Old Joys Linger in Dreamlike Souls, Part 3

The upheaval at Qianmen—Lord Hanyuan’s fall to the demonic and defection to the demonic realm—could not be concealed. Within two days, the shocking news spread like wildfire through the immortal realm, known to all.

High-realm cultivators who sensed the celestial anomaly that day visited Qianmen, either with their divine senses or in person, and tacitly remained silent.

Lower-realm cultivators, unable to witness it themselves, refused to believe it. Yet, after days of waiting for Qianmen or Mu Hanyuan to clarify, with no response, the clamor in the immortal realm quieted. His supporters, in disbelief, slowly accepted the truth.
They had little time to grieve.

Within days, reports came from cities near the Two Realms Mountain: a new killing god had risen in the demonic realm, swiftly slaying the lords of Vermilion Bird and White Tiger cities, subduing Azure Dragon City, and marching north to Black Tortoise City, capturing its lord and advisors. This figure unified the demonic realm, revered as the Demon Sovereign by the four main cities, commanding unchallenged authority.
For the first time in over four hundred years, the demonic realm was united, its internal conflicts ended, now facing outward.

Now, a million-strong demonic army crossed the Two Realms Mountain, besieging Yao City, poised to threaten the immortal realm.

In just a month, Qianyuan was transformed.

The Immortal Sect Competition was canceled. The Immortal Alliance rallied major sects, dispatching disciples to the Two Realms Mountain.

Two days later.
Qianmen, Fengtian Peak, Mingde Hall.

“Sect Leader, the Two Realms Mountain suffers heavy losses. We can’t delay—please urge Martial Aunt to emerge!”
“Sect Leader, the immortal realm is rife with resentment, all aimed at Qianmen! We can’t delay further, or it’ll harm our sect’s foundation and reputation!”
“Sect Leader…”

“Enough!!”

A loud bang—Chen Qingmu slammed the table.

A faint palm print marked the pearwood edge. The usually mild-mannered Chen Qingmu, now furious, glared at the elders. “How many times must I say it? Martial Aunt was so enraged by that traitor that she nearly succumbed to a heart attack and possession! She’s suppressing it in seclusion. Do you want to force her out now, to be accused of betraying our master and ancestors?”

“…”

Silence fell; the elders exchanged looks, speechless.

Everyone saw Chen Qingmu’s rare fury. Anyone daring to provoke him now would be a whetstone for his sword.

Yet, as a breeze passed through the hall, a reckless voice spoke up.
“It’s not that dramatic.”

“Who—!?”
Chen Qingmu turned, his beard bristling with sword intent, but upon seeing the red-clad woman materializing in the hall’s center, he hurriedly bowed. “Welcome, Martial Aunt, from seclusion!”
Following him, the elders and disciples rose. “Welcome, Martial Aunt, from seclusion!!”

“…”

A collective sigh of relief echoed, as if they’d finally endured to this moment.

Chen Qingmu yielded the head seat. Yun Yao, without declining, took it.
As they passed, he noticed her pale lips and dim eyes, his heart sinking. “Martial Aunt, your injuries…”

“I’m fine, I can hold on.”

“—”

Chen Qingmu’s brows twisted, his breath heavy with anger.
He knew her life was already short, and this battle against demonic flames had drained her further, likely cutting her remaining time.
…That Mu Hanyuan!

Yun Yao sat. “What’s the situation now?”

Chen Qingmu snapped back, bowing to report.

Before he could speak, an elder hurriedly interjected. “Martial Aunt, the Two Realms Mountain has seen fierce battles for days, with countless immortal disciples lost! Yesterday, Mu Hanyuan’s demonic army took Yao City, aiming for the Immortal Alliance’s Northern Immortal Palace, to—”

“Enough!” Chen Qingmu spun, furious. “The Demon Sovereign hasn’t appeared—who says it’s Mu Hanyuan!”

From a corner, a disciple muttered bitterly, “Lord Hanyuan… Mu Hanyuan defected less than a month ago, and the demonic realm unified its four cities, crowning a Demon Sovereign. Who else could it be?”

“!” Chen Qingmu’s beard twitched, ready to erupt.

“Enough.”
Yun Yao raised a hand, calming his aura. “I know the Sect Leader means well, to protect Qianmen’s legacy of defending the immortal realm…”
She lowered her head, laughing mockingly. “Ruined by my hands.”

“Martial Aunt…”

“No use dwelling on it,” she looked up. “He meant Mu Hanyuan hasn’t shown himself, yet the demonic army breached Yao City and is nearing the Northern Immortal Palace?”

Chen Qingmu’s expression darkened. “Yes. The demonic army has surrounded the palace, setting a trap. Even high-realm cultivators can’t enter. Since yesterday, they’ve only encircled, not attacked.”

“If it’s only the demonic army, can we hold them?”

“With just their forces, we’re barely managing,” Chen Qingmu sighed. “If the Demon Sovereign acts…”

“Then why have they stopped?”

He paused. “Perhaps a trap to lure and destroy reinforcing immortal cultivators?”

“Then why not strike while the immortal sects, untested in three hundred years, are vulnerable?” Yun Yao said calmly.

“Martial Aunt means…”

His face shifted.

Then, from outside Mingde Hall, a disciple’s urgent voice echoed as he ran in. “Report!”

Chen Qingmu turned. “What’s the rush?”

“Reporting, Sect Leader!” The disciple, unaware Yun Yao sat there instead, continued, “The Demon Sovereign sent a message from the Northern Immortal Palace, demanding Martial Aunt Yun Yao appear in person by day’s end, or he’ll—”

The words stopped, met with gasps.
“He’s mad!?”
“It’s really Lord Hanyuan? Why…”
“What Lord Hanyuan! He’s a catastrophic demon now!”
“There are Qianmen disciples in the palace. Does Mu Hanyuan care nothing for sect ties?”
“He dared betray his master—what won’t he do!”
“Martial Aunt can’t go! Who knows what that demon will do!”
“If she doesn’t, what about those thousands of disciples?”
“The Northern Immortal Palace holds dozens of arrays anchoring the north. If it falls, it’ll be a calamity…”
“…”

Amid the clamor, Yun Yao’s expression remained unchanged.

Chen Qingmu, knowing her best, saw her resolve was set. Still, he tried. “Martial Aunt, you—”

“You know,” she said softly, “I must go.”

Moments later, the Naihe Sword soared, trailing red light toward the Two Realms Mountain.

Chen Qingmu led Qianmen’s elders and disciples, following Yun Yao to the Two Realms Mountain. Near Yao City and the Northern Immortal Palace, the sky was shrouded in demonic flames, blotting out the sun.

Beneath, immortal disciples guarded the palace’s perimeter, facing the demonic army from afar.

As Yun Yao arrived, Immortal Alliance leaders were debating how to break the siege.
“…An inside-out assault is tough, but if Mu Hanyuan acts, the outcome’s uncertain.”
“With a one-day deadline and no attack, what about the palace?”
“They caused this demonic traitor—why should we clean up Qianmen’s mess?”

The last voice, anonymous, expected agreement but met silence.
Sensing trouble, he turned stiffly.

A red-clad figure entered the tent.

“For failing to guide my disciple, letting him fall to possession and stray, the fault is mine,” Yun Yao stood, scanning the crowd. “But don’t forget, Mu Hanyuan defended the realm for three hundred years, quelling countless disasters, saving innumerable disciples. Back then, none of you questioned why Qianmen’s disciple should aid you.”

“…”

After a stunned silence, the crowd bowed in greeting.

“Worthy of Qianmen’s Martial Aunt, sharp-tongued as ever,” Yuan Songqing, Fuyu Palace’s Seventh Lord, sneered. “Pity he’s no longer the pristine Lord Hanyuan but the demonic realm’s sovereign! Countless disciples died this month because of him. Can Qianmen settle that debt?”

“Qianmen, huh.”
Yun Yao paused, her laugh weary. “Without Qianmen’s Seven Heroes sacrificing themselves four hundred years ago, how many of you from Fuyu Palace would have seen Qianyuan’s light or dared speak so boldly?”

“You—don’t bring up the past! What was four hundred years ago, and what is Qianmen now? Fuyu Palace is…”
Yuan Songqing pressed on.

Behind Yun Yao, Chen Qingmu slowly summoned his sword, glaring at Yuan Songqing.
The famously mild Qianmen Sect Leader’s gaze now held a chilling edge. “Lord Yuan, I advise you to watch your words and respect my Martial Aunt. Or I’ll show you if Qianmen’s disciples have lost their blood in four hundred years.”

His killing intent silenced Yuan Songqing, whose face paled.

In the quiet, voices from Jiushi Valley’s scholarly youths rang clear.
“Senior Brother, I recorded this. How should I annotate it?” a young disciple asked, pen flying.
“Write it as is.”
The youth bit his pen. “So, Qianmen’s loyalty shines eternal?”
“Add that, after just four hundred years, some hide behind Qianmen, growing fat off their legacy, yet shamelessly claim credit.”

Snickers broke out in the tent.

“!” Yuan Songqing nearly fainted with rage, glaring at Jiushi Valley. “What’s that supposed to mean!?”

“Enough, no infighting before the enemy,” Fuyu Palace’s Fifth Lord, Duan Songyue, rose, smiling to calm the crowd. “The priority is for Martial Aunt to confront Mu Hanyuan, to see if he can be swayed back.”

Yun Yao looked at the inky sky.
Moments later, she sighed. “My failure to guide him—I’ll give you all an answer.”

An incense stick later.
Outside the Northern Immortal Palace, on a three-丈-high Ascension Platform.

Mu Hanyuan, black crown and white hair, lounged with closed eyes, blood-red demonic marks trailing from his eye’s corner, bewitching as blood on jade. Alone on a cushioned couch, his black robe draped over jade steps.
Below, newly appointed Vermilion Bird and White Tiger generals flanked him.
The platform blazed with demonic flames.

Yun Yao, followed by dozens of Immortal Alliance elders and disciples, arrived below. She looked up at a Mu Hanyuan so unfamiliar she could barely recognize him.

His white hair and tainted lotus crown stirred a dull pain in her flame-worn body.

Across dozens of 丈, the immortal crowd halted.

Leading sects formed defensive arrays.
On the platform, the Demon Sovereign’s forces ignored them, letting them prepare.

“Lord Hanyuan,” Duan Songyue called from below. “Your master, Yun Yao, is here. If you have grievances, speak—our sects are here to judge fairly!”

“Duan Songyue!” Chen Qingmu’s face darkened, glaring.

“…”

On the platform, Mu Hanyuan lifted his lashes.

The blood-red marks made his pale skin ethereal, the flames adding a demonic allure. A thin red gleam circled his pupils, mesmerizing.
A single glance could trap a soul forever.

“Focus!”

Yun Yao’s sharp cry snapped the crowd awake.

Realizing they’d been entranced by Mu Hanyuan, now looming in the void, they saw the deadly moment they’d missed—

Without Yun Yao’s call, they might have died unaware.

Above, Mu Hanyuan showed no intent to attack. He scanned the terrified, sword-drawn cultivators, then sneered, his gaze landing on the red-clad figure.
A cold, blood-red glint flashed in his demonic eyes. “Why bother, Master? Save them, and they won’t thank you.”

“You wanted me, I’m here,” Yun Yao ignored him. “Will you release the palace disciples now?”

“…”
The Demon Sovereign’s smile chilled. “The world, the immortal realm, the sect, those mortals—my dear Master, are your eyes always on others?”

His voice sank, dripping with demonic allure, almost intimate.

Around the platform, immortal and demonic cultivators reacted variably, their gazes converging on the red-clad figure.

Yun Yao stood unmoved, as if deaf to him, looking up. “What more do you want? Speak.”

Mu Hanyuan stared long, then smiled, waving his black sleeve. A dark jade staircase materialized, stretching from the platform to her feet.

“Come up,” his jade-like fingers beckoned, the blood-red marks making his smile fierce yet captivating. “I want you before me, Master.”

“Mu Hanyuan,” a Jiushi Valley scholar warned gravely, “Yun Yao is your master.”

“Is she…” His gaze slid to her, smiling faintly. “Is she worthy?”

“Mu Hanyuan!” Chen Qingmu roared.

Yun Yao raised a hand, silencing him.
Instead of taking the staircase, her red skirt flared as she flew to the platform.

The crowd behind, unable to stop her, cried out.
“Senior, no!”
“Martial Aunt!”
“Martial Aunt!!”
“…”

Amid their shouts, Yun Yao landed on the platform.

The demonic cultivators tensed, ready to surround her.

“Stand down.”
Mu Hanyuan’s sharp command halted them.

Yun Yao’s expression didn’t waver. “Release the palace disciples, withdraw from the Two Realms Mountain, and I’ll let you deal with me.”

“…”

He stared long, then laughed lowly. “Master, what makes you think you’re worth more to me than a palace or the entire immortal realm?”
He stepped from his throne, approaching her.

His flame-wreathed sleeve rose, cold fingers grazing her fragile neck.

With slight force, she was forced to meet his dark eyes.

Hatred surged in those unfamiliar eyes, all-consuming.

Yun Yao lowered her lashes mockingly. “Because you hate me.”

“…Yes, I hate you,” his grip tightened, blood-like marks gleaming as he leaned close, voice hoarse. “No one in this world hates you more than I do, Yun Yao.”

She didn’t struggle or resist.
She stood still, letting him hold her vulnerable neck. “Leading you to this is my sin alone, not the world’s. If you want to kill me, do it—I won’t resist. Just spare them.”

“Them, them—always them! Your eyes are always on others!” His voice roared with malice, demonic flames surging, as if to burn the heavens and flood the seas.

Countless black fireballs rained down, crashing toward the immortal cultivators.

Yun Yao’s face changed. She turned, sword ready to aid below, but Mu Hanyuan seized her neck, half-choking, half-embracing her from behind.
“Watch closely—how I kill those you cherish, one by one.”

The immortal cultivators formed arrays, golden light flaring below, struggling against the falling flames.

“Mu Hanyuan, what do you want!” Yun Yao spun. “You hate only me—take it out on me alone!”

He sneered, flicking his fingers. A wooden zither appeared beside them. He caressed it. “Who made you the ‘merciful’ saint?”
With a pluck, the strings unleashed demonic flames, locking her Naihe Sword to the platform.

In her reddened, anguished gaze, he touched her eye’s corner slowly, deceptively tender.
Leaning to her ear, he whispered, “You want to save them?”

Holding her close, he rested on her shoulder, his cold gaze sweeping the fighting cultivators below, glaring back at him.

His demonic voice, bewitching and pervasive, sank into hearts.
“Then here, before your beloved Fifth Senior Brother, swear a soul oath—”
He kissed her earlobe, laughing coldly.
“To serve me as s*ave or maid for life. How’s that?”

“…?” Yun Yao turned, horrified.