Old Joys Linger in Dreamlike Souls, Part 5

Yun Yao’s soul bathed in a warm, boundless sea of light.

She could no longer sense her body, only her consciousness remained.
She thought she must be dead.
This was expected—having perished with the demonic seed at her brow, she had prepared for her soul to scatter, never to reincarnate. To retain even this wisp of consciousness, drifting in this unknown place—be it the underworld or the mortal realm—was already a mercy.

She wondered what would become of Mu Hanyuan after her death. Had he taken the lotus flower she left with her final strength? Had he seen the “last will” she embedded within it?
Failing to guide this youth she brought back from the demonic realm, and bringing calamity to her sect and the immortal realm, was likely her greatest regret in life.

As Yun Yao’s thoughts drifted, even this sliver of consciousness began to dissolve with the wind. Her soul wandered in the golden sea of light, unaware that countless immortal grids of varying sizes passed her by in places she couldn’t “see.”

They carried emotions—fear, awe, envy, longing…
The masterless immortal grids floated around her, but her soul couldn’t perceive them.

Time passed, stars shifted, ages flowed.

Suddenly, her soul sensed an immensely familiar, overwhelmingly powerful force.

In the golden sea, a golden butterfly awoke.
The moment it fluttered its wings, countless immortal grids trembled, then obediently settled around it.
The entire sea of light seemed frozen in time.
The golden butterfly flapped its wings, darting toward the approaching soul.

It began to restrain its power, its form shrinking in the void until, just before entering the soul’s brow—

A silver-blue light descended from the heavens.

[Origin, the End has not been eradicated. You’ve failed after all.]

The golden sea churned again, with reverence and fear.
The masterless grids cowered, as if worshiping the divine voice echoing from the void’s depths.

Yun Yao’s soul “saw” it, but she floated in confusion.

The voice felt familiar.
Yet she couldn’t recall.
She had drifted too long in this golden sea, forgetting who she was, where she came from, or where she was going.

[For one person, you harmed a realm; for a realm, you burdened the Immortal Court. I told you long ago, a merciful deity like you shouldn’t govern the Heavenly Palace…]
[Forget, Origin.]
[Only by forgetting everything can we avoid standing on opposing sides…]

The divine voice faded.

A silver-blue light bound the golden butterfly’s wings.

The butterfly struggled, but having released most of its immortal power to merge with the soul, its efforts were futile. The silver-blue chains sealed its light, leaving only a faint glimmer.
Trembling, the butterfly crashed into the brow of Yun Yao’s soul.

The golden light surged.

Yun Yao’s soul lost its final shred of consciousness.

—Until she opened her eyes.

A barefoot girl stood dazedly amid flowing clouds, looking up at a sky of vibrant colors, where cranes carried hues of dawn to sprinkle upon the mortal world below.
“This is… the Immortal Realm?”
A faint awareness told her so.

As the girl lowered her head, a fluttering sound reached her ears.
She turned, and a radiant bird with colorful feathers flew past, its light draping her in a snow-white immortal robe.

“Congratulations, Immortal, on your ascension. The Bath of Immortality is complete, your past forgotten. You may now claim an immortal title and enjoy an endless immortal life.”

The bird circled her, its wings shimmering.

The young immortal instinctively touched her empty brow.
Softly, she said, “Yun Yao.”

The bird soared upward, its clear voice ringing through the Immortal Realm like a proclamation—

“New Immortal Yun Yao, assigned to the Heavenly Palace!”

“…”

Yun Yao was about to step onto the paved staircase before her.
But suddenly, everything slowed, becoming distant, like a mirage.

At that moment, a Buddhist chant, as if from the end of an eternal river, shattered the illusion before her.

Within the chant, a familiar voice echoed in her mind—

[The Seed of the End is sealed in the Golden Lotus.]
[Benefactor Yun, the Tower of Reincarnation is closing. You may return.]

…………
…………

When Yun Yao truly awoke, she was still in Fantian Temple, in the Great Monk’s bamboo hut.

The illusion of the Tower of Reincarnation had long dissipated, and the memories of the present world sealed within it flooded back.

The full moon had passed; outside the hut, a bright day shone, with birds singing clearly in the bamboo grove.
…It truly felt like an entire cycle of reincarnation.

Yun Yao raised her hand, conjuring a water mirror.

A faint golden glimmer flashed and vanished.
In that moment, she confirmed the Seed of the End had been removed, likely sealed in the Golden Lotus.

But…

Recalling her past life in the Tower of Reincarnation, Yun Yao sighed. Even if split into bamboo strips for a scroll, it couldn’t contain her complex emotions now.

She never imagined—

The young immortal Yun Yao was her.
The Yun Yao of Qianyuan was also her.
After ascending as the young immortal Yun Yao, the Bath of Immortality erased her past, which was none other than her life as Qianmen’s Yun Yao.

But how had she returned to Qianyuan before it all began?

[Origin…]
[Forget, Origin.]

The divine voice echoed faintly in her mind again.
The sealed immortal grid at her brow seemed to stir restlessly.

Beyond her past life, what else had she forgotten?

Yun Yao felt it all lay hidden in a vast fog, the truth tantalizingly close yet elusive.

“Benefactor Yun, are you unwell?”
“…”

The voice behind pulled her back to reality. Turning, she met the Great Monk’s deep, serene eyes.

“…I’m fine.” Yun Yao averted her gaze, looking down at a Golden Lotus floating before the monk.

Compared to before entering the Tower, the lotus seemed larger.
Probing with her soul, she sensed that, in place of a seedpod, its layered petals cradled a blood-red “stamen.”
It was the Seed of the End, sealed within the lotus, now softened by Buddhist light.

“Benefactor Yun, please infuse a wisp of your divine pattern’s power into it,” the monk pointed to the lotus’s heart.

Yun Yao paused.
She wasn’t surprised the monk knew of the divine pattern in her immortal grid.

Perhaps the shock of her past life in the Tower had numbed her.

Thinking this, she drew a wisp of divine power from her brow, forming a faint golden glow at her fingertip, which she channeled into the lotus.

“This will seal the Seed of the End?” she asked.

“It needs a moment more. I’ll assist the lotus in refining it and inform you when done. You may wait and enjoy the temple’s scenery.”

“…”

The dismissal was so blunt, Yun Yao didn’t linger.

Conveniently, she had her own matters to attend to.

Leaving the hut, she extended her divine sense, circling Fantian Temple, and located Mu Hanyuan.
Her red-clad figure flashed through the green bamboo grove.

—The Seed of the End at her brow was resolved, true.
But after reliving her past life’s memories, she realized, though the reason was unclear, Mu Hanyuan was the true source of the Seed, the root of the world-ending omen.
To end it completely, she had to suppress or eradicate the blood-red threads in his body. As long as he lived, the demonic seed could revive.

This time, she would not let Mu Hanyuan fall to the demonic again.

Fantian Temple, Monk’s Quarters.

Mu Hanyuan sat on a couch, lost in a familiar dream—

At an inn a hundred li from Canglong Mountain, he’d seen through a light curtain: a sea of corpses and blood, with demonic flames sweeping thousands of vengeful ghosts, and a black-crowned, white-haired figure coldly playing a zither.

The difference now: he was that demon.

His fingers lazily plucked beneath his sleeve, the Minsheng Zither, wreathed in flames, unrecognizable from its former self. Its strings wove the ghosts’ wails into a mind-seizing demonic melody.
Death advanced like a sea swallowing fields, calmly pushing toward the horizon.

Yet the Demon Sovereign, causing this irredeemable slaughter, seemed bored and emotionless. Gazing at the sinking sun, he slowly stilled the strings.
The last ray of sunset graced him with faint light, briefly veiling the flames on his sleeve.

In a daze, he recalled a sunset, equally grand, with a red-clad figure on Tianxuan Peak.

Was it a dream or reality?
He’d forgotten.

The golden light was dazzling; he closed his eyes.

Even as a sharp wind approached.

Thud.
A cold dagger pierced his heart.

Then, with bone-deep hatred, it twisted viciously.

Blood spilled from the Demon Sovereign’s thin lips.

Behind him, a figure emerged from the void, their voice frenzied with triumph over the roaring wind. “I did it—I killed the Demon Sovereign! I killed Mu Hanyuan, this devil!! I—”

Crack.
Demonic flames seized the figure’s neck, turning their madness to choked terror.

In their widened eyes, the dark figure turned slowly.

The dagger melted from his heart.
In the figure’s horrified gaze, the gaping wound wove itself shut with countless blood-red threads, branching, spreading, and healing perfectly.
Flames burned over his heart, leaving his black robe unmarred.

As if time reversed.

“How… how can this be… why… why does a devil like you… have such favor…”

In the figure’s hate-filled rasp, the Demon Sovereign tilted his head.

“Favored by the heavens?”

He paused, then laughed, the blood-red marks at his eyes curving like a tear of blood on jade, glinting at his eye’s corner.
Laughing done, he lowered his gaze, scarlet malice flooding his dark eyes—

“Do you know the world’s worst nightmare?”

“To kill myself ten thousand times and still not die.”

“And I’m willing to grant this unattainable gift to each of you—when this becomes an endless hell, your souls will return, won’t they?”

“…!!”

Crack.
The flames reclaimed, adding one more insignificant soul to the countless vengeful ghosts.

“Let’s end today,” Mu Hanyuan stroked the zither. “You’re tired, aren’t you?”

As his words fell, his figure vanished into the darkening sky.

A breath later.
The black-crowned, white-haired figure appeared within Qianmen’s desolate gates, on Tianxuan Peak.

The place was long abandoned.
He passed overgrown steps and moss-covered caves, stepping into the back mountain’s valley.
Only here remained unchanged.

Except for one thing: behind the eighth grave’s unmarked stone, a new grave held an open coffin.

Mu Hanyuan calmly lay within.

Glancing at the blank stone, he lowered his eyes and smiled. “Good night, Master.”

The moment he closed his eyes, the valley quaked.

If Yun Yao could see, she’d recognize the familiar golden killing array rising, a giant sword forming, then crashing down—
The blade ground his flesh and bones inch by inch.

Blood splashed the stone, seeping beside the nearly faded inscription.

The demon never slept.
But at least he could borrow death to relive those nights with her in dreams.

“Mu Hanyuan!”

A voice, like from another world, crashed through the door, jarring Mu Hanyuan awake from his dream on the couch.
He snapped his eyes open.

The red-clad figure filled his vision. Fresh from the dream, his heart felt gripped by an immense force, a mix of indescribable panic and relief flooding his chest.
Without thinking, as Yun Yao reached the couch, he stood, pulling her into his arms.
“Don’t go…!”

His low, hoarse voice carried near-desperate grief.

Yun Yao froze, caught off guard, but hearing his words, she instinctively brushed her cheek to confirm—
White robe, black hair, silver lotus crown.
And that faint mole.
Unchanged.

…Thank goodness.

Her heart, which had soared to the heavens, settled back. She pried his hands from her waist, silently stepping a 丈 away, then asked, “What’s wrong? A nightmare?”

Mu Hanyuan was silent.
The moment he held her, the tangible sensation had snapped him back, but he lingered, reluctant to let go.

“…Yes,” he lowered his sleeve, hiding his clenched fingers, his voice regaining its gentle clarity. “A fleeting dream startled me. I’ve offended you, Master. Please forgive me.”

In his ear, a faint demonic scoff came from a distant void, mocking his self-deception.

Yun Yao didn’t notice the fleeting light in his lowered lashes, her mind on her urgent purpose. “It’s fine. I rushed here because I remembered something in seclusion—”

“Are you still cultivating those blood-red threads in your body?”

He looked up, slightly surprised. “Yes.”

“Don’t touch them, not even a trace.” Her tone was firm. “It’ll slow your cultivation, and I can’t explain fully now, but they’re dangerous—”

“Alright.”

“…” Her prepared words caught in her throat. She looked up. “Huh?”

Mu Hanyuan gave a faint smile. “With your cultivation restored and ailments gone, I’m safe under your guidance. Slowing my progress doesn’t matter. Whatever the reason, I’ll follow your command.”

Yun Yao: “.”
After enduring the torment of the dark Mu Hanyuan in the Tower, she wasn’t quite used to this obedient, pure Mu Hanyuan.

He lowered his gaze briefly, then spoke. “However.”

She tensed. “However what?”

“The master-disciple bond seems gone,” he looked at her thoughtfully. “Did you sever it to stop me from cultivating them?”

Yun Yao faltered.
With the demonic seed removed from her brow, the bond between them had naturally dissolved.
How could she explain this to him?

“That, it…”

As she struggled, a young monk stopped outside, calling, “Benefactors, my master says the Golden Lotus is ready. Please come.”

Yun Yao paused, turning. “Both of us?”

“Yes.”

“…”

As she turned back, an idea formed.
As long as the blood-red threads remained, Mu Hanyuan’s link to the Seed of the End wouldn’t fade. He’d notice something odd with the lotus.
Why not go with the flow—

“Yes, the master-disciple bond was… turned into a powerful artifact,” Yun Yao hesitated, thinking the Golden Lotus could at least serve as a shield, easing her mind. “It’s a surprise. Come with me to see it, how about that?”

“Yes, Master.”

As he spoke, he glanced at her hair, noticing a green leaf caught in her dark strands, likely from her rush through the bamboo grove.

He raised his sleeve to brush it away, but his fingers hadn’t reached her hair when—

Yun Yao caught the movement. “…!!”

The red-clad woman practically leaped a 丈 away.

Mu Hanyuan paused. “Master?”

“…………”
Yun Yao was near tears.
How could she explain that when his fingers neared, the familiar faint scent from his wrist triggered a flood of unmentionable memories from their past life’s intimate moments?

These cursed memories—she needed to purge them soon.

“Um, nothing, I just felt like stretching,” she pressed her flushed cheeks, forcing a smile as she walked out. “Let’s not keep the master waiting. Come on.”

Noticing her subtle distance, Mu Hanyuan’s lashes lowered. After a brief pause, he followed.

Outside the Great Monk’s hut, Yun Yao was still reflecting on her past life’s lessons, educating her obedient disciple.

Especially recalling the figure on Yao City’s execution platform—that deceitful senior brother who hid the truth for three hundred years—no, six hundred years across two lives, making her endure endless suffering while perfectly feigning death.
Yun Yao couldn’t help grinding her teeth.

Stepping onto the stone path outside the hut, she turned to remind Mu Hanyuan, trailing a 丈 or two behind.

“Remember, no matter who sows discord, trust me. You and that wretched Mu Jiutian look nothing alike! That heartless dog, how could he compare to you—”

Her words stopped as she entered the hut.

In her peripheral vision, a round little head with short legs barreled toward the door.
Thud. A tiny monk, barely knee-high, hugged her leg.

Yun Yao froze. “You…”

“Mother!”
The little monk looked up, a golden lotus mark on his forehead, calling her crisply.

The word stunned her: “?”

Mu Hanyuan stepped in.
Hearing this, his calm gaze fell on Yun Yao.

She was about to explain when—

The little monk turned, hugging Mu Hanyuan—
“Father!”

Mu Hanyuan looked down: “…?”

Yun Yao: “?????”

Volume Two: The Tower of Reincarnation, Complete.