries, I’ve got paintings of Qianmen’s Seven Heroes! Take a look?”

Yun Yao clenched her fists.
“…I’m thirsty. I’ll wait at the teahouse ahead.”

Without waiting for Mu Hanyuan, she fled, face covered.

“Hey, miss—miss?”
The owner watched the red-clad girl vanish into the crowd and night, lamenting a lost sale. Then he noticed the lotus-crowned youth in ornate robes still at the stall.
Hope sparked. “Sir, anything catch your eye?”

Mu Hanyuan lifted his sleeve, a radiant spirit pearl in his palm. “Yun Yao’s painting—I’ll take it.”

“! Oh, yes, yes! All yours!”
The owner, grinning ear to ear, bent to gather the paintings, inwardly scoffing at this rich sect young master using such a precious pearl for cheap art.

As he gleefully tucked the pearl away, hiding it in his robes, he saw the youth pause a few steps away.

His ethereal face turned slightly, twilight shading his brows.

Thinking he might regret it, the owner clutched the pearl tighter. “Any further requests, sir?”

“Do you have paintings of the other six Qianmen Seven Heroes?”

“Yes, yes,” the owner said eagerly. “Need them? I can fetch them!”

“Among them, is there one of Fifth Senior Brother, Mu Jiutian?”

The owner froze, straightening.
He hesitated, lowering his voice. “That… I really don’t have.”

“None at all.”

Just like in Tianqi Pavilion.

The owner, missing the weight of “none,” smiled apologetically. “They say that immortal died centuries ago in a demon ambush at Twin Realms Mountain, frozen in a blizzard, torn by beasts, leaving no body. It’s deemed unlucky, and with no portrait passed down, no one paints him.”

“I see,” Mu Hanyuan nodded. “Thank you.”

“No trouble, sir—come back anytime!”

“…”

Holding the crude paintings, Mu Hanyuan seemed oblivious to the awed or lingering gazes around him.
He was no longer the frail boy who followed Yun Yao to Vermilion Bird City years ago.
Now, if he wished, he could pass these people thousands of times without their notice.
He simply didn’t care to.

What the world thought never mattered to him.
Only one person did.

So when Master asked today, he spoke, yet held back.

In those three hundred years, he entered Tianqi Pavilion repeatedly, imagining her alone there day and night.
He had one thought he never shared—
Of Qianmen’s Seven Heroes, besides her own, only one’s portrait was missing.

Seeing things stirs thoughts of people.

The one absent—
Did you not have time to paint him, or after his death, could you not bear to look at his image?

“…Master.”

Mu Hanyuan paused under a tree outside the teahouse.
He looked up at the red-clad girl lounging lazily by the railing on the second floor, her silhouette framed by lamplight and moonlight.

Alone in the mortal world, she made the mundane he despised seem lovely and dear.

No matter. It wasn’t important.
As long as she was here.

“…”

Though he received no response, Mu Hanyuan’s eyes softened, the golden mole at his eye’s corner glinting faintly.
He took a step, his aura stirring.

Suddenly, a sinister chuckle rang in his ear.

“Truly unimportant?” The demonic voice, like a蛊虫, came from both abyss and inches away. “Even if the one she wants to save, see, and keep… was never you?”

“—”

Mu Hanyuan’s figure halted.
After a breath or two, he lowered his eyes, gazing at the eerie, faintly glowing star-point piercing his heart, frost cloaking his cool brows.

“…So you’ve appeared after all.”