Old Joys Linger in Dreamlike Souls, Part 1

Being caught by Chen Jianxue was something Yun Yao hadn’t anticipated.

Only when Mu Hanyuan’s words landed, and the sound of hurried retreat faded behind her, did the hand pressing her neck finally loosen.
Her disheveled hair lifted as she raised her face from his embrace.

“Mu Hanyuan?” Yun Yao’s expression was odd. “Why hide me?”

At such a moment, shouldn’t he seize the chance to break ties with her, using Chen Jianxue’s presence and his inability to act against her to escape this “sea of suffering”?

“Master-disciple transgressions are not for a third party to know,” Mu Hanyuan said, eyes lowered, his tone faint.

“That’s why?” Yun Yao grew more puzzled by his thoughts. “The way you spoke, your little junior sister might never speak to you again.”

“Better than her being harmed by Master.”

Yun Yao let out a mocking laugh. “Afraid I’d silence her? She’s Chen Qingmu’s daughter, after all. I’d still give my sect leader nephew some face.”

“Because the sect leader was Fifth Senior Brother’s disciple?”
Mu Hanyuan’s voice was so low it was barely discernible.

“Hm?” Yun Yao narrowed her eyes. “What did you just say?”

Mu Hanyuan fell silent for a moment, then smiled gently. “Master’s already forgotten what she just said.”

“…What?”

“I’m merely Master’s cauldron,” he lifted his clear, heavy gaze, his smile not reaching his eyes. “Does a cauldron’s thoughts matter?”

“…”

Their eyes met.

Moments later, Yun Yao laughed suddenly, leaping from his embrace and brushing grass from her skirt as she walked away. “You’re right, what do I care? But keep an eye on your little junior sister. If she dares speak a word, I won’t silence her, but don’t blame me for ignoring elder’s decorum.”

“…”

Mu Hanyuan leaned quietly by the Lotus Pool until her figure vanished from his sight and spiritual sense.
He finally lowered his gaze, glancing aside.

The pink-white lotus he’d given her lay discarded in the mud by the pool, stained and soiled.

Just like her treatment of him.
She could save him carelessly, and abandon him just as easily.

His hand rose, as if to pick up the lotus, but stopped before touching it.
No point.
It was dead the moment it was plucked and cast aside. Taking it back would only yield an empty husk.

A cold mockery veiled his lowered eyes, the mole at their corner glinting faintly, like a tear that wouldn’t fall.

“Since you’re set on falling to the demonic, I’ll fall with you.”

A breeze swept by.
Leaning by the Lotus Pool, his figure melted like snow, leaving no trace.

Half an hour later, at the same peak, by the same pool.
A figure cloaked in void ripples crept cautiously to the pool’s edge, crouching beside the pitiful lotus in the mud.
After much hesitation, a slender female hand emerged from the void, carefully grasping the flower’s stem.

A corner of a red sleeve followed, snatching the flower before vanishing back into the void.

The ripples dispersed, and the pool’s scenery returned to normal.
Only the lotus by the poolside was gone.

Yun Yao had thought the last blood-red thread in Mu Hanyuan’s body, though stubborn, would eventually be exhausted as she absorbed it.
But as the Immortal Sect Competition drew closer, that final thread remained stubbornly rooted. No matter how she tried to extract it, it clung to his spiritual sea. Even if diminished today, it regrew intact the next.
This eerie persistence stirred unease she didn’t want to dwell on.

That day, outside her Tianxuan Peak cave mansion, the peach blossom grove bloomed vibrantly after a night of spring breeze.

Inside, behind heavy curtains, through thin robes, Yun Yao bit Mu Hanyuan’s shoulder in frustration. He loomed above her, dark hair falling like ink branches over snow, veiling her entirely.
His hairline was damp, his eyes tinged with a tidal emotion, softening his refined features. Silent, he let her bite, neither dodging nor flinching, instead lowering himself to hold her closer.

The blood-red thread persisted.
Another failure.

Angry and deflated, too exhausted to struggle, Yun Yao weakly kicked him.
Her slender ankle was caught by his hand, pressed firmly yet gently into the thin quilt by his waist.

Finally fed up with his restraint, she released her bite, turning away. “Get… get off.”
Her voice was hoarse. Realizing this, she clamped her mouth shut.

Perhaps amused by her rare disarray, Mu Hanyuan’s low voice came through his veiled hair. “Don’t lose heart, Master.”

“—”

The words chilled her, causing an instinctive shiver.

Noticing, he frowned, pulling her deeper into his embrace. “Why have you been so cold lately…?”

“You know I’m absorbing those threads?” Yun Yao froze.

He paused.
For some reason, his tone seemed to carry a trace of something else. “If there were no threads, would Master still choose me as her cauldron?”

“…”

Yun Yao fell silent, then realized his meaning.

He didn’t know the demonic seed wasn’t gone but sealed in her brow.
The blood-red threads could heal his mortal wounds.
He likely thought she used him as a cauldron to steal that immortality.

…Good.
In his eyes, she’d added another sin to her quest for vengeance.

Buried in the shadows of his neck, she forced a faint smile.

Poor Mu Hanyuan, enduring such a selfish, treacherous, depraved master, yet still facing her day and night with a smile.

If it were her, she’d dream of ending such a person with one strike.

Her heart grew colder.
Silently, she pushed him away, donning her robe. “The Immortal Sect Competition is soon, and there’s much to do. From today, you needn’t come to my cave mansion.”

“…”

Silence fell behind her.
Moments later, she heard him sit up, his silver cascade of hair under his crown, his voice low and hoarse. “What does Master mean?”

Yun Yao didn’t move.

Facing away, she gave a mocking smile.
The last thread couldn’t be removed, but it was a mere drop in his vast spiritual sea—it couldn’t cause havoc.
Having cleansed his risk of possession and forged his hatred, with only days until the competition, she might as well let him rest.

But she couldn’t tell him this.
So, after a pause, she said wearily, “Nothing. I’m just bored of this cauldron business. Your usefulness is nearly spent, so that’s that.”

“…”

The silence stretched, so long it bred a chilling unease in her heart.

Something monstrous, born in unseen darkness, seemed to grow, its tendrils ready to swallow her.
She clenched her fingers, turning.
On the bed, beyond the candlelight’s reach, behind thin veils, Mu Hanyuan sat in solitude, shrouded in shadow.

Perhaps the dim light, but his lotus crown, once pristine, seemed stained with inky darkness.

“Mu Hanyuan, you…”

Her voice began, but another cut in.

“Martial Aunt, Qingmu requests an audience!”

“—”

The taut string snapped under external force.

As light flickered in, it illuminated clearly—behind the veil, the lotus crown remained pure and untainted.

Yun Yao’s shoulders relaxed, certain no danger loomed. Instinctively, she turned, unwilling to let him glimpse her truth, and flashed toward the cave’s entrance. “I’ll see the sect leader. Leave on your own, don’t let him find you.”
She paused, adding, “Our affair ends here.”

“…”

The last candle dimmed.
The room sank into inky darkness, silent.

The quilt held her lingering warmth. Mu Hanyuan raised his wrist silently, his fingertips still carrying her faint fragrance.

After a long, still moment, a golden butterfly flitted into the curtains.
He glanced at it indifferently.

A sword message from Chen Jianxue.

“Senior Brother, there’s something I must tell you.”
“Please come to Fengtian Peak before my father returns.”

Meanwhile, in Yun Yao’s cave mansion’s front hall.

Facing Chen Qingmu’s speechless, shocked, and incredulous expression, Yun Yao knew what had happened.
The day had come.

Perhaps her heart demon was too deep for salvation, but she felt oddly calm.
She sat, picking up a teacup, swirling its cold contents. “Chen Jianxue told you?”

“…”

Chen Qingmu’s carefully grown beard trembled, and after a long pause, he quavered, “What Jianxue said… is it true?”

Yun Yao glanced at him. “Grab something to hold onto before you faint.”

“…”

No further words were needed. Chen Qingmu’s face paled as he collapsed into a chair.

Yun Yao, too lazy to console, let him process the news.
The cold tea made her frown. Then she recalled that, before today, Mu Hanyuan, whether day or night, had always tended to her meticulously after their encounters—lighting incense, serving tea, tidying—before leaving.
As a cauldron or disciple, he was… absurdly dutiful.

As her thoughts drifted, Chen Qingmu seemed to catch his breath.

His face solemn, he leaned on the table. “Though you’re my Martial Aunt, you entered the sect just a few years before me. Even discounting your seclusion, we’ve known each other over a century. I know your character—you wouldn’t do this. Is there a misunderstanding—”

“I’m possessed by a heart demon, beyond saving,” Yun Yao cut in bluntly.

“—”

Her words struck Chen Qingmu like lightning, freezing him.

She sipped the cold tea, frowning, then added, “And my essence is nearly spent. My time is short.”

“…Martial Aunt!!”

Chen Qingmu shot up, nearly kneeling.

“Don’t give me a heart attack with that,” Yun Yao snapped.

He froze, eyes reddening, his blue beard trembling, voice hoarse. “Qianmen’s Seven Heroes are down to you alone. How could you abandon the sect like this?”

“If there were a way to save me, I’d have discussed it with you. But there’s none—it’s pointless to say.”
She paused, setting down the cup. “Besides, how am I abandoning Qianmen? Didn’t I leave you a disciple?”

At this, Chen Qingmu’s emotions grew complex, wiping his eyes. “Then why… do that to Lord Hanyuan?”

He couldn’t finish, pausing.

“I didn’t want to, but he was unlucky, caught in everything. The threads in him could lead him to possession. If I don’t remove them, who knows when he’d follow my path.”

She paused, then added, “Besides, both realms know he’s my disciple. He needs to hate me enough to sever ties with this ‘demon.’”

“Demon…?” Chen Qingmu’s beard twitched. “What do you mean?”

Yun Yao turned, her gaze calm, the demonic red in her eyes unhidden. “On the day of the Immortal Sect Competition, when the Immortal Alliance gathers, those sect leaders we investigated will be there.”

“Martial Aunt…”
Chen Qingmu, sensing her intent, lost all color, words squeezed through clenched teeth. “You can’t.”

Seeing his veins bulge, Yun Yao gave a faint smile. “I’ve no time to wait, nor do I want to. They’ve lived three hundred years longer than him… The thought alone makes me want to draw my sword and slaughter them all.”

“Martial Aunt, listen. I’ve been investigating secretly. One day, I’ll—”

“They colluded with the demonic realm to kill your master, and they’ll find a way to kill you. You bear Qianmen’s safety, and it’s been hard. Leave this to me.”
Yun Yao exhaled slowly. “Their demonic cultivation likely uses human lives as sacrifices. We can’t delay.”

Chen Qingmu stood rigid, his beard whitening in moments.

Yun Yao couldn’t bear to look.
Like her, he was a survivor of Qianmen’s sunken ship, bearing countless souls in his shadow.
Qianmen’s loyalty and blood debts deserved remembrance and legacy.
She was selfish, unwilling to be the last one standing even in death.

After a long silence, Chen Qingmu stirred like aged wood, his voice rough. “Since Martial Aunt is resolved, I understand. Qianmen’s flame isn’t yet passed, so forgive me for not joining you in death. A century later, when my body burns out, my soul will follow Qianmen’s fallen.”

His forehead hit the ground with a resounding thud.

Yun Yao didn’t stop him, letting him bow before helping him up.

He said dimly, “But Lord Hanyuan… even if you sever ties, if you fall to the demonic, your sins will taint his name.”

“Yes, so he must kill me himself to be absolved.”

“…”

Chen Qingmu looked up, stunned.

Yun Yao spoke as if discussing a trivial matter. “On the competition day, per Eldest Senior Brother’s prophecy, I’ll fall to the demonic, slay Bixiao and the others, endangering the world. Lord Hanyuan, in righteous fury, will slay the demon under his sword, earning eternal praise as Qianyuan’s leader.”

Chen Qingmu was speechless for a long time.
Finally, he rasped, “Martial Aunt, you’re truly…”

Yun Yao toyed with the cup, her red eyes lazily smiling. “Facing death bravely?”

“Ruthless,” Chen Qingmu said.

Yun Yao: “.”
“?”

He shook his head. “You underestimate Hanyuan’s feelings for you.”

“His feelings for me?” Yun Yao laughed incredulously. “You mean his hatred?”

He frowned, about to speak.

She waved him off. “Even if he feels anything, it’s worn away. If he’s too soft to strike that day, no matter. I’ll control the threads in him to help him… slay the demon.”

“…”

Chen Qingmu was at a loss.
After a moment, he sighed. “Martial Aunt, he’ll hate you forever.”

“That’s perfect,” Yun Yao smiled, her eyes frosty. “Better than living like me, guarding lonely graves, clinging to life, unable to die.”

Before the red in her eyes reached their corners, she rose, heading to the back mountain.
Her voice lingered. “After I die, no sect shrine, no rites, no monument. Don’t taint Qianmen’s name.”

“Martial Aunt!” Chen Qingmu scrambled up.

“I’ll build myself an unmarked grave by the seven on the back mountain. If you’re ever troubled, come sit and chat with me.”

Her voice faded, her figure vanishing.
The scene brightened—a green hill, open land, seven graves.

Before them, her red dress seemed to dim.

She walked toward them, as if seeing her master and seniors standing there.

One by one, she removed her ornaments—turtle shell, golden bell, wooden hairpin, silk ribbon.
She placed them before each grave.

After a long time, the girl, eyes brimming with tears, smiled and approached the last grave.
She stopped before it, bending to brush dust from the name “Mu Jiutian,” then sat cross-legged unceremoniously before it.
“Sigh, who’d have thought, even in death, I’d have to fight you for a spot…”

Building a grave was simple; she carved a stone from the mountain.

But when inscribing it, she hesitated.
After much thought, she turned the stone, writing on its back.
“The last line, I’ll leave for you.”

Gray dust fell.

The wind swept the hill, revealing the inscription.

“Forgive me for becoming the world’s greatest evil, forcing the saint to slay the demon.”

At Fengtian Peak’s summit, under the pavilion.

Chen Jianxue, holding a scroll, spoke softly. “Fifth Martial Uncle Mu Jiutian’s portrait—only this one remains in Qianmen. Father kept it in his cave’s secret chamber. I saw it as a child when I wandered in and was scolded, so I remembered.”
“I used a distraction to bypass his wards and take it. Please forgive me, Senior Brother.”

“…”

Mu Hanyuan sat under the pavilion, gazing at the sea of clouds, seemingly unmoved by her words.

Chen Jianxue felt his state was strange since arriving, his presence unnerving her.
Holding the scroll, she hesitated.

“Give it to me.”

His clear voice startled her. “Senior Brother, are you sure you want to see it?”

“…”

He lowered his head, giving a faint smile. “You called me here with a sword message for this, didn’t you?”

She sighed inwardly.
Had she known he’d be in this terrifying state, she wouldn’t have chosen today.
But with the arrow loosed, she placed the scroll on the stone table.

The thin scroll unfurled before him.

It depicted a bamboo grove zither scene with two figures.
By a stream, a red-robed young man played the zither, while a girl in a black skirt danced with her sword to his music.
The artist froze time in their shared glance.

The red-robed man looked up, smiling brightly.

A mole at his eye’s corner.
Gleaming like blood.

“—”

Mu Hanyuan’s expression, senses, and emotions froze in that glance.

Only a roaring torrent remained in his ears, washing away the past.

[I’m Yun Yao—cloud of the nine heavens, swaying on the verge of falling…]

[Then you’ll be Mu—Mu Hanyuan.]

[Since you like that tune, I’ll give you a zither when we reach the immortal realm. Study music.]

[…]

The final scene—her, drunk years ago, leaning close, tapping the pale mole under his lashes, laughing softly.
She bent to his ear, like a kiss.

[You’re truly beautiful.]

“—”

Named Mu for her.
The zither as his weapon.
The mole as his mark.

She hadn’t saved a demon, but a replica of another, a crude imitation.

No wonder she could abandon him without looking back.

“—Cough.”

“…Senior Brother!!!”

In Chen Jianxue’s trembling cry, a vivid spurt of blood stained Mu Hanyuan’s white robe, splattering the scroll.

Unfazed, he wiped the blood from his lips, slowly lowering his hand.

The mountain wind stilled, clouds shattered.
Streams paused, birds fell silent.

The world’s sounds died for a moment.

In that moment, Mu Hanyuan closed his eyes.

A blood-red thread trembled in endless darkness.

The next breath—
It shattered into countless demonic flames.