The World’s Seasons Cycle in Reincarnation, Part 3

“…Master.”

“—”

“!”

Beneath the flowering tree outside Yun Yao’s cave mansion, Mu Hanyuan’s clear voice broke the silence abruptly.
His eyes remained closed.

At that moment, Yun Yao, who had rushed forward, and Chen Jianxue before him froze in unison, their movements halted.

Chen Jianxue, especially, was caught off guard. She hurriedly withdrew her hand from Mu Hanyuan’s eye corner, standing in near panic. Then, as if remembering something, she turned, flustered, and offered Yun Yao a sword salute. “Disciple Chen Jianxue greets Martial Aunt.”

“…”

The dark red in Yun Yao’s eyes hadn’t faded. Her sidelong glance brushed over the faint blush on Chen Jianxue’s cheeks, her lips curving faintly.
But her gaze settled firmly on Mu Hanyuan.
The revered Lord Hanyuan, known for his upright nobility, rose from the tree’s shade. His aura was slightly heavier than usual, suggesting his injuries hadn’t fully healed.

Yun Yao’s eyes shimmered, her voice soft with a smile. “You were awake just now?”

“…!”

Before Mu Hanyuan could respond, Chen Jianxue’s face flushed deeper. She clenched her fingers, looking at Yun Yao with a mix of alarm and embarrassment, like a disciple caught misbehaving by an elder.
Yet, in that moment, as she truly saw the legendary Martial Aunt who’d upheld Qianmen’s reputation for three hundred years, Chen Jianxue froze.

She knew Qianmen’s Seven Heroes entered the Golden Core realm young, their appearances fixed at seventeen or eighteen.
But unlike the elders who carried themselves with authoritative dignity, this Martial Aunt’s demeanor was lively, almost youthful, her playful gaze tinged with something… unsettling.

Before Chen Jianxue could discern the unease in Yun Yao’s eyes, Mu Hanyuan’s cold voice cut through. “Jianxue, don’t stare rudely.”

“…Yes, Senior Brother.”
Chen Jianxue lowered her head sheepishly.

“Three hundred years apart, and I didn’t realize Lord Hanyuan had grown so… protective of his junior sister?” Yun Yao stepped forward unabashedly, her vibrant red skirt billowing in the mountain breeze, its color reflecting faintly on Mu Hanyuan’s white robe.

Mu Hanyuan’s brow furrowed slightly, his dark eyes dimming, silently watching her.

In that silence, a breeze stirred under the tree.
Strands of Mu Hanyuan’s ink-dark hair tangled across his ornate white robe. Before they could cause more disarray, Yun Yao raised her hand to press them down—not to tidy them, but to wrap a strand around her finger, twirling it twice before him.

The dark hair entwined with her slender fingers, provocative and alluring.

“—”

Mu Hanyuan’s gaze darkened. As Chen Jianxue glanced up, he turned sharply, shielding Yun Yao’s slight figure and her scandalous act behind him.
“Master.”

He lifted his shadowed eyes, meeting Yun Yao’s triumphant smile. Her lips, painted as if with flower juice, parted slightly, her brazen spiritual transmission drifting into his ears.

“What are you afraid of? Or do you have something to hide?”

As her words sank in, her right hand, entwined with his hair, rose, her delicate fingers poised to press against his chest.

“…”

The last trace of darkness fell in his eyes. Mu Hanyuan closed them briefly, his voice hoarse. “Chen Jianxue.”

“Senior Brother.” She lowered her head, responding promptly.

“Go to Fengtian Peak and report this journey’s events to the sect leader on my behalf.”

Chen Jianxue paused, looking up. “And you, Senior Brother?”
From her angle, only his back was visible. The lively red-skirted Martial Aunt, who should’ve been under the tree’s shade, was completely hidden by his figure, as if shielded entirely—her presence undetectable, not even a glimpse of her skirt. Chen Jianxue felt an inexplicable unease.

“…”

Yun Yao’s palm finally pressed against his chest, right over his heart. His lowered gaze met hers, stormy and dark.

Her hand, like her, was beautiful. Slender yet strong, like snow-dusted plum branches, lovely yet unyielding. Perhaps from wielding a sword, her knuckles were slightly more defined, but not jarring—rather, they carried a faint, captivating red.
Even after so long, he vividly recalled that night, entering her cave mansion to light incense and pour tea, only to be pulled into the curtains by that hand.
Every frame, every breath, was etched like knife cuts in his mind, tormenting him day and night, in dreams and out, haunting him.
If he—

Yun Yao’s wrist, pressed against his chest, was seized by Mu Hanyuan.
His fingers bore bulging veins, like distant mountains or lurking beasts, his aura tinged with an uncharacteristic malice, unlike his usual gentle elegance.

The grip on her wrist slowly loosened. He looked at her, speaking to Jianxue.
“I’ll pay respects to Master, then return to my peak to heal.”

Though still uneasy, Chen Jianxue, in the presence of an elder, didn’t dare overstep. She could only comply. “Yes… Martial Aunt, I take my leave.”

“…”

Moments later, the wind stilled, the clouds cleared.
Before Yun Yao’s cave mansion on Tianxuan Peak, only master and disciple remained, facing each other under the tree, her wrist still in his grasp.

“So afraid your little junior sister would see?” Yun Yao smiled lightly. “Such effort, even pretending to sleep just to let her tenderly brush your hair… Lord Hanyuan, you’ve worked hard.”

Mu Hanyuan’s fingers tightened briefly on her wrist. “I’ve thought about the master-disciple bond. I was a demon you saved. Whether you never trusted me or used me, it’s what I deserve.”
As for the three hundred years he’d seen it as their unique bond—that was his foolish wish.

“I’d do anything for Master,” he slowly released her wrist, “except matters of romance.”

The dark red in Yun Yao’s eyes shimmered. Instead of loosening the hair wrapped around her finger, she twirled it tighter.
As if she hadn’t heard, she tilted her head, teasing. “Hm? Was this the strand she touched? It looks rather unsightly now. Shall I break it for you?”

“Master.”

“…”

Yun Yao lazily lifted her eyes, glancing at him faintly. “Am I deaf, needing you to call me like that? Or do you think, with my soul adrift, you can summon something back?”

Seeing his reflection so clearly in her eyes, Mu Hanyuan finally lowered his hand, closing his eyes briefly.
It was his delusion.
He’d tested her a thousand times that night, knowing the master-disciple bond she’d forged in his soul couldn’t err, couldn’t be replaced by anyone but her.
It was his wishful thinking.

When he spoke again, his clear voice carried a rare hoarseness.

“Is Master so determined?”
His eyes darkened with emotion. “You, who upheld a grand legacy for three hundred years, would ruin your name and let it shatter for a fleeting moment of passion?”

“Legacy?” Yun Yao suddenly laughed. “What’s a legacy worth, if it’s just a handful of dust?”

Like the seven graves she’d buried behind her cave mansion.
Who in the world, besides her, remembered them?

Hearing her, Mu Hanyuan’s brow sharpened like a blade, cold and fierce. “But Master has the potential to ascend. Why let yourself be defiled?”

“—”

Yun Yao’s smile froze.

Ascension.
She hadn’t not considered it.

Though no one in Qianyuan had ascended for ages, with both immortal and demonic realms claiming the realm was cursed by the demonic seed’s prophecy, its Heavenly Gate sealed, cultivators doomed to perish without hope—she, in her fiery youth, hadn’t dreamed of striking that gate with her sword, witnessing the gathering of immortal clouds and the descent of a heavenly ladder?

What a pity.

Her essence was spent, her hopes gone.
She had only the time before her death calamity to use.

As for Qianmen, built by her master and seniors, she’d upheld it alone for three hundred years. She was tired—it was time to pass it to someone worthy of a grand era.

When she died, she’d be the dust piling the tower beneath his feet.
That way, her life’s legacy wouldn’t be wasted.

Her smile burned brighter. Seeing Mu Hanyuan didn’t retreat, she leaned forward, pressing against his chest. “What if I don’t want to ascend? What’s wrong with being a demon?”

“—!”

Mu Hanyuan stepped back, narrowly dodging her brushing fingers.
The strand of hair was mercilessly cut by his finger’s blade, floating free from her grasp.

Yun Yao stared at the severed strand, blood-red flames curling in her eyes. She asked softly, “She can touch you, but I can’t?”

His fingers clenched under his sleeve. “…You’re different.”

“Different? How?” Yun Yao’s eyes flashed. “Oh, I see.”
Her fingers spun in the air, then clenched tight.

Petals under the tree wove into a thread, surging toward Mu Hanyuan, binding his sleeves and pinning him in place.

“Kneel.” Her smile turned icy.
The petal threads yanked the tall figure to the ground.
Whether too slow or unwilling, Mu Hanyuan bent one knee, kneeling amid the petals before her.

Her red skirt approached.

Yun Yao stepped forward, deliberately treading on his white robe’s hem, staining it dark.
She bent slightly, lifting his sharp jaw. “Different because she’s your beloved junior sister, and I’m just a master you forgot for three hundred years?”

“—”

Silent until now, Mu Hanyuan suddenly looked up at her words.
His gaze was cold and piercing, yet he knelt, his aura intimidating. Suppressing his emotions, the red at his eye corners startled Yun Yao, teetering on possession’s edge, making her instinctively release his jaw.

She’d said something wrong.

Snapping back, her fury flared, the demonic intent in her eyes intensifying.
She grasped his slender neck, pressing lightly, leaving faint marks on his pale skin. “What, was I wrong?”

“…”

A long, dead silence.
Mu Hanyuan finally spoke, his voice hoarse. “No, Master isn’t wrong.”

“?”

“Jianxue and I have shared mutual affection for a century. I planned to ask Master and the sect leader, after your emergence, to officiate our bonding ceremony. Please, Master, grant your disciple this wish and preserve your honor, lest you err further.”

“—Bonding?”

Yun Yao’s brow burned, spiritual energy clashing within, the pain like demonic flames shattering her consciousness.
She endured, staring at the silver lotus crown on his head.
“The Qianyuan Daoist, bonding with another?”

His long lashes veiled his emotions, his voice desolate. “If my wish is granted, I’d accept the punishment of losing my crown.”

“Marrying her is your heart’s desire?”

“…”

He closed his eyes.
“Yes.”

“…Good, very good.”

After a long silence, Yun Yao laughed softly.
Her fingers, gripping his neck, slowly loosened, tracing the marks gently, as if cherishing or teetering on deranged calm.
Her breath drew closer.

Mu Hanyuan knelt, eyes lowered, like emotionless ice, oblivious.

“I’ll grant it. Before I die, I’ll ensure you and your beloved junior sister have your bonding ceremony.”

His gaze lifted, cold and reproachful.

Before he could discern if her words were sincere or mocking, her palm covered his eyes.
Light vanished, leaving only faint glimmers.

In the darkness, he felt her vivid presence press into his embrace, her head resting lazily on his shoulder, arms circling his waist.

The wind stirred, shadows shifted—

Curtains rose and fell.
They stood within her cave mansion.

“I didn’t want to drag you down with me.”

Yun Yao, covering his eyes, gazed at his silver lotus crown.

But in her eyes, that pristine crown revealed a vision unseen by others—
Countless blood-red threads coiled around its base, seeking to entwine it.

Like her, a sign of possession.

The difference was, he could be saved—if she absorbed all the demonic threads in his body.

As for her, with the demonic seed sealed in her brow, unless unleashed to destroy the world, even the greatest immortals couldn’t save her.
One death was enough.

Besides, he had his beloved junior sister.

In the end, the one to leave in scorn and hatred, without even someone to light incense at her grave, would be her alone.

Yun Yao’s lips curved mockingly, whether from the demonic seed or her waning life, she felt cold.
The chill burrowed into her heart.

In the candlelit cave mansion, their shadows overlapped behind the curtains.

The red skirt pressed closer to the white robe, her voice trembling. “It’s so cold here, Mu Hanyuan.”

“…”

His fingers, resting at her skirt’s edge, trembled but didn’t rise.

Yun Yao waited, receiving not a word, as if embracing ice—though warmer than ice.

Whether angered by herself or him, she hooked his neck, climbing his robe like a boneless snake until her lips reached his ear.

“Didn’t you ask what you are to me?”

The demonic seed silently seeped out. She tilted her jaw, biting hard into his neck.
His blood stained her lips.

—

At that moment, the blood-red threads on the lotus crown trembled slowly, as if drawn by some force.

Licking her lips, Yun Yao heard his suppressed groan and laughed softly.

“Lord Hanyuan… be my cauldron, will you?”