Once Beheld Peach Blossoms Illuminating the Jade Saddle, Part 1

Inside Mingde Hall, the elders split into two factions, their arguments raging like a storm.

Yun Yao propped her cheek, listening to the commotion with boredom, gradually piecing things together.
Qianmen was a small sect plagued by fierce internal strife, its elder council divided: one faction opposed her, the other defended her. The opposition, led by Elder Chu Tianchen with Elder Lu’s support, was backed by a chorus of agreement.

The hall’s loudest voices were theirs—

“Why not? Has Little Martial Aunt shown Mu Hanyuan even a shred of a master’s duty?”
“Exactly! First, no guidance or teachings—brought to the sect and then neglected, left to face sickness and calamity alone. Second, no elder’s care—abandoned without a word before her seclusion!”
“Such a master-disciple bond is a burden to his cultivation!”
“Three hundred years ago, our most glorious yet troublemaking Little Martial Aunt left more than just the sword ‘Naihe’ to the Alliance of Immortals. If her title as master isn’t revoked, the Alliance will never entrust the Daoist position to Mu Hanyuan!”

The elders quarreled fervently, restrained only by Little Martial Aunt’s seniority, or they might have pointed at her secluded Tianxuan Peak and cursed outright.

Their words, fervent and righteous, painted Yun Yao as a heinous villain, deserving of death, her influence lingering disastrously, delaying Qianmen’s future Daoist by staying in seclusion for three hundred years—
If they weren’t cursing her, Yun Yao might have clapped for their passion.

The red-robed girl leaned lazily by the table, her eyelids drooping as if she’d nap any moment.

Across the table, Mu Hanyuan, blind yet poised, sat upright, his eyes lowered, transmitting softly.
“What is Master thinking?”

“…I’m wondering if Qianmen’s decline these three hundred years came from infighting,” the red-robed girl yawned lazily.
“If so, my sins as a troublemaker must be grave.”

Silence fell by the table.

Yun Yao dozed a few more breaths, then sat up, perhaps struck by conscience, glancing innocently at him.
“Are you asking about their proposal? What’s your take?”
“I defer to Master’s will.”
“Oh?”

Yun Yao’s lips curled, the blood-red butterfly on her forehead glinting brighter.
“They make sense. As a master, I shouldn’t hinder my disciple’s future, right?”

The silver lotus crown seemed to tilt upward, then settled back.

Yun Yao yawned again.
“But it seems this master-disciple bond isn’t just about us—it’s a game within the sect.”

“…”

After a moment, Mu Hanyuan’s gentle voice replied, “Indeed. Let the Sect Leader decide.”

—This nearly cost Chen Qingmu his life.

Quelling the uproar, Chen Qingmu’s beard seemed to whiten with stress, but he managed to postpone the matter until after the Tianyin Sect issue was resolved.

“As for Tianyin Sect’s request for aid with the miasma covering Canglong Mountain, what do you all think?”
The old man looked at the crowd, his face etched with worry.

Yun Yao idly spun her teacup, showing no sympathy for her hapless martial nephew, offering no support.

But as the cup turned once, she heard a faint rustle of robes beside her—

Perhaps due to his blindness, Mu Hanyuan rose with his slender, jade-like fingers loosely curled, lightly bracing the table’s edge.
Even the dignified ancient wood seemed deepened by the untouched purity of his pale hands.

No worldly jade could compare.

“…”

Yun Yao’s fingers paused, her eyelids lifting slightly—

Light through the window cast shadows from his broad-robed shoulders, trailing over his sleeves, loosely tied at his waist by a jade belt.
He stood, upright as a mountain.

“With the demonic seed prophecy nearing, nothing can be taken lightly. Hanyuan is willing to lead sect disciples to investigate Canglong Mountain.”

His voice was low yet clear, undimmed by blindness, resonant as jade striking a plate.

Yun Yao couldn’t help but raise her gaze, tilting her face to study the pristine silver lotus crown, lofty as clouds.
She caught the faint mole under his feathered lashes, gilded by light.

“…”

The hall buzzed with uneven voices.

Amid the inexplicably irritating chatter, Yun Yao slowly narrowed her eyes, as if trying to pierce through this refined, towering figure, to strip away the dazzling exterior that captivated the world and hung high like the moon, to see what snowy heart lay within a saint.

An incense stick later.
Mingde Hall, side chamber.

“—Me, go? What’s this got to do with me?”

Yun Yao froze in her chair, regretting helping the old man up—she should’ve let him bow fully.

Chen Qingmu smiled apologetically.
“Little Martial Aunt, forgive me, I had no choice.”

Yun Yao huffed.
“A mere miasma-covered mountain, and you’re sending me to lead? Are there no elders left?”

Chen Qingmu looked troubled.
“Those I trust are tied up with sect duties or the upcoming competition. They’re stretched thin—any more, and we’ll have trouble.”

Yun Yao sneered.
“So I’m the idle one fresh from seclusion, free to use, huh?”
“Hardly, Aunt. Your leadership is the disciples’ great fortune.”
“…Spare me.”

Unable to stand Chen Qingmu’s bearded, fawning smile, Yun Yao frowned and looked away.

Dispelling a miasma shouldn’t take long or delay resolving the bond issue. Besides, it was her lone disciple who took on the task—refusing outright might embarrass the Sect Leader.

Yun Yao rubbed her forehead, thinking, then spoke.
“Tell me, how many elders still follow you? More than those backing Chu Tianchen?”

Chen Qingmu smiled sheepishly, ever the pushover.

Yun Yao sighed.
“These three hundred years, your seat as Sect Leader hasn’t been secure.”

Chen Qingmu’s old face flushed faintly.
“No matter. From now on, I’ve got you to back me, Aunt.”

Yun Yao: “…”
She laughed in exasperation, rising from the table.
“Mu Jiutian really took a disciple just like him.”

Her words made both pause.

What Chen Qingmu thought in his stunned moment, Yun Yao didn’t know. She only pressed her brow, her mind hazy.

…Strange.
She barely recalled her fifth martial brother, Mu Jiutian, from the original’s fragmented memories, his face a blur. Why had she spoken so familiarly, as if she’d said it countless times?
A pang of inexplicable sorrow gripped her heart.

Yun Yao closed her eyes, reopening them with her usual lazy, irreverent demeanor.
“Let’s be clear: I’m not what I was. Rely on Mu Hanyuan, not me. If the expedition goes awry, don’t come to me.”

“With you leading, I’m at ease,” Chen Qingmu returned to his genial self.
He hesitated, then asked, “How’s it been with Brother Hanyuan since your emergence?”

Yun Yao didn’t answer, only asking, “Why?”

“My daughter, Jianxue—you saw her outside the hall. She’ll join Hanyuan on this expedition. That child’s always been deep-minded, even I can’t read her fully,” Chen Qingmu’s fatherly concern showed.
“If possible, could you probe Hanyuan’s feelings for her, so I can plan ahead?”

Yun Yao’s expression turned odd.
“You’re not asking me to play matchmaker, are you?”

Chen Qingmu hurried, “Of course not! Just a question. Hanyuan has no parents, and you’re both his master and elder…”

His ramblings went in one ear and out the other.
Her guilt was so overwhelming, it hollowed her out—his words barely stuck.

If he knew what the original did to Mu Hanyuan, “abusing authority” wouldn’t suffice—it’d be “immoral” or “beastly” at least.

The master-disciple bond question was best asked elsewhere.

Chen Qingmu looked up from his chatter to see Yun Yao’s soul adrift.
“Little Martial Aunt?”

“…Oh,” Yun Yao snapped back.
“I can’t ask that. Hanyuan might not listen to me.”

Chen Qingmu was taken aback.
“That shouldn’t be. Before your seclusion…”

Guilt drowned out his words, and Yun Yao cut in.
“You saw in the hall today—Chu Tianchen and the others pushed to end our bond, and he showed no stance.”

Chen Qingmu understood.
“It’s been a long time. When you brought him to the sect, he was just a teen. Three hundred years later, your sudden return might take adjusting.”

“You know it’s been three hundred years. Whatever bond we had is long worn out.”

Chen Qingmu opened his mouth to speak.

Yun Yao, tired of his nagging, stood.
“Rest assured, as long as he’s my disciple, I’ll do my duty. But with that Thunder Punishment… if Hanyuan has no feelings for Jianxue, don’t push it. As his master, even without affection, I won’t let him suffer such unjust pain.”

“Yes, yes, thank you, Aunt.”

Yun Yao strode out with an air of authority, then paused at the door, turning back blankly.
“When do we leave for this trip?”

“Two days hence, at dawn.”

In Mingde Hall’s main chamber, Mu Hanyuan rose, adjusting his robe.
“I’ll await the elders’ assigned disciples here for departure.”

The elders rose, even those critical of the Sect Leader smiling and courteous to Mu Hanyuan.
“This trip will trouble Lord Hanyuan again.”
“Haha, he’s led every sect expedition these years, a model for our realm. He’s used to it.”
“…”

Familiar praises, heard countless times, yet Mu Hanyuan showed neither impatience nor pride.
Despite his blindness, his manners were flawless, humbly bidding the elders farewell.

He turned, heading out.

“…A moon-like grace.”
“With such a son, Qianmen shall rise.”
“If not for his future as Qianyuan Daoist, his qualifications and progress would’ve made him an elder long ago.”
“Hmph, speaking of the Daoist succession, how long will the Sect Leader delay this nominal master-disciple bond?”
“Little Martial Aunt is holding him back—”

The hall’s voices halted.

The figure about to cross the threshold, in light robes, paused.
All eyes turned, the chatter fading.

Chu Tianchen spoke first.
“Lord Hanyuan, is there something else?”

“Yes.”

At the hall’s door, sunlight blazed.
Mu Hanyuan opened his eyes, seeing only blurred chaos, yet his calm voice remained serene.
“One word to clarify my resolve to the elders.”

He steadied himself at the door, lifting his robe, stepping over.
His figure vanished like mist.

“Without my master, there would be no Qianmen today, nor me beneath it.”

The wind scattered the clouds.
The next moment, Mu Hanyuan appeared in his cave abode.

Unlike his calm in Mingde Hall, he stumbled, bracing the wall, slowly kneeling to meditate.

In the depths of his eyes, a burning red flame threatened to pierce the gray haze, struggling to break free, only to be suppressed with each breath.
Blood seeped from his lips.

Until night fell and dawn rose outside the sect, a night passed silently.

When Mu Hanyuan opened his eyes again, they were unfocused, the last trace of scarlet fading into the silver-gray void, carrying a demonic whisper only he could hear, vanishing—

[This is your fate—you cannot escape!]

“…”

The cave abode was deathly silent.
Moments later, Mu Hanyuan rose, adjusting his crown and robe, his sightless eyes calm and cold.

“My fate is not yours.”

The night before the Canglong Mountain expedition, Yun Yao first set foot in her lone disciple’s cave abode—
Not far from her solitary Tianxuan Peak, within the sect.
A lone mountain, lone peak, lone estate.

Such grandeur wasn’t from the near-begging Qianmen but the Alliance of Immortals.

Yun Yao heard this was the “Cloud Immortal Mountain,” gifted by the Alliance when Mu Hanyuan was named the Daoist successor.

“The realm shifts with the heart—truly a Cloud Immortal Mountain.”
Yun Yao climbed the final path to the peak, admiring the scenery.

“If Master likes it, I’ll move your abode here before we depart.”

“No way,” Yun Yao hurriedly refused, hearing his casual tone, as if offering a trinket.
“Fresh from seclusion, if I took my dear disciple’s abode, I’d be cursed for eternity.”

“…” Mu Hanyuan paused, turning slightly.
“Dear disciple?”

Yun Yao blinked, realizing she’d blurted her playful nickname.

“Uh, you don’t like it?”

“As Master wishes, I don’t mind.”

Luckily, such trifles barely registered with this immortal moon. His brief surprise faded as his lashes lowered, vanishing from his ethereal face.

They reached the peak.
As the illusion barrier lifted, Yun Yao was stunned by the true scenery—blanketing the peak, shrouding the abode, were trees like clouds, snow-draped spring mountains.

“Are these… trees?” Yun Yao reached out, plucking a branch laden with “snow.”

Mu Hanyuan’s just-lifted lashes paused, slowly lowering.
“…April Snow.”

“What?” Yun Yao, delighted, shook the branch, watching the snow fall and adorn the spring grass like flowers.

“The tree’s name—April Snow,” Mu Hanyuan’s voice was soft, hoarse.

A sliver of light entered his eyes, tracing toward her.
Her form was blurred.

“The name sounds familiar… but who’d have thought, with your temperament, you’d be so attached to something?”
The red-robed woman laughed carelessly.
“You and it—one Tianshan snow, one April Snow. A perfect match.”

“…”

Mu Hanyuan, ever restrained, gentle, and courteous, felt emotion stir for the second time in a century.
Even if she was his master, his elder, worthy of respect, he didn’t want to answer.
She forgot too easily, despite his reminder.

—
Three hundred years ago.
Demon Realm, by the Broken Sky Abyss, under April Snow.

A woman in red, her boots bloodied, stood unyielding. Facing another life-or-death dawn, her eyes shone like stars.
Smiling drunkenly at the kneeling, sword-like boy, her red robes stirred.
She pointed to the cliff beside her.

[You shall be surnamed Mu—Mu Hanyuan.]

The wind scattered flowers, blanketing her shoulders like snow.
Her heart trembled, unattainable.

…
The master-disciple bond.
Since that night, Mu Hanyuan revered her as his elder, his deity, with unwavering devotion, never dreaming of severance.

After touring her disciple’s abode, Yun Yao recalled her purpose.

“For the Canglong Mountain trip, wear this.”
Yun Yao flipped her wrist, revealing a silver-white ribbon glowing with artifact light.

“My thanks for Master’s gift.”
Mu Hanyuan raised his hand, letting her place the cool ribbon in his palm, tilting his head slightly, puzzled.

“I found it in my Qiankun bag and refined it overnight. It should suit. Until your eyes heal, it’ll let you sense outlines without touch.”

Perhaps it was her imagination, but the icy glint in Mu Hanyuan’s eyes seemed to soften, the mole under his lashes shimmering like a sunset over mountains.
He seemed… happy.

“Thank you, Master.”
“…”

Yun Yao didn’t mention the other reason.

Some were the cultivation world’s heavenly moon, untouchable to disciples, but in the mortal world, they’d wreak havoc.
Best to cover him up.

—
If she knew that days later, this ribbon would bind Mu Hanyuan’s wrists to her bed, she’d have eaten it now.