I Don’t Believe the World Holds White-Haired Ones, Part 1

The deadly sword light came silently, its angle vicious and cunning, demonic patterns surging along the blade like waves of a blood sea—
Clearly aimed to take Yun Yao’s life.

Using some secret technique to conceal their presence, the assailant’s strike revealed no trace of aura, unnoticed even by Yun Yao.

Whoosh.

The sword pierced the red-clad girl’s back, its demonic patterns flaring, bloodlight unstoppable, as if to tear her frail frame apart, draining all her vital energy toward the blade.

Beneath the black mist mask, the assailant’s lips curled into a cruel smirk.

But the smirk lasted less than three breaths.
The figure froze—no spiritual energy flowed back through the blood sword. Yet, they had drained all the vital energy of this Qianmen disciple named Yun Yaojiu. How could it be…?

The black mist mask snapped up, gazing at the “red-clad girl” with her back to them.

The moment they realized, the figure pierced by the sword shattered like a broken mirror, dissolving into countless light specks before their eyes, scattering across the floor.

…A puppet illusion!

The assailant’s face twisted beneath the mask. They drew back, transforming into a black shadow under the moonlight, darting toward the window like lightning.

But as they crossed the moonlit window, a cold sword light slashed from a dark corner, its furious hum cutting through the black shadow. With a pained scream, the shadow reverted to its true form, crashing through half a ruined wall and the remaining furniture next door.
Boom—
Another wave of dust and debris.

Moments later.

“Impossible… how could you… how could you sense…?”

In the venomous glare of the figure struggling to rise, clutching their chest, Yun Yao sauntered out from the dim corner, wooden sword in hand, languid.

“Maybe because I’m young, with good ears,” Yun Yao drawled, approaching. “Unlike you—near the peak of Unity Realm, probably ancient. Sneaking up at your age? Have you no shame?”

She stopped before the open space.

By moonlight, she leisurely sized up the blood-and-demon-patterned longsword the figure used to prop themselves up, and the eerie black mist cloaking their face.

“…The immortal realm’s rumors are true. You’ve mastered the true essence of Naihe Swordsmanship,” the figure rasped, still propped in the ruins.

Yun Yao’s earlier strike seemed casual but carried at least half the intent of Naihe Swordsmanship, draining most of her current realm’s spiritual energy.
Without such a full-force blow, she couldn’t have reduced them to a dying dog, unable to even cast another escape spell.

Yun Yao squatted before them, meeting their gaze.
“A young Qianmen disciple, not even a year in, respects elders, protects animals, is kind, and speaks gently—yet you want to kill me. Why? Did I dig up your ancestors’ graves?”

“Heh…”
The figure sneered, coughing hoarsely, ignoring her probing.
The black mist not only hid their face but altered their voice, each word a chilling blend of countless voices—men, women, old, young—shifting with every syllable, unsettling to hear.

Yun Yao stared, asking abruptly, “Demon clan?”

“…”
The figure’s gaze flickered but quickly turned away.

Yun Yao studied them, then shook her head. “No. You timed your attack when Mu Hanyuan was playing the Soul-Calming Melody, ensuring he was distracted, and used a secret technique to hide your presence, exploiting the melody to evade my notice. Such knowledge of immortal techniques, such vicious cunning—you’re not like the bloodthirsty demon clan. More like…”

The red-clad girl leaned closer, her wooden sword glowing faintly, illuminating her face with a cold, immortal-like clarity.
Swish.

Her sword swung, carrying the force of a collapsing mountain, stopping just at the figure’s throat. The wooden blade gleamed sharper than black iron, freezing the figure like stone.

Yun Yao tilted her head, her playful laziness gone, replaced by icy killing intent. “A dual cultivator of immortal and demonic paths?”

The figure stiffened. After a few breaths, they burst into harsh laughter. “Even in death, I won’t speak… Save your schemes!”

“No matter. I can guess.” Yun Yao tilted her sword. “This ‘mask’ on your face isn’t a spell—it’s condensed怨气, ever-shifting. I’d say you’ve countless lives on your hands…”
She paused, glancing at their blood-and-demon-patterned sword. “And they didn’t die pleasantly.”

Suppressed by her sword’s dull glow, the blood sword trembled.

“An ordinary sneak attack would use a spell to hide appearance, but you conceal everything—face, voice, aura, spiritual energy. I’ve read enough stories to know one thing,” Yun Yao said softly. “Only someone known, or who might be known, needs a mask to do evil. Right?”

“—”

The figure’s pupils constricted.
Simultaneously, their aura surged violently.

Yun Yao’s expression shifted. “Seriously, brother? One disagreement, and you want to blow up the city? There’s a bald donkey with the Reincarnation Eye upstairs—wait till he wakes to see if your next life’s parents are in this city before you act!”

“Shut up!”

The figure’s aura swelled like an overfilled vessel, ready to burst.

Yun Yao had no time to waste. Golden spiritual light poured from her, pressing against the figure, straining to contain their self-destruction within the room.
She flew backward, grabbing the monk’s robes—unconscious from sealing his soul—and transmitted to Mu Hanyuan, “He’s going to self-destruct. I’ll suppress it. Take the monk and go—”

Before she finished, another twist came.

By sheer instinct, as a chill gripped her back, Yun Yao dodged, rolling and scrambling to narrowly evade a sword slashing at her waist—

Whoosh!
The unmatched sword light cut like an invisible blade, slicing the entire second floor in half.

A cascade of black hair fell. Yun Yao had no time to mourn it.

The first attacker, faceless and half-dead, was now smoothly bisected, their upper and lower halves sliding apart.
Blood and blinding spiritual light sprayed—a prelude to a Unity Realm spiritual sea’s explosion.

Yun Yao bit her lip, slamming her hand to the ground.

In the darkness, the surging spiritual energy formed a barrier, rapidly collapsing around the blinding point—

Boom!!
A sharp, earth-shaking wail was contained to a single point. The building fell silent, but the sound exploded in Yun Yao’s sea of consciousness.

Blood poured from her lips, but she ignored it, tossing the monk’s robes backward.
With the second floor gone, he’d fall to the first, wherever he landed.

Her transmission chased Mu Hanyuan’s zither notes. “Take him to Fantian Temple. If you’re pursued and can’t protect both—”

Gripping her sword, she turned slowly, her voice resolute yet unusually gentle. “Don’t bother with him. Your life matters most. You must live.”

She finished.
After two breaths, the zither notes faded.

In her heart, Yun Yao silently apologized to Third Sister.

—After all, the bald donkey had outlived Third Sister by four hundred years; he’d had his time. She’d tried, but risking her own life was one thing—her disciple’s was another. Besides, if the monk hadn’t been ambushed by Yuyan, stepping into this trap, they wouldn’t be in such a mess.

Looking like a scheming demon monk, yet outschemed.

Yun Yao’s gaze swept over the second uninvited guest.
This one was worse—half their body cloaked in black mist from the waist up, revealing nothing. The mist writhed with countless grotesque faces, moaning, chilling to behold.

…Half-step Tribulation Realm.

Yun Yao sighed inwardly.

How, in three hundred years, had the immortal realm’s upright cultivators stagnated, while these shadowy demonic fiends sprouted with sky-high cultivation?

Thankfully, this fiend ignored them, letting Mu Hanyuan escape with the monk—
They were crouched, feigning concern, beside their halved “teammate.”

The first attacker, barely clinging to life, gasped faintly.

The second whispered something via transmission.
The dying one panted, “Thank… you…”

“Thank him for what? For slicing you in half? If you’re thanking anyone, shouldn’t it be me?” Yun Yao leaned against a pillar, casually taunting while gathering her dwindling spiritual energy.

She was stalling, but she spoke truth.

Had she not, to save the city, endured self-injury to contain the explosion within inches, the first attacker’s soul would’ve scattered entirely.

Neither paid her heed.
She caught the dying one’s final words: “The strength of ants… knock on Heaven’s Gate, open the Heavenly Path. We… die with honor!”

Yun Yao: “…”

What a guy.
Doing every evil, yet moved to tears by his own cause.

Before she could mock his unfulfilled death, his eyes closed, turning to ash in the black mist figure’s arms, carried away by the wind.

Yun Yao frowned, a deeper chill settling in.

“You killed my ally,” the black mist figure rose slowly. “Time to pay with your life.”

Yun Yao gripped her sword, smirking. “No need for courtesy. You two seem so in love—why don’t you go first?”

“…Sharp-tongued, but it won’t save you or your senior brother.” The figure gave a grin that barely seemed human. “Soon, I’ll chase down your Lord Hanyuan and kill him to join you on the road to the underworld. How’s that?”

Yun Yao’s gaze chilled. “I’d advise you not to seek your own death.”

“Seek death?” The figure laughed harshly. “Lord Hanyuan? A prodigy, yes, but meeting me in this cursed Qianyuan Continent, he’s doomed. Better I send him to reincarnate—his next life might hold more promise.”

“Who sends whom remains to be seen.”

“Hahaha, if you truly trusted him, why not keep him to help instead of sending him to flee with Liaowu?” The figure sneered. “You don’t even believe your own words!”

“…”

Yun Yao’s gathered spiritual energy wavered with those words.
She faltered, suddenly uncertain—

She did believe that in Qianyuan, even if everyone else died, Mu Hanyuan wouldn’t.

After all, in the stories, he nearly destroyed an entire world.

But why, then?
Knowing he likely wouldn’t die, why was she unwilling to gamble on that sliver of risk?

“Feeling heartbroken?” The figure jeered. “Lord Hanyuan’s reputation is undeserved, abandoning you to flee. Don’t worry—after I kill you, I’ll kill him too. You master and disciple won’t be lonely on the Yellow Springs road.”

“…Tch,” Yun Yao snapped back. “You’re such a saint.”

Before her words settled, a flash of vivid red sliced through the building’s darkened silence.

“…Naihe Swordsmanship.”
The figure raised their black-mist-and-demon-patterned sword, blocking her strike. Glaring, they unleashed ruthless, venomous sword moves and mist spells.
“You’re so young—how could you master it!”

In an instant, dozens of exchanges passed.

“The world of geniuses is beyond you,” Yun Yao taunted, seizing a moment to breathe.

But those who knew her would see how forced her bravado was—

With her cultivation suppressed after sealing the Flame of Finality, Naihe Swordsmanship was already a strain. After dealing with the first attacker and containing their explosion, she was exhausted and injured. Her gathered energy wasn’t enough to fill a gap.

“Genius? So what? Without breaking Heaven’s Gate, you’re all ants!”

Her words struck a nerve. The figure, unmoved by their ally’s death, erupted, black mist surging wildly, shrieking怨气 flooding Yun Yao’s senses.

Her face paled.
Such monstrous怨气… how many had they slaughtered?

“—”

Exhausted, Yun Yao could barely stand.
The black mist seemed to drain her breath and vitality, a cold, terrifying darkness swallowing her senses.

The Flame of Finality lay at her brow.

Unsealing it now, her soul might escape via her immortal sigil, but Qianyuan would perish—
Along with everything in and once of this world.

“Qianmen disciples have always been this foolish,” the figure sneered, sensing her defeat. “With your cultivation, if you hadn’t cared for the city’s lives and fled, you might’ve had a chance. Yet you chose to die here for mortals who’ll never know—who’ll thank you?”

“…”

Yun Yao leaned on her sword, kneeling on one knee.
After a long pause, she smirked. “That kind of saint isn’t me—it’s my senior brothers and sisters. I’m different.”

“What’s different? You’re still dying for these mortals, unknown and unthanked.”

“I didn’t save them. I’m just bearing my own responsibility.” Yun Yao looked up, blood staining her lips and chin. “This disaster came because of me, so I’ll see it through. Otherwise, causing trouble without cleaning it up—what’s the difference from a beast?”

The figure froze, then raged. “Foolish nonsense!”

The black mist surged closer, inches away.

Having said her piece, Yun Yao closed her eyes, somewhat at peace.

…Her own mess to clean.

The Flame of Finality? Dying with it would be unprecedented. She prayed the Eightfold Divine Sovereigns would shield her soul—even a wisp to return to the immortal realm would do.

Her trembling pupils flickered, her last spiritual energy reaching for the seal beneath her immortal sigil.

As she touched it, the building’s怨气 was torn apart, and a clear, stone-striking zither note rang in her ears.

Zheng—

The ancient zither wailed, its seven strings trembling.

Yun Yao’s eyes snapped open. A snow-white robe descended through the darkness, outshining the cold moonlight.

“…Master.”
The snow robe enveloped her vibrant red.
Dark hair cascaded, wrapping her in a faint, cool fragrance. “Sorry, I came a bit late.”

Her heart trembled as she bit her lip. “Why’d you come back—!”

Boom.

A tidal wave of spiritual pressure, laced with ferocious black mist, crashed into Mu Hanyuan’s back.

Yun Yao, shielded in his arms, shuddered, her words breaking.
“Mu Hanyuan…”

Before she finished, a kiss-like illusion brushed her forehead. “I said I’d never let Master face this alone again.”

She froze, looking up.

Mu Hanyuan straightened slowly.
In that moment, moonlight draped him in snow-white brilliance.

Through his eyes, into his soul’s sea, Yun Yao glimpsed two figures.

One white, snow atop a peak, cold as the moon.
One black, treading on wailing ghosts, demonic flames raging.

Outside them, the Mercy for Life zither trembled like a sheath. A black-and-white sword, no longer restrained, slowly drew from its body.