If the Deep Spring Holds Twin Fish, Part 3

“It seems you’ve already noticed?”

In the night, the low, like voice seemed to laugh, its trailing notes tinged with a vicious delight.

Mu Hanyuan raised his hand, pressing his chest.
He closed his eyes briefly.

No one could see it—except Yun Yao, who had glimpsed it once. At this moment, he sensed a dagger that “didn’t exist” piercing his heart.

It gleamed like condensed starlight, ethereal as a soul’s essence.

Since leaving Buried Dragon Valley, it had been there upon waking.

“In the illusion, that dagger was your doing,” Mu Hanyuan said softly. “It wasn’t a dragon-scale dagger.”

“So what if you know? Going to tattle?”

Mu Hanyuan stood, sleeves lowered, the frost in his brow fading. His voice was gentle and profound. “A mere ghost, unable even to manifest, hiding in shadows and speaking only to me. What right do you have to be known?”

“—”

The night surged across the city.
In the distance, under the moon, the forest roared, its light extinguished. The clear moon hanging in the sky was swallowed by roiling dark clouds, like demonic flames devouring it, as a fierce wind rose.
Night market passersby scrambled in panic.

Beneath the tree, amid flickering shadows, only Mu Hanyuan could hear the violent, frenzied voice lurking in the dark:

“If I’m a ghost, how much better are you?”

With the vicious words, a string-like sound of slaughter rang in the void—
In an instant, his sea of consciousness screamed with a thousand swords and wailed with countless ghosts.

The demonic voice, hoarse and laughing like bleeding tears, continued: “If not for me, you are me! What right do you have…?”

The voice cut off.

As if some accumulated power had burned out, the faint star-like glow at Mu Hanyuan’s chest scattered like embers.

Like the voice in his ear, it faded like a tide, as if it had never existed.

The wind stopped.
The clear moon broke through the clouds.

Around him, the bustling night market flowed on.

Mu Hanyuan stood still, brows furrowed, his finger hooking the jade zither pendant hanging from his waistband.
He held it in his palm.

…He couldn’t have misheard. That was the sound of Mercy for Life’s zither.

[If not for me, you are me!]

The demonic voice stirred his eyes into a fleeting darkness, black flames igniting from the base of his lotus crown.

“Mu Hanyuan.”

“—”

A clear, crystalline call snapped him from his sinking thoughts.

Mu Hanyuan looked up sharply.

A few yards away, on the wooden staircase before the teahouse, the red-clad girl leaned lazily against the railing, gazing at him.
Her features were as delicate as orchids.

After a pause, she raised her hand, beckoning him with a finger.

“…”

Mu Hanyuan steadied himself, lowered his sleeves, and walked over, stopping below the staircase, half a head shorter than her.
Her beckoning fingertip hovered near his ink-dark hair.

“Master.”

The lotus crown tilted slightly, his ethereal face lifting to meet her gaze, unwavering.

Yun Yao hesitated, propping her chin with one hand, leaning over the railing. “Does your lotus crown change color?”
Her fingertip brushed it lightly.

As if by illusion, the crown trembled.

Yun Yao: “?”

“…”

Mu Hanyuan met her gaze.
In the flickering lamplight, his emotions were hard to discern.

Yun Yao felt his gaze linger on her face before finally shifting away.

“Master,” he said, a hint of helplessness in his voice, “the lotus crown can’t be touched.”

“Why? Like your Mercy for Life zither, off-limits to others?” Yun Yao muttered.

“…It’s different.”

“How so?”
Propping her chin, Yun Yao waited for an answer, her hand tiring. Impatiently, she poked the cool silver lotus crown again. “I. Will. Touch. It.”

“…”

Mu Hanyuan sensed something.
Frowning slightly, he climbed the staircase, stopping one step below her, still two inches taller.
In the lamplight, he noticed the faint flush on her face and found it hard to believe. “Master, you’ve been drinking again?”

“What do you mean again—I haven’t,” Yun Yao frowned sternly. “It’s water, sweet tea water.”

The red-clad girl pointed back. “This teahouse’s specialty!”

Mu Hanyuan followed her finger, his gaze lifting.

The sign “Welcome Winehouse” hung boldly above her head, red paint on wood, glaringly obvious.

Mu Hanyuan sighed softly, his eyes lowering, a faint smile in his voice.
“There’s a teahouse ahead. Shall I guide Master there?”

“No way,” Yun Yao refused without thinking, shaking her head. “I like this teahouse’s sweet tea water. It’s delicious.”

“Master.”

“…Can’t walk, won’t change.” Unable to withstand his soul-searching gaze, the red-clad girl tilted her head defiantly, wrapping her arms around a nearby wooden pillar.

Mu Hanyuan stepped up the final stair between them.

Yun Yao hesitated, looking up.

Her disciple, far taller than her, stood mere inches away.

Wary, she asked, “What are you doing?”

“Forgive this disciple’s offense, Master.”

“?”

The world spun—
When Yun Yao’s dizzy, drunken mind cleared slightly, she was on Mu Hanyuan’s back.
They walked through the night market’s crowd.

Vendors’ calls, children’s laughter, haggling voices… the mortal world was a grand display of fireworks—sound, color, shape, and taste enveloping them, inescapable.

Yun Yao didn’t want to escape. She’d spent too long in the cold, empty Sitian Palace and Tianxuan Peak. She loved the mortal world’s vibrant, even mundane, splendor.

She loved…

The red-clad girl on his back quieted briefly.
Mu Hanyuan heard the rustle of fabric, then felt a warm breath against his neck.
His steps halted abruptly.

Unaware, Yun Yao sniffed near his neck for a while, then lifted her head, puzzled. “What incense do you use in your room?”

“…Standard issue for Qianmen inner disciples.”

“Really?” Not noticing the hoarseness in his voice, Yun Yao muttered hesitantly, “Why does it feel like your scent is different from theirs…?”

Mu Hanyuan resumed walking, his voice faint, dissolving into the night.
“Who else’s scent has Master smelled?”

“Hm… forgot,” Yun Yao pondered without result, not troubling herself. “Maybe I haven’t. No wonder it feels different.”

“…”

Mu Hanyuan’s lips curved silently.

Yun Yao rested on his shoulder, nestling against his neck, watching the winehouse fade into the distance, her eyes heavy. “Why couldn’t we stay there?”

“Master’s tolerance is poor, yet you love drinking. When drunk, you’re capable of anything,” Mu Hanyuan said softly, gentle as a dream in clouds. “Tonight, we meet Liaowu in the city. Master can’t be too drunk.”

“Right, got it,” the red-clad girl struggled to stay conscious. “Gotta… keep Qianmen’s face… before that bald donkey.”

Mu Hanyuan chuckled lightly. “You don’t like Master Liaowu?”

“Don’t like him! Bald donkey!”

“Why?”
He’d meant to ask why, if she disliked him, she tried to abduct him to marry. But asking risked taking advantage of her state, and if she didn’t want to discuss the past, he wouldn’t force her.

Silence lingered behind him.

Just as he prepared to change the topic, he felt her stir, her breath brushing his ear like a feather.
“I… remembered tonight, hearing a storyteller in the winehouse.”

Mu Hanyuan fell silent.

The red-clad girl laughed softly on his shoulder. “The storyteller told a monk’s tale, but it reminded me of another.”
She tilted her head, close to him, unaware. “Shall I tell you?”

After a moment, Mu Hanyuan heard his own voice, hoarse in the night.
“…Alright.”

Good that it drowned in the bustling crowd, hiding the emotions brimming within.

“Once, there was a high mountain with a small sect. In it lived a wooden disciple who only knew sword practice, reading, and cultivation. One day, her master said her practice was too rigid, needing vitality, and sent her down the mountain to train. Not far from the mountain, she met a charming young noble.”
Yun Yao sighed softly.
“Later, they traveled the world together, upholding justice, facing life and death. The wooden disciple bloomed, her heart stirring for the noble. When she finally mustered the courage to confess, she learned he was Fantian Temple’s chosen reincarnated Buddha, raised in the mortal world to train, to enter and then transcend it. Having achieved great success, he cut off worldly ties and was welcomed back to Fantian Temple to formally take the Buddha’s seat.”

Mu Hanyuan lowered his eyes, his long lashes veiling his clear, jade-like gaze, hiding his emotions.

Yun Yao didn’t notice, hearing his soft question: “She went to abduct him?”

“Hm, the abduction was years later, and it wasn’t him she wanted.”

Mu Hanyuan froze, realizing something. He stopped, slightly turning his head.
His dark hair swayed in the night.

Unaware, Yun Yao continued, “That wooden disciple was in the East Sea Immortal Mountain when she heard, far from Fantian Temple in the far west, eighty thousand miles away. She’d just fought a corrupted phoenix among the sea demon remnants. Despite her injuries, she burned her inner strength, rushing thousands of miles to Fantian Temple…”

Her voice paused, then she laughed coldly after a few breaths. “But she was too late. Outside the temple gates, she saw the noble shave his head, ordained as a monk, bound to the ancient Buddha’s lamp, never to touch the mortal world again.”

Mu Hanyuan listened in silence for a long time.
“Did she return to the mountain?”

Yun Yao drifted, lost. “She did… heartbroken, the wooden disciple returned, but she was too wooden to share her pain. Her junior siblings couldn’t tell. From then, she secluded herself for a century, becoming Qianmen’s Seven Heroes’ third member. That day, she discarded her past, renaming herself Xiu Xin.”

“…”

Xiu Xin.
Qianmen’s Seven Heroes’ Third Senior Sister, rumored to be rigid, even carving her hairpin into a square.
Rumors were indeed unreliable.

Mu Hanyuan spotted the teahouse ahead, the night market thinning.
As he walked, he said gently, “At least she told you, so by then, her heart had let go.”

“Let go? She let go—she even let go of her life. What couldn’t she release?”
Yun Yao buried her face in his shoulder, her voice hoarse. “Do you know when she told me? Four hundred years ago, after the fiercest battle of the immortal-demon war, when Eldest Brother and Second Sister died. Third Sister secluded herself one night, then told me she’d decided to guard Twin Realms Mountain.”

A faint, choking sound escaped from the hair pressed against his neck.

“…”

Mu Hanyuan’s throat tightened, but he didn’t look back.
He reached the teahouse, climbing the stairs step by step.

“She went to die. Twin Realms Mountain’s Abyss of Heaven’s End is too deep—how many lives could fill it? It’s insatiable… I didn’t want her to go.”
“I always thought Third Sister didn’t like me. She was silent, rarely spoke to me. That night, she spoke the most, telling me so many stories… I wish I’d never heard them, wish she’d never spoken to me.”

But she did.

Unable to stop her with tears, Yun Yao went to Fantian Temple that night, snapping a peach branch to knock on the gates, breaking through the Twelve Heavenly Arhat Gates, intending to drag the Red Dust Buddha back to marry her sister.
She was young, her thoughts naive, believing if she brought him back, her sister wouldn’t leave.
But her sister would leave, and the Buddha couldn’t be taken.

That day, the demon monk’s face was compassionate, his smile serene, the auspicious mole red as blood, yet he gently refused her.

He said his century-long vow wasn’t fulfilled, and he’d die in Fantian Temple.

Yun Yao was Qianmen’s Yun Yao, the youngest of the Seven Heroes then. In Fantian Temple, she couldn’t force someone to their death.
When she returned to the sect, Xiu Xin was gone.
She’d left for Twin Realms Mountain.

“You know,” her voice trembled with a bitter laugh, soaking his robes, “she never came back.”

“…”

As Yun Yao’s final words fell, Mu Hanyuan carried her into the teahouse.

No matter how many died or how long passed, the mortal world blazed with lively fireworks. Stepping into it, vibrant voices washed away the night’s chill clinging to their robes.

The first floor was for tea, the upper floors for lodging. The storytelling session had ended, leaving few guests. Mu Hanyuan passed tables littered with fruit peels, reaching the counter.
“Welcome, sir! Dining or staying?” the innkeeper began.

His bright smile faltered upon seeing Mu Hanyuan’s extraordinary, ethereal face.

“This immortal master… surnamed Mu?” the innkeeper asked cautiously, stepping around the counter.

Mortals had countless odd names for cultivators. Mu Hanyuan, having led disciples down the mountain often, was unfazed.
But…

“Hm, you’re that famous?” A tousled head popped up behind him, hair a mess, the red-clad girl oblivious in her drunkenness. “Even a passerby knows you… not bad, not bad. You’ve got your master’s world-renowned flair.”

Yun Yao patted his shoulder approvingly, clearly forgetting what her own “renown” entailed.

Under the innkeeper’s shocked gaze, Mu Hanyuan, somewhat helplessly, pressed down her restless hand.

“My apologies, one moment.”
Nodding slightly to the innkeeper, he turned, guiding Yun Yao to a dim corner of the hall.
The lamplight was faint, falling on an unused wooden table. He wiped the bench and wall with a spell, then set the red-clad girl down, letting her lean against the spotless corner.

“Master, have some tea to sober up. I’ll take you upstairs to rest after.”

Yun Yao, propping her chin, nodded dazedly.

Mu Hanyuan returned to the counter.

The innkeeper, still watching them, quickly averted his gaze. “No misunderstanding, immortal master. I don’t know you two. An ascetic came earlier, saying a celestial-looking guest named Mu, his companion, would arrive later. He paid for the rooms…”

Two valuable spirit pearls were placed on the counter by slender fingers.
Mu Hanyuan said gently, “Two rooms.”

“Yes, yes! We’ll arrange the best rooms for you both—” the innkeeper replied, grinning.

“Two rooms,” Mu Hanyuan paused. “One for the monk, and one more will do.”

“…Huh?”

The innkeeper glanced at the corner.
There, the girl leaned on the table, her piercing gaze fixed unblinkingly on the ethereal figure’s back.
The innkeeper seemed to understand something.

“You two together…”

Before he could finish, a tall figure blocked his view.

Mu Hanyuan lowered his eyes, his expression cool but his tone mild. “My master’s had some wine and is a bit drunk. I must stay in her room to care for her tonight.”

“Mas…ter?”
The innkeeper was confused again.

But the ethereal figure seemed to have little patience left. After answering, he turned, heading straight to the corner.

Mu Hanyuan stopped before Yun Yao, crouching to her level.

Testing the tea with the back of his hand, he frowned slightly. “Won’t you drink some tea?”

“…”
Yun Yao didn’t speak, her gaze still fixed on him, subtly strange.

“What’s wrong?” Mu Hanyuan finally looked up, asking.

After a long pause, Yun Yao’s voice drifted, her clear eyes clouded with drunkenness. “I had a dream where I did something terrible to you.”

“What did you do?”
Mu Hanyuan lowered his head, brushing dirt from her boots.

Yun Yao’s cheeks flushed, her gaze shifting guiltily. “Something… you can imagine, really terrible.”

“…?”
His fingers paused on her boot, and he looked up at her.

Yun Yao glanced at him fleetingly, then turned away.

Though their eyes met only a moment, Mu Hanyuan understood something. He froze, lowering his hand.
His long lashes veiled his emotions, the silver lotus crown dim in the faint light.

Finally, Yun Yao couldn’t wait, her breath catching as she asked hoarsely, “If I really did something like that to you…”

Mu Hanyuan was about to speak.

But, fueled by drunkenness, the red-clad girl asked with a resentful murmur, “Would you, for that, want to… kill me?”

“—?”
Mu Hanyuan’s brow furrowed sharply.