Old Joys Linger in Dreamlike Souls, Part 2

Tianxuan Peak, the back mountain of the cave mansion.
As Yun Yao placed the final handful of soil on her newly built grave, a rolling thunder roared from the clouds above, like the heavens’ wrath unleashed.

Yun Yao looked up in shock.

Thunder was divine punishment, and she, having lived centuries in Qianyuan, knew well that since the prophecy of the demonic seed’s world-ending omen, no such thunder had struck. From that day, no one in Qianyuan could ascend.

Yet now, the thunder shook her consciousness, unmistakably real. Stranger still, it seemed to come from a distant realm, separated by an insurmountable chasm. The fury in its roar grew fiercer, as if bellowing across the cosmos.

Her face paled.
She recalled Elder Taiyi’s dying words, spoken in delirium: Qianyuan is a forsaken land. He’d gone mad, laughing and weeping, driving her out. Though she didn’t understand then, years of reflection tied it to the demonic seed and Qianyuan’s millennium-long absence of ascensions.

Now, from beyond this forsaken land, a cosmic wrath resounded…

Could something have happened within Qianyuan?

“…”

Her thoughts halted, and she abandoned the grave. Summoning her Naihe Sword, she prepared to leave the back mountain.
But before she could turn from the unmarked stone, the world’s energies froze for an instant.

“…Who!”

Without turning, her Naihe Sword swept back, its icy light surging like a tide, bending the valley’s grasses in submission—

The sword’s arc halted before reaching the figure.

For Yun Yao saw, at the mountain wall’s shadowed end, a figure in the abyss-like gloom.

“Mu Hanyuan?”
She withdrew her sword, stunned, then instinctively blocked her new grave with her body. “Who permitted you to enter!”

“…”

The valley was silent.
Mu Hanyuan stood in the dim shade, wordlessly studying her with unprecedented scrutiny.
Then he tilted his head, glancing at the row of graves behind her.

Eight in total, no more, no less.

The newest, freshly built, stood beside an older grave. Though Yun Yao’s figure hid its inscription, the adjacent one was clear: Mu Jiutian.

“What’s wrong with you?” Yun Yao sensed something amiss.

Mu Hanyuan felt so foreign that his mere presence sent an inexplicable chill through her. Even her Naihe Sword trembled faintly in her grip, emitting a low, warning hum.

And since his arrival in the valley, the cosmic thunder had vanished, as if sealed away.

Her thoughts tangled, unable to form a rational judgment. Concern for Mu Hanyuan overrode all else. She took two tentative steps toward him. “Mu Hanyuan?”

This time, the shadowed figure responded.

A low, mocking laugh rasped from his throat.

“Don’t call me by his surname anymore.”
His voice, when he looked up, was hoarse.

Yun Yao frowned. “What did you say?”

He didn’t answer, his gaze shifting past her to the unmarked grave behind.
No words were carved yet… clearly meant for her.
To rest beside him.

Mu Hanyuan laughed, his voice darkly hoarse. “You want to be buried with him here, don’t you?”

A colossal aura gathered in the valley before her.
An invisible dome seemed to cover it, drawing Qianyuan’s malice and corruption into a frenzied vortex, pouring into the solitary figure in the shade.

Yun Yao’s eyes twitched. “Mu Hanyuan, what’s happened? Tell me, and stop using your spiritual energy!”

“You saved me back then,” his clear, heavy voice cut her off, his emotions calming into a terrifying calm, “because I resembled him, didn’t I?”

The world’s energies surged uncontrollably. Yun Yao raised her voice urgently. “Resembled who—”

Her words stopped.

Mu Hanyuan stepped slowly from the shadows.

Yun Yao’s voice died.

She stared, wide-eyed, at the youth emerging from the inky gloom, step by step.

Light and shadow played across him, like a blazing golden sunset, unable to cleanse the black demonic flames clinging to his robe.

What shook her most was his black lotus crown atop snow-white hair.

She froze, staring in disbelief, her voice trembling. “Why…”

The demonic seed—she hadn’t already…

Her heart sank into an icy abyss of despair.
Terror overwhelmed her, and she stumbled back, leaning against the cold gravestone.

Mu Hanyuan approached.

His face was devoid of joy or sorrow. Black crown, white hair, his eyes coldly detached, even more otherworldly than before—if not for the demonic flames rippling the air around him.
He advanced deliberately, like a slow execution, taking in every nuance of her expression.

“What’s wrong, Master?” He stopped a丈 away, glancing at the gravestone she leaned on, then smiled faintly. “Do I no longer resemble him? You don’t like this me, do you?”

“…”

Yun Yao’s gaze was blank, lost in his unfamiliar eyes, drowned in despair.

…She was wrong.

The world-ending prophecy’s demonic seed wasn’t a spark.
It was a person—

Mu Hanyuan himself was the demonic seed.

If he didn’t die, the seed would never perish.

She repeated this in her heart, overcome with grief. His snow-white hair, devoid of any black, and his unrecognizable form tore at her heart.

“It shouldn’t be like this… Mu Hanyuan.”
Unable to hold back, her lashes wetted with tears. She rushed forward, trembling fingers clutching his white hair. “It shouldn’t be like this—”

He seized her wrist.

With bone-chilling intensity, he stared into her eyes, pressing her hand to the corner of his eye.
To the mole, stark against his pale skin and white hair.
He laughed, trembling. “Do I resemble him so much?”

“—”

Her struggle froze in a fleeting moment.

A thought, like a comet trailing light, flashed through her chaotic mind.
She stared at him. “No, it’s not what you think. You were never like him…”

A chilling malice tinged his eyes. He surged forward, slamming her against the cold gravestone.
His fingers, like blades, dug into the stone above.
“Tell me, then—why am I named Mu!”

“—”

The stone cracked.

Yun Yao instinctively looked down at Mu Jiutian’s gravestone.

At that glance, both figures stiffened.

She looked up, flustered. “I went to the demonic realm for Senior Brother. Without him, I wouldn’t have met or saved you… I only thought you were fated with him, so I…”

Her voice trailed off.
The more she explained, the worse it sounded.

Mu Hanyuan’s eyes were dead.

Her heart sank fully into the icy abyss, but she was meant to fall—not him.

Clinging to a last shred of hope, she forced a smile. “Mu Hanyuan, is this why you’re… like this? Calm down. You’re different people, I wouldn’t—”

“Yes, I’m not him,” his voice softened, as if the old Lord Hanyuan lingered if she closed her eyes.

But the man before her bore little trace of that Mu Hanyuan.
His cold fingers traced her neck, cheek, lips, calloused pads grazing her lips with near-sensual intent.

He leaned in, their necks entwined, breath mingling. “If I were him, how could you bear to make me your cauldron? You’d cherish him, keeping his gravestone spotless, never letting a speck of dust settle.”

“No…”
She tried to pull away, but he gripped her nape, locking her in his embrace.

By her ear, he whispered, trembling. “You treasure him, so his grave is pristine. You don’t care for me, so you can trample me in the mud, defile me at will.”

“I said it’s not true!!”

An unbearable surge of energy erupted between them.
Yun Yao pushed him back two 丈, her eyes red, voice shaking. “I’ve never looked down on you!”

He stopped, his black robe trailing.
His white hair framed his dark eyes, which lifted with lifeless, icy amusement. “Is that so? Then how do you see me, Master?”

She faltered.

How did she see him…
When she brought him to the immortal realm and sect, she genuinely raised him as her disciple, pinning hopes on him to fulfill her unfinished dreams, to benefit the world, to lead the immortal sects as their true champion.
But in her life’s final days, her heart demon took over, unleashing her suppressed emotions—recklessness, passion, malice, and desire—onto him.

She was wrong, too arrogant, believing everything would bend to her will.

Nothing had.
Not the sect, her seniors, herself, or now, her only disciple…

Pain stabbed her heart. She forced her eyes shut, suppressing the surging sorrow. “Mu Hanyuan, many things can’t be explained quickly. If you care so much, I can explain—”

“I don’t need explanations.”

He raised his hand, conjuring a translucent dagger of spiritual energy.

Yun Yao’s pupils shrank.

Countless blood-red threads writhed within the dagger’s energy.

His demonic seed, reborn in a day, rivaled a millennium of demonic cultivation.

In her disbelieving gaze, he stepped forward, offering the dagger. “I don’t need explanations. I want your choice.”

“What… choice?”
Her rigid gaze lifted from the dagger to his face, where the mole glinted faintly.

“Between him and me, you can only keep one.”

Her lashes trembled.

“Either I die, or he does. Choose.” He held the dagger before her.

Her voice broke. “But he’s already dead!”

“What if he weren’t?”

“—”

Her unspoken words froze in her chest. She stared at him. “…What?”

His eyes were unreadable.
After a tense standoff, as she nearly pressed for answers, he looked at the gravestone. “Even if he’s dead, his grave remains, doesn’t it?”

His black robe fell, and terrifying spiritual energy mixed with demonic flames gathered in his fingers.

Yun Yao’s eyes quivered. “What are you doing… Mu Hanyuan?”

He looked up silently.

Above, dark clouds amassed, demonic flames surging.
As the world-shaking flames gathered in his fingers, the cave mansion and Tianxuan Peak trembled.

“Guess, Master.”

As his words fell, he flicked his fingers, sending a terrifying orb of destructive energy toward Mu Jiutian’s gravestone.

“Mu Hanyuan!”
Without thinking, Yun Yao flashed before the stone.

The destructive orb stopped before her.

A breath later, it dissipated like smoke.

Her eyes twitched, looking up—the orb was no illusion. Forcing it back would injure him.

Yet in her sight, Mu Hanyuan stood unmoved, save for a suppressed tremor deep within.
The destructive force ravaged his meridians, its bone-searing pain enough to obliterate consciousness.
But he stood, unfeeling.

After a long moment, he looked at her shielding Mu Jiutian’s grave and smiled slowly.

A trickle of blood spilled from his lips.

“I forgot—you already made your choice.”

His voice was desolate, devoid of life. True despair.

“For three hundred years, I thought only of your return. I believed once the immortal realm was restored, the demonic realm subdued, and old grudges settled, you could let go of Qianmen’s past and ascend with me. I’d stay by your side, for millennia…”
“When you emerged and fell to the demonic, learning you never trusted me, I resented you. But you saved me, told me to trust you, not fate… I shouldn’t blame you for what you did. I only regretted your heart demon’s hold, your ascension hopeless. I thought, even if shorter than immortality, I’d fall to the demonic with you… as long as I remained by your side.”

“…”

In her trembling, speechless gaze, he looked up, gentle as ever. “Now I know, Master. It was my wishful thinking, a fleeting dream. The one you wanted by your side was never me.”

“No,” she rushed forward, “it’s not like that, Mu Hanyuan. I only wanted you, the sect, and the world’s beings to have the right to live in this world, nothing more.”

“As his substitute?” He sneered coldly. “No need.”

He stepped back, evading her.

Her hand missed his sleeve by a fraction, a chasm too vast to cross in this lifetime.

Unseen, the translucent dagger reappeared in his hand.
Before her horrified eyes, its cold tip pressed to his eye’s corner—
And pierced.

“Mu Hanyuan!!”

Her voice broke, tears streaming instantly.

He closed his eyes, carving out the mole with flesh and blood, bone exposed.

Blood ran like tears down his jade-like face.
His white hair before him stained vivid red.

He released the dagger, letting it dissolve into crimson and gold flecks, vanishing.

He opened his eyes.
Beneath blood and tears, his lips curved, his gaze indifferent. “If I can’t be your closest, your beloved, then I’ll be the one you hate most, Yun Yao.”

Demonic flames surged, turning life to ash where they passed, erased by an invisible force of annihilation. His voice, a thundering roar, shattered the forbidden array he’d set around Tianxuan Peak.

In the void, Qianmen disciples gathered, swords drawn, forming an array.
But before it could form, a demonic sound tore through, scattering them, blood spilling.

Mu Hanyuan, the cause, stood before Yun Yao.
He smiled, eyes full of hatred. “I’ll make you remember me, remember who I am. I’ll make you yearn to kill me, be your deepest hatred, etched in your soul forever—unforgettable even in death!”

His figure rose into the air, revealed to countless immortal senses.
At his cold, jade-like eye’s corner, where the mole was torn, a blood-red demonic mark bloomed, growing like a bewitching flower.

It became a vivid, blood-like stain on his jade face.

Before countless cultivators’ eyes, Mu Hanyuan fulfilled the world-ending prophecy, fully succumbing to the demonic.

The demonic mark appeared, irredeemable.

He turned, vanishing toward the southern demonic realm beyond the Two Realms Mountain, leaving an unstoppable shadow.

And a vast demonic voice, resounding through the heavens.

“Yun Yao, remember—”
“I’ll be your greatest regret in this life.”