Once Beheld Peach Blossoms Illuminating the Jade Saddle, Part 4

A few breaths after the words fell, the courtyard snapped out of its thunderstruck silence.

He Fengming and the others whipped their heads toward the voice’s source, nearly wrenching their necks.
“Lord Hanyuan?!?”

Shock and confusion rippled through them.

In truth, Yun Yao was even more baffled.

—The tales claimed his zither, Mercy, was like an extension of himself, its tassels untouchable by anyone.
Was she reading some fraudulent, apocryphal story??

Yun Yao stood dazed.

Then, with a wave of Mu Hanyuan’s sleeve, a jade zither radiating spiritual light materialized. He casually sent it floating toward Yun Yao.

The zither hovered before her.

Yun Yao, along with the crowd, lowered their gazes to it.

—

It wasn’t his Mercy, but Crane Feather, a gift from Tianyin Sect.

The courtyard exhaled collectively, hearts that had nearly leaped from throats settling back.

He Fengming, the most startled, caught his breath.
He was about to shoot Yun Yao a mocking glance when he noticed the radiant glow of Crane Feather, one of the ten legendary zithers of Qianyuan’s immortal domain. His smirk faltered.

This priceless treasure, delivered to Qianmen’s gates with fanfare by Tianyin Sect, practically announced to the immortal domain—
And Lord Hanyuan just gave it to Yun Yaojiu?
What heavenly luck did she have?!

He wasn’t alone in this thought; several disciples darkened with envy.

Chen Jianxue, standing between them, had felt the zither’s passage brush her skirt. She seemed to pause, only now stirring.

The white-robed woman gave a gentle, apologetic smile, stowing the spare treasure sword she’d taken from her divine weapon pouch. “Compared to Senior Brother, my sword’s a bit lackluster. I won’t embarrass myself before Junior Sister Yaojiu.”

Her words prompted a muttered grumble from someone. “She’s a waste—what use has she for Lord Hanyuan’s gift of such a treasure zither?”
Another hushed voice joined, “Exactly. Lord Hanyuan’s too generous. A legendary zither, even if not for a beauty, why give it to a talentless, shameless waste? She probably can’t even play.”
“…”

Yun Yao had meant to push it back—
Crane Feather was precious, its spiritual glow as a treasure artifact towering several zhang if tested. As a master, how could she covet her disciple’s gift?

But hearing those scattered remarks, she smiled.

“Not good to gift a waste like me, but just right for you lot, is it?”

The faces of the two or three who spoke shifted.

He Fengming, closest to her and backed by the formidable Elder Lu Chang’an, stood bolder.
He sneered, “We didn’t mean that. Don’t project your thoughts onto us.”

“Oh? If that’s not what you meant, let me ask—”

The red-robed girl perched casually on a nearby wooden table, her vibrant skirt swaying, slender legs bound in black boots dangling.
She flicked her hand, golden bells jingling, fingers brushing a string.

Hum.

The note was hardly pleasant.
But every face changed—an invisible blade of energy flashed past, grazing He Fengming’s cheek, slicing a lock of his hair.

The strands drifted silently to the ground.

The courtyard’s chatter fell mute.

Her casual pluck confirmed she couldn’t play, but her unfathomable power was undeniable.

Meeting He Fengming’s gritted teeth and wary gaze, the red-robed girl leaned back, hands propped lazily on the table. Tilting her head, her smile seemed innocently harmless.

“Mu Hanyuan’s zither was a gift from Tianyin Sect to him, not Qianmen. Even if he gives it to a waste like me, as long as he wishes, as long as he gifts it—why do you get to question ‘why’?”

He Fengming’s face twisted, glancing instinctively toward Mu Hanyuan but stopping himself. “I-I didn’t…”

“You question his ‘why’—on what grounds?”
The girl’s boots swung lazily, her voice idle, but her gaze, sharp as a frozen blade, swept the courtyard.
Her smile was colder than frost.

“Oh, is it your bond as fellow disciples, or because Lord Hanyuan is so saintly—emotionless, desireless, never punishing unless sect rules are breached, never holding grudges?”

He Fengming’s face flushed, teeth clenched. “Don’t sow discord! You’ve barely been in Qianmen—how dare you—”

“I’m new, but I can’t stand it!” she snapped. “A bunch of ignorant disciples sheltered by him, yet you dare question his words. If your mighty master, bold enough to challenge the Sect Leader, stood here, would you dare contradict him as you did Hanyuan outside this courtyard?!”

He Fengming paled, speechless.

“Your third-generation elder master—higher in rank, cultivation, or status than Mu Hanyuan?”
Yun Yao leapt off the table, her smile icier. “A saint acts not, so everyone thinks they can bully him. He doesn’t care—fine. From today, I care.”

The courtyard stilled.

Chen Jianxue, now closest to Yun Yao, looked shaken, her expression complex.
She wanted to glance at Mu Hanyuan but didn’t dare.

Indeed, she’d forgotten.

In status, cultivation, reputation, or character, Mu Hanyuan was flawless, a divine figure. Yet his compassion seemed to demand nothing personal from anyone, so Qianmen grew used to it.
He tolerated all, showing no joy or anger, so disciples dared question his non-binding words.

But was that how it should be?
Just because his cultivation, status, and reputation were peerless, was his being wronged negligible?

Why, until today, had even she never spoken for him?

“…You’re too soft.”
Passing Chen Jianxue, seeing her hesitation, Yun Yao, thinking she was likely her future disciple-in-law, patiently added in a transmission, “If you two become dao partners and he’s this easy to bully, and you are too, it’ll drive me, your master, to death.”

But before she could soften the phrasing, Chen Jianxue looked up, face deathly pale, as if struck to the core, on the verge of coughing blood.

Yun Yao blinked, stunned.

He Fengming, catching the silence, turned, more outraged than if he’d been scolded. “Yun Yaojiu! Bad enough you insult us, but what did you say to Senior Sister? She’s been by Lord Hanyuan’s side since childhood, never disrespectful, even offering you her sword—how could you target her?!”

Yun Yao: “…”
Yun Yao: “???”

His words ignited the others, their outrage swelling—

Mu Hanyuan flashed to their side, his sleeve gently pulling Chen Jianxue behind him.

She reacted, blurting, “Senior Brother, Junior Sister Yaojiu only meant to advise, she didn’t—” Cough, cough…

Her urgency triggered a coughing fit, her pale face flushing with blood.

He Fengming, furious and heartbroken, said, “Senior Sister, you still defend her? Look what she’s done to you!”

“…”

Another wave of accusations followed.

Yun Yao paused, smirking faintly as she looked up at her towering disciple.
He’d just checked on Chen Jianxue, now turning back, his brow slightly furrowed.
The white silk veiled his thoughts.

She grew curious. If she removed the silk, would this saint show anger, ready to discipline her?

“You think I scolded her too?” she asked, half-smiling.

Mu Hanyuan’s brow creased, his voice low and helpless. “Whatever you said, you shouldn’t have transmitted it privately to her.”

“…Fine.”
Her smile vanished, face blank. Too annoyed to glance at this “dear disciple” shielding a beauty, she turned, flinging her hand. The zither surged, hurtling toward Mu Hanyuan with shattering force—

Its momentum was cataclysmic.

The disciples’ faces paled, some nearly shouting, “Lord Hanyuan, beware!”

Mu Hanyuan didn’t move, not even bracing, as if oblivious to the lethal aura rushing toward him—

The zither grazed his wide sleeve, halting abruptly beside him, its force whipping his robes.

His ink-black hair billowed, the white ribbon dancing.

“Take it back,” Yun Yao’s transmitted voice was icy. “It dirtied my hand.”

“…”

Silence followed, no rebuttal.

See? Not even calling her Master.

This dog of a disciple, forgetting his master for a woman, daring to drop his saintly impartiality before her. Pah.

Fuming, the red-robed girl stormed off without looking back.

The courtyard soon emptied.
Though He Fengming and others wanted to rush to Mu Hanyuan to embellish Yun Yaojiu’s faults, her words pierced like needles, deflating them. They didn’t dare linger near him.

Chen Jianxue, breath steadied, opened her eyes. “Senior Brother, don’t misunderstand. Yun Yaojiu didn’t say anything harsh, just advised me—”

“I know,” Mu Hanyuan interrupted gently.

She blinked, looking up. “You know?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did you—?”

Her words halted.
Perplexed, she followed his raised hand, her gaze landing—

His white sleeve lifted, slender jade fingers brushing the hovering zither.
He plucked a string slowly, ear tilted, as if listening to its tone.

Dissatisfied with the sound, he frowned slightly.

Pausing, he played more notes—melodic, soaring, sharp, or vibrant…

None matched hers.

Until—

Hum.

The familiar note seemed to pull the courtyard back.

After a few breaths, his lashes, veiled by white silk, trembled. A faint smile curved his lips under his sharp nose.

“…So unpleasant,” he said softly, laughing.

“…”

Chen Jianxue’s eyes wavered. This utterly unfamiliar Mu Hanyuan was like the one in the Tianxuan Secret Realm.
In three hundred years, Yun Yao was the only one to draw such a reaction from him.

Could it be…

“Yun Yaojiu, she and…”

—What was her connection to Little Martial Aunt Yun Yao?

Chen Jianxue’s voice faltered, unable to finish.

“Hm?” Mu Hanyuan tilted his head, his voice tinged with barely concealed amusement, as if he had the world’s greatest patience. “What?”

She didn’t dare ask.
Shaking her head, remembering he couldn’t see, she said, “Nothing.”

But he added, “Don’t call her Yun Yaojiu.”

“Why?”

“Her name’s origin isn’t exactly honorable,” he said, his smile growing, as if recalling something. “Only those close to her should use it. She doesn’t like others doing so.”

“…”

If she’d only suspected before, Chen Jianxue now knew—when setting the barrier, Mu Hanyuan had indeed turned at the name “Yun Yaojiu.”

Was Yun Yaojiu special because of Yun Yao, or was it the other way around?
What did they mean to him?

Her heart churned, nearly coughing again, but she suppressed it. “Since you know her so well, why speak to her like that?”

“…”

Mu Hanyuan recalled her transmitted “dirtied my hand,” her anger as if she’d blast her unworthy disciple away—yet she held back.
Her words, like her earlier ones, were all fierce protection for him.
And then she infuriated herself.

He chuckled softly, sighing.

“Because when she protects others, she never guards herself.” She ignored the disciples’ malice, their resentment after being shamed.

He knew her pride and swordsmanship were unmatched, dismissive of others’ words or feelings.
But he disliked their targeting her with ill intent.

“…Junior Sister, rest,” he said, tilting his head. “You arrange tonight’s disciple watch. They’d feel uneasy seeing me now.”

Chen Jianxue’s fingers tightened. “And you?”

“I’ll likely keep watch all night,” he paused, his voice laced with a smile. “So I can wait for someone.”

Mu Hanyuan knew his master well.

Yun Yao scoured a hundred li around the village, nearly overturning every hill, but found no trace of the stalker trailing their boat by day.

She returned, simmering with frustration.

The village at night, lit only by flickering candles, looked eerie, like ghostly flames swaying in the dark, casting dim glints over dilapidated corners where spiderwebs quivered, making the place more sinister.
Following the courtyard’s lamplight, Yun Yao was about to scold whoever was reckless enough to light lamps at midnight, inviting ghosts.

Then, by the light, she saw Mu Hanyuan sitting calmly, his robe gathered.

If the lamp’s glow was glaze, he was a singular, flawless porcelain—icy, jade-like, translucent, tempting fingers to linger, every glance urging a closer inspection.

A beauty under lamplight, eyes veiled, entwined with the night, stirred wicked thoughts.

Yun Yao stared brazenly, relishing it, as if daring him to notice her “bullying” gaze.
Her presence unmasked, he should’ve sensed her instantly.
Yet he didn’t move, letting her look.

Finally, she couldn’t outlast him.

The red-robed girl stepped through the night and flickering shadows, leaning lazily against the table by his sleeve.

“Blind and wasting wax on a lamp.”

Before he could speak—

“Past midnight and not sleeping. What’s Lord Hanyuan waiting for here?” She snatched his used teacup, fingers tracing its base, spinning it, tossing it playfully with jingling bells. “A seductive ghost?”

The instinctive “Master” nearly slipped out.
Her utterly improper remark made his pale throat bob, swallowing it back.

Mu Hanyuan, helpless: “…Still angry?”

“Oh, so you’re here to let me vent?” She scoffed, slamming the cup by his sleeve with a bang, leaning close, nearly brushing his striking brow—

Her fierce posture was perfect.
Almost grazing the moonlit, alluring white ribbon in the night, she remembered.

A beauty, but blind.

Her grand gesture was wasted—he couldn’t see.

Yun Yao: “…”

Stuck—not advancing, not retreating, not speaking, not silent.

She froze awkwardly.

Mu Hanyuan’s senses, save sight, were razor-sharp in the night. Her faint, unique cold fragrance—unidentifiable but distinctly hers—was potent tonight.

In the night’s backdrop, the jade-carved beauty tilted his head slightly. “…Master?”

The voice was so soft, so low, she couldn’t tell if it was divine sense or sound.

The red-robed girl flinched, stumbling back two steps.

“Mu. Han. Yuan.”

Her transmitted voice dripped with gritted annoyance.

Puzzled, he didn’t grasp why her anger flared again. Hesitating, he replied via transmission, “If Master’s still upset, I’ll let you vent.”

“—”

She laughed, exasperated. “Should I hit you or make you kneel?”

He considered. “Either, as Master wishes.”

“You think I won’t do anything because we enter the mountain tomorrow?”

At this, he hesitated.
“Tomorrow doesn’t need my lead. If Master wants to vent, don’t hold back.”

“You’re not going? Then who is?” Yun Yao frowned, uneasy.

“I’d like Master to lead into Canglong Mountain.”

“—”

No wonder he waited here.
She sneered, turning back. “And you?”

“The village’s situation is odd, unresolved. I don’t trust leaving only disciples to guard.” His voice was gentle.

“Besides you, Chen Jianxue’s cultivation isn’t low,” Yun Yao said. “Why not her?”

He paused, not understanding why she mentioned Chen Jianxue again.
Like how he didn’t understand why she’d privately transmitted to her earlier, words not for others.
In that moment, he hadn’t liked it.

He was her disciple—why was Master close to another?

Lowering his eyes, he found a reasonable excuse. “Junior Sister’s health is frail, unfit for the mountain’s miasma.”

“…”

After a silence, Yun Yao’s cold laugh was fueled by his saintly candor. “Your junior sister’s precious, but your master’s in top shape, huh?”

Without hesitation, he replied, “Master is naturally the world’s best.”

“I—”

Such sky-high flattery, spoken so matter-of-factly from Mu Hanyuan’s mouth.

Yun Yao was stunned. “…Lord Hanyuan, boasting brings retribution.”

In the moonlight and lamplight, he lowered his gaze, smiling faintly. “It’s not. It won’t.”

Not boasting—he was certain.
For three hundred years, he cultivated tirelessly to silence all doubts, ensuring the world saw him and remembered his master. Yun Yao would always be the unmatched sword who subdued the Demon Realm, the world’s greatest.

…

But he never imagined Yun Yao could stumble in a small ditch.