A Thousand Miles of Old Friends, A Thousand Miles of Moonlight, Part 2

“So, this donkey… isn’t Senior Sister?”

Under the demon monk’s ambiguous smile, Yun Yao belatedly retracted her hand from the donkey’s back, tucking it behind her.

Liao Wu lowered his brows, smiling. “When did I ever say it was her?”

“It’s because you don’t speak plainly, always spouting cryptic nonsense like ‘this donkey is fated with you’… And after hearing about the Reincarnation Eye from the Great Monk, I naturally assumed…” Yun Yao glanced at the donkey, still glaring at her indignantly. “It’s really not her?”

“Monks do not lie.”

“…You, demon monk, have deceived plenty. Don’t try to fool me,” Yun Yao scoffed, brushing off the straw from the stable on her clothes as she walked toward Liao Wu. “So what’s special about it that you’d bring it thousands of miles with you?”

Liao Wu followed her out of the quiet room, closing the door behind them. Against the light, his expression was inscrutable as he glanced back inside.
The donkey let out an anxious bray from the stable.

As if he hadn’t heard, Liao Wu said, “It is indeed someone’s reincarnation, but not hers.”

“Hm?” Yun Yao brushed the straw off her hands. “Then whose?”

“Your master told you, didn’t he? In her past life in the cycle of reincarnation, she caused countless deaths, her sins towering to the heavens,” the Red Dust Buddha said, his tone flat as he spoke of old matters.

Yun Yao paused mid-brush. “Yes, he did.”

The Red Dust Buddha lowered his eyes, his expression a mix of sorrow and pity.

His hand slowly closed the wooden door, the last sliver of daylight fading until the room was cloaked in darkness.
The donkey’s anguished cries were muffled in the stillness.

Liao Wu turned to face Yun Yao, his voice calm. “This is her past life—the one who, at the very beginning, drove her toward evil.”

“…”

Yun Yao froze in place.

After a few breaths, it was the Red Dust Buddha who spoke first, looking at her. “If this were years ago, you’d have already charged in with your sword.”

“…” Yun Yao snapped back, letting out a light scoff. “You’re not exactly the same as back then either.”

At her scoff, Liao Wu seemed momentarily lost.
He couldn’t help but recall the past—Qianmen’s Little Martial Aunt, spoiled rotten by Master Taiyi and her senior brothers and sisters, was a notorious troublemaker in the cultivation world. Brazen and arrogant, she’d beat up the East Sea’s young phoenix one day and storm the Southern Border’s imperial palace with her sword the next, leaving her seniors scrambling to clean up her messes.
Naturally, she’d taken plenty of beatings from her eldest senior brother’s ruler for it.

Thinking of those vivid youthful days, Liao Wu let a wistful smile slip, shaking his head. “True. Things change, people scatter. With those who stood before you gone, Little Martial Aunt, you’ve had to stand on your own.”

Yun Yao choked on his words. For her Third Senior Sister’s sake, she held back but couldn’t resist. “If you can’t speak properly, don’t speak at all.”
“…Enough. I’m not here to reminisce today. Mu Hanyuan and I are leaving. The Immortal Sect Competition is near—Fantian Temple still not joining?”

“Buddhist practice is pure. Why stir the dust of the mortal world?”

“No surprise there. You’re more stubborn than Jiushi Valley’s pedantic scholars, yet they still count you among the great immortal sects,” Yun Yao said, turning to leave. Having failed to steal the donkey, she didn’t mind, waving casually over her shoulder. “I’m off.”

Liao Wu raised a brow. “Where to?”

“To retrieve Naihe and stabilize the immortal realm.”
Yun Yao answered lazily.

Her bold words, spoken so casually, carried the reckless flair of that untamed girl from years past. Watching her red-clad figure, Liao Wu smiled faintly. “The rivers and mountains may change, but your nature doesn’t.”

“Don’t think I didn’t hear that.”
As she stepped out of the courtyard, Yun Yao paused, glancing back at the quiet room behind Liao Wu. “You went out of your way to bring this donkey back. Could it be you’re waiting for…”

Her words trailed off.

Liao Wu, silent for a moment, smiled faintly. “Waiting for what?”

A brief pause.

“…Forget it.” Yun Yao left without looking back.

It was only as she stepped out of the zen courtyard that it dawned on her. Despite the purity of Buddhist practice, why did the Red Dust Buddha wander the mortal world ceaselessly?

A century of roaming the mortal dust…
All to find that one person’s reincarnation.

When Yun Yao reached the gates of Fantian Temple, she witnessed an amusing scene—

Mu Hanyuan, in his ornate robe and crown, was wiping his sword. His waist, cinched by a jade belt, stood tall and straight like pine or bamboo, exuding an air of refined elegance from afar.
Yet at the temple gates, the two guardian lions, Lion One and Lion Two, gripped their claws tightly, glaring at him.

The reason they only glared was likely because the little Golden Lotus was sprawled on Lion One’s head, gleefully pressing its tiny hands on the lion’s massive mane, larger than its palms. The lotus’s playfulness left both lions fuming but too intimidated to act.

As the embodiment of the Buddha’s Golden Lotus, it naturally held the authority of the Buddha over all Buddhist creations.
They dared not resist.

Yun Yao approached, flicking her finger to cast a spell that lifted the little lotus from Lion One’s head.
The lotus pouted, on the verge of tears.

Lion One let out a long sigh, glancing at Yun Yao. “You’re bold to steal a donkey, but couldn’t you have picked a time when the Great Monk wasn’t around?”

Lion One and Lion Two: “…?”

Ignoring their resentful stares, Yun Yao hooked her finger, summoning a wisp of spiritual mist to carry the little lotus toward her. She tapped its golden lotus mark with a stern look. “Listen up. Once we leave this temple, you’d better behave. If people out there see through you, they’ll treat you like an immortal pill. Keep bullying others without timing it right, and when trouble comes knocking, I won’t clean up your mess.”

“Master,” Mu Hanyuan said, a touch of helplessness in his voice, “you’ll spoil it like this.”

Yun Yao paused. “Will I?”

“Yes.”

“Guess I’m not cut out for raising kids.” Yun Yao turned, descending the twelve steps outside Fantian Temple ahead of Mu Hanyuan.

Following her, he said, “Master, the Dragon Roar Sword is ready. You’ll need to wield it to reach Jiushi Valley in time.”

“Me wield the Dragon Roar Sword? What about you?” Yun Yao, walking along the mountain path, considered plucking a peach blossom branch for Mu Hanyuan.
Then she realized not a single peach tree was left on the mountain.
She blinked.

Could it be because, a century ago, she’d broken a peach branch to humiliate the temple by storming its gates?
…Tch, where’s the Buddhist magnanimity?

As she grumbled inwardly, Mu Hanyuan’s gentle voice came from behind. “I’m accustomed to playing the zither, with little practice in sword control. To avoid delay, please wield the sword, Master, and carry me along.”

“…” Yun Yao turned back. “?”

Mu Hanyuan stood behind her, his refined elegance intact, his lashes lowered slightly with a hint of apology, as if genuinely regretful for his lack of swordsmanship practice.

She looked down at the Dragon Roar Sword he offered with both hands.

…Reasonable and irrefutable.
Yet why did she feel like she’d been played?

Even as she summoned the sword and stepped onto its blade, Yun Yao was still pondering this. “Get on.”

“Thank you, Master.”

Mu Hanyuan stepped onto the sword, setting the little lotus down from the mist into his arms.

Yun Yao didn’t turn, standing rigidly at the sword’s head to keep her distance, her back straighter than bamboo.
The mountain breeze tangled their hair, and the faint scent of cold pine after snow from Mu Hanyuan drifted close.
“…” Yun Yao edged another step toward the sword’s tip. “You steady?”

“Not yet.”

“Then get steady. Don’t drop the little lotus.”

“Is that alright?”

“Why wouldn’t it be? Just hold steady,” Yun Yao said, baffled.

But as soon as she spoke, a low, pleasant chuckle came from above her head, carried by the wind.
“Alright.”
A slender, jade-like hand lightly rested on her waist in that moment.

“—?”
Yun Yao jolted, nearly tumbling off the sword.

A few breaths later, she turned stiffly, meeting Mu Hanyuan’s profile as he held the little lotus with one hand. “You…”

“The blood-red threads require half my cultivation to suppress constantly, and I must care for it as well,” he said with slight hesitation. “If Master finds it improper, should I wait until Jiushi Valley to suppress them?”

“…It’s fine. Couldn’t be more proper.” Yun Yao gritted her teeth, forcing a smile as she turned back, trying to ignore the hand at her waist. “Keep those threads suppressed—not a single one gets out.”

“Alright, as Master commands.”

The journey of ten thousand miles passed in days.

Unlike the other four great immortal sects, Jiushi Valley wasn’t secluded from the world but nestled close to mortal life.

This stemmed from its origins, tied to the long-extinct Southern Border Dynasty of the immortal realm.
Few now remembered that Jiushi Valley was founded by the last emperor of that dynasty, who vanished after wandering the four seas.
And he happened to be the named disciple of Qianmen’s Seven Heroes’ eldest brother, Du Jin.

With Du Jin’s teachings passed down, Jiushi Valley’s disciples were naturally upright.
Thus, Yun Yao always felt that, despite their scholarly arrogance, Jiushi Valley had the most human warmth among the sects, making it the easiest for her to connect with.

Unfortunately, she and that Southern Border emperor didn’t get along.

“Sigh, four hundred years… How’s he still not in the ground?”

Stepping into the bustling city at Jiushi Valley’s gates, Yun Yao gazed at the valley master’s statues lining the streets, muttering with regret.

“Who’s Master talking about?”
Mu Hanyuan, holding the little lotus in his palm, asked gently.

“Oh, no one.” Yun Yao glanced at his raised left hand. “Keep it calm. At least wait until we’re inside Jiushi Valley to let it transform. This city’s a mess of all sorts—if something happens, those poor scholars can’t afford the loss.”

Mu Hanyuan was about to reply when he glanced toward a direction in the city. “Why are they here?”

“Who?”

“Qianmen disciples,” Mu Hanyuan said, his gaze meaningful as it returned to the red-clad girl’s profile. “He Fengming and Ding Xiao are both here.”

“Let’s go ask.”

“…”

Cultivators were forbidden from using spells freely in the city outside Jiushi Valley to avoid disturbing mortals, so even Yun Yao and Mu Hanyuan had to walk.
After nearly the time it takes to brew a cup of tea, Yun Yao, following Mu Hanyuan, spotted Ding Xiao and the others.

She paused slightly. “The city’s restrictions are strong, and with such crowds, I couldn’t sense them from so far. How did you?”

“…”
Mu Hanyuan’s fingers, holding the little lotus, faltered briefly.

“Your soul power’s stronger than mine?” Yun Yao turned, eyeing him oddly.

Her soul, imbued with the divine pattern of her immortal grid, was akin to an immortal soul. Even in Qianyuan, cut off from the Immortal Realm, it was unmatched by mortal cultivators—
Not even a Tribulation Realm cultivator’s soul could rival hers, let alone Mu Hanyuan, who hadn’t yet broken through.
The most likely explanation was that he hadn’t suppressed those eerie blood-red threads.

At that thought, Yun Yao stopped, her expression cold. Without a word, she grabbed his wrist, pulling it toward her.

Caught off guard, Mu Hanyuan swayed slightly, nearly colliding with her.

Yun Yao ignored it.

Her spiritual sense surged into his meridians—
And found nothing.

She detected no trace of the blood-red threads she assumed he’d released.

Despite her abrupt action, Mu Hanyuan didn’t resist. He even opened his spiritual veins, mansion, and sea completely, letting her sense probe freely.

After a moment, he raised his eyes, a faint smile in them. “I said I’ve suppressed the threads. Master still doesn’t trust me?”

“…”
Yun Yao, moments ago fierce and cold, now wanted to crawl into a crevice from embarrassment.

With her past life as a warning, how could she trust so easily?

They were now inches apart from her tug, her nose nearly brushing his collar as she looked up.
“I didn’t expect your soul sense to be so strong without reaching the Tribulation Realm.”

Strong wasn’t the word—it surpassed immortal sense.
Such absurdity would baffle even an Immortal Monarch descended to the mortal realm. How could she not suspect?

As her spiritual sense retreated, she moved to release his wrist, but just as her fingers left, she felt her sense being pulled back by a force—

Before she could react, her fingertips gripped his wrist again.

Yun Yao’s face paled, thinking the Seed of the End hadn’t been fully removed, leaving some lingering attraction between them—

Until she heard a low chuckle above her head.

“Since Master wants to probe, probe thoroughly.”

With that, Mu Hanyuan’s spiritual sense guided hers through his meridians, straight to the depths of his spiritual mansion and sea.

In his vast, towering spiritual sea, Yun Yao saw the clustered blood-red threads.
—He hadn’t lied.

Her guilt surged. “I wasn’t doubting you, just…”

“Martial Aunt?”
Ding Xiao’s hesitant voice came from behind.

Yun Yao instinctively turned, seeing Ding Xiao and He Fengming approaching.

“It’s really you, Martial Aunt!” Ding Xiao’s eyes lit up as she wove through the crowd. “Brother He and I were sent by the Sect Leader to help Jiushi Valley transport the treasure. Why are you and Lord Hanyuan—”

Her words stopped abruptly.
Her smile froze as she looked down and saw Yun Yao gripping Mu Hanyuan’s wrist.

Both paused.

With a swish, Yun Yao released his wrist, stepping back sharply.

Mu Hanyuan remained composed, showing no trace of embarrassment. He merely lowered his sleeve, covering the reddened wrist she’d gripped.

Ding Xiao cautiously looked between them. “Martial Aunt, Lord Hanyuan, you two are…?”

“Checking his pulse.”
Yun Yao, righteous and unflinching, lied smoothly. “Lord Hanyuan was unwell, so I probed his spiritual mansion.”

As soon as she spoke, she realized she’d forgotten something basic after years away from foundational lessons.

“Huh?” Ding Xiao blinked, confused. “Isn’t a cultivator’s spiritual mansion their most private domain, forbidden to others’ spiritual sense? One misstep could…”

Mu Hanyuan gently cut her off. “I’m also here at the Immortal Alliance’s request to aid Jiushi Valley with the treasure. Have you reported to the valley’s disciples yet?”

“N-not yet, Lord Hanyuan. We planned to leave tomorrow, so we lingered in the city a bit,” Ding Xiao, caught slacking, turned sheepish, glancing at He Fengming behind her for help.

He Fengming paused a moment longer, his expression complex as he approached.
For some reason, his gaze lingered on Mu Hanyuan’s sleeve-covered wrist, heavy with unspoken emotions.
Then he saluted with his sword. “Greetings, Martial Aunt Ancestor, Lord Hanyuan.”

“!”
At He Fengming’s direct address of Yun Yao’s title, Ding Xiao flinched, glaring at him before hurriedly looking around.

Fortunately, the crowd was mostly mortals, and no one overheard.

Yun Yao reacted calmly, only frowning slightly before waving it off. “Don’t shout such lofty titles—it’s life-shortening. Since you haven’t reported either, let’s enter the valley together.”

“…”

Mu Hanyuan raised his eyes. Only after Yun Yao turned away did he silently shift his gaze, landing lightly on He Fengming.

That glance, like frost blooming, sent a chill through the heart.

Ding Xiao quickly stepped in front of He Fengming. “Lord Hanyuan, Brother He was just excited to see you and misspoke. Please, don’t blame him.”

“No matter. Let’s go.”
Mu Hanyuan lowered his eyes, the coldness swept away by his lashes. The faint chill faded, and he followed Yun Yao, his demeanor once again the impeccable Lord Hanyuan.

Only then did He Fengming’s shoulders relax, sweat beading on his forehead.

“Brother He, why are you so scared? Lord Hanyuan won’t eat you,” Ding Xiao teased.

He Fengming’s brows tightened, still fixed on their backs. “Didn’t you see how he looked at… at Martial Aunt?”

“Look? What look?” Ding Xiao tried to recall but shook her head. “Admiration? Come to think of it, it’s my first time seeing Lord Hanyuan so… compliant? To think he’d even let someone probe his spiritual mansion. As expected of master and disciple—Martial Aunt’s truly formidable.”

“…”

As Ding Xiao chattered and walked forward, He Fengming remained rooted, frowning.
His mind uncontrollably replayed the scene.

Amid the bustling crowd, the snow-white robe and red dress stood facing each other, from a certain angle looking almost intimately entwined.

What shocked him more was Mu Hanyuan’s lowered gaze on the red-clad girl inches away.
His snow-white robe and ornate crown were immaculate.
But in his eyes, that deep, unfathomable darkness, shimmering with intensity…

How many emotions were hidden in that look, He Fengming couldn’t say.

But it was certainly not admiration.

—And definitely not the look of a disciple toward their master.