The Season of Falling Flowers Meets You Again, Part 3

At the crack of dawn, before the demon realm’s sky had fully brightened, Yun Yao was roused from her bed by the attendants of the Vermilion Bird City Lord’s mansion.

Her room was surrounded by layers of intricate restrictions—three inner and three outer circles. Last night, Yun Yao had studied them for hours, concluding that, with her damaged immortal seal and injured spiritual core, escaping undetected by Mu Hanyuan was impossible.
So, in the latter half of the night, she gave up, burrowed into her blankets, and decided to deal with it tomorrow.

When she opened her eyes again, she was seated before a bronze mirror.

Attendants in identical palace garb streamed in and out, their trays laden with an array of ornaments, jewelry, and trinkets. The flurry of figures made Yun Yao’s head spin.

It was her first time appearing in her true form in the Vermilion Bird City Lord’s mansion, as if she’d materialized out of thin air. The attendants, bowing as they passed, couldn’t hide their curious glances.

Irritated by their prying eyes, Yun Yao propped her chin on her hand, leaning against the vanity, letting the attendants fuss with her hair while she closed her eyes in weary resignation.

But with her Ascension Realm cultivation, even if she didn’t want to, the attendants’ hushed gossip drilled into her ears.

“Strange, is the Lord marrying two women today? Why is there a set of bridal attire prepared in the front courtyard, and so much sent here too?”
“This room must be for the Lord’s secret concubine. We’ve never seen her before.”
“Ugh, that’s tragic. Marrying alongside the Qinglong City princess on the same day? The Lord probably won’t even show his face here…”
“But why does it feel like the bridal attire sent to this courtyard is even more lavish than what’s prepared for the Lord’s wife?”

“Insolent! How dare you gossip about the Lord’s affairs!”

An older voice cut off the young attendants’ chatter, sending them kneeling in a panic, muttering apologies to the “steward.” Sensing the approaching presence, Yun Yao opened her eyes.

She met the face of an elderly woman, smiling with excessive deference. “The girls are ignorant and didn’t know you’re the Lord’s master. Please don’t take offense at their rudeness.”

“…”

The word “master” made the gossiping attendants tremble, some dropping to their knees again, begging forgiveness. Their faces, drained of color, looked pitifully young.

But Yun Yao, feeling like the most pitiable person in the world for having such a rebellious disciple, had little sympathy to spare.
She slouched against the vanity, listless. “It’s nothing, just idle talk.”
Pausing, her gaze fell on the elderly woman’s hands.

A pearwood tray, etched with gold-threaded dragon and phoenix patterns, held an elaborate headdress encrusted with pearls and jade.

…It looked like it weighed thirty pounds.

Flanking the woman were two attendants, one holding a red robe with golden patterns of a hundred birds paying homage to a phoenix and peonies, the other with matching soft boots.

Yun Yao, as if not fully awake, felt her breath catch. “…This isn’t for me, is it?”

The elderly woman smiled, signaling the attendants to place the robe on the long table behind the mirror, already crowded to the brim.

Only then did she turn back, still smiling. “You’re the Lord’s master, destined to be the most honored person in the demon realm. The girls worried these preparations were too rushed and might seem careless, incurring your displeasure.”

“Even if I’m his master, this is his wedding to the Qinglong City princess,” Yun Yao said, pointing at the ornate headdress. “Why should I, the master, be dressed more festively than the bride?”

The elderly woman hesitated cautiously. “Then, what would you like?”

“Keep one outer robe. Clear out the rest; it’s an eyesore,” Yun Yao said, her eyes drooping listlessly.

As the attendants at the mirror reached to apply makeup, she waved them off. “Clear them out too.”
Pausing, she reconsidered—going out with disheveled hair might cause more trouble.
She amended, glancing at the trembling group of young attendants. “Leave one to help with my hair.” Pointing randomly, “Her.”

The elderly woman hesitated, troubled. “That might make it hard to explain to the Lord.”

Yun Yao gave a cold, mocking laugh, her gaze sharp. “Tell him I said so. It’s just his wedding. My staying here is already the height of tolerance. He has no right to dictate how I dress or adorn myself.”

“…”

The room fell deathly silent.

A few breaths later, a stammered voice broke the quiet. “L-L-Lord…”

Yun Yao turned, expressionless, to see him standing at the open door, under the corridor.
Today, he wore a red robe, its light hem and delicate embroidery catching the light faintly.
But his striking face remained hidden beneath the bronze mask.

Yun Yao turned back to the mirror, her lips curling in a mocking, sarcastic tone. “What’s this, Lord? Come to inspect me?”

“Master is, of course, blameless.”

Mu Hanyuan stepped through the kneeling attendants, entering the room.

In the mirror, Yun Yao’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Beneath the thin sleeve of her inner robe, her slender fingers clenched, her gaze cold and wary as it tracked the approaching figure in the reflection.

He stopped beside her chair, holding a pair of red boots with gold and silver embroidery.

Kneeling on one knee, his snow-white hair spilled over his shoulder, brushing the mask as it slipped. He grasped her bare ankle gently but firmly, his long fingers emerging from his sleeve.

Yun Yao’s eyelids twitched, her suppressed anger flaring as she shot him a sidelong glare.

Mu Hanyuan kept his head lowered, as if oblivious.

In the deathly silence, with every attendant bowing low and not daring to peek, he meticulously adjusted her boots, his voice lazy and low. “But if only one is to serve, it should be me. How could it be anyone else?”

Yun Yao’s fingers tightened, nails nearly digging into her palms.
She turned from the vanity, glaring down at the man kneeling beside her and the attendants cowering silently.
Through gritted teeth, she hissed, “…Must you humiliate me like this?”

“…”

Pausing as he smoothed the final crease of her boot, Mu Hanyuan’s fingers stilled at her words.
After a breath or two, he chuckled softly. “So, Master thinks I’m humiliating you.”
Stung by the dark, fathomless look beneath his mask, Yun Yao instinctively moved to pull away.

Her boot brushed his palm, retreating.

But just before it escaped his grasp, his sharp, elegant fingers seized it again.
Still kneeling, he tilted his head slightly, a silent laugh seeming to curve beneath the mask, his sharp brows softening.

“And this?” Gripping her ankle, he pulled her retreating boot toward him—

Until it rested against his chest.

“…”

Yun Yao heard stifled gasps from the attendants, barely suppressed.
Blood rushed to her head, a roaring in her ears.

“Mu… Han… Yuan.”

Gritting her teeth, her face flushed red, she restrained herself three hundred times to avoid shouting, *Have you no shame?* in front of the mansion’s attendants.

“What are you here for?!”

“Naturally, to visit Master before the wedding. I’ve always revered and respected you—don’t you know that best?”
As he spoke, his fingers brushed over her ankle through the thin boot, then released her.

Yun Yao: “—!”
*Know my ass.*

She nearly fainted from rage.

But he stood, triumphant, and walked out, his laughing voice trailing behind.

“Remember, whatever she says, you obey. If she tells you to come kill me, whoever doesn’t show up at my chambers with a blade will answer to me.”

“Y-Yes, Lord.”

Amid the trembling affirmations, Yun Yao’s knuckles cracked with her grip.

—This madman.

—

Before noon, Yun Yao was carried by palanquin to the ceremonial plaza outside the hall.

Though the wedding was held in Vermilion Bird City, closest to the immortal realm, the plaza was filled with soldiers from the Qinglong, White Tiger, Vermilion Bird, and Black Tortoise divisions.
Leaders from each major city stood in ranks below the hall’s long steps.

But Yun Yao’s palanquin stopped at the top of the dozens of white jade steps, beside a single, exalted chair.

“He wants me—” Yun Yao froze before the palanquin, pointing at the chair towering above the demon realm’s forces, “to sit *there*?”

“Yes, my lady.”
After the morning’s events, the elderly woman’s deference was absolute. Dismissing the attendants, she personally arranged a soft jade footstool beneath the exalted chair.

Yun Yao’s fingers clenched beneath her robe’s sleeves. “And if I don’t?”

The elderly woman hesitated, saying nothing, but turned to look in the direction the chair faced.

Sensing something, Yun Yao turned.
Beyond the dozens of white jade steps and the sea of demon realm soldiers below, she saw, on the city wall’s tower, Feng Qinglian, bloodied and tattered, his hands bound, lifelessly strung up on a rack.

“…Mu… Han… Yuan.”

Yun Yao’s teeth ground, her sword humming faintly with suppressed energy.

But that flicker of sword aura triggered the restriction Mu Hanyuan had set specifically for her.
Instantly, a killing force locked onto Feng Qinglian from afar.

…He would die.

Yun Yao’s gathered spiritual energy dissipated abruptly.

A few breaths later, she laughed coldly. “Fine, fine. If you insist I drink your and Chen Jianxue’s ceremonial tea, I’ll wait and drink it.”

With that, she turned and sat decisively in the exalted chair.

In that moment, the crowd below sensed the fleeting sword aura.
Not only did the demon realm cultivators pale, but those over three hundred years old gaped in panic, pointing up the steps.
“Yun Yao! It’s Qianmen’s Little Martial Ancestor, Yun Yao!”

One shout sparked a wave of stunned murmurs.

“She’s the Yun Yao who, three hundred years ago, was said to have suppressed the demon realm with a single sword?!”
“More than that! A year ago, she emerged from seclusion and, at the peak of the Celestial Alliance’s Tianshan, unsealed the divine sword Naihe, striking down Old Man Bixiao with one blow, leaving him disheveled and vomiting blood! She’s still the immortal realm’s top figure!”
“Why is Yun Yao here?”
“Did the Lord capture her?”
“Look clearly—she’s seated in the exalted position reserved for parents or masters!”
“Do you remember last winter, the immortal realm’s rumors about the saintly Yuan Yi, the revered Hanyuan, foretold as a calamity, falling to demonic ways, and being killed by his master Yun Yao with a single sword at the peak of Xuanyuan Sect, his body cast into the frigid abyss?”
“Hiss… How many disciples does Yun Yao have?”
“Just… one.”
“Then our Lord… could he be…”

The murmurs didn’t cease.

A sudden announcement rang across the field: “The Lord arrives—!”

Outside the hall, below the dozens of white jade steps, the vast plaza fell silent. Then, like a tide or wind bending grass, the masses knelt in unison.
The demon realm’s forces bowed their heads.
“May the Lord be ever safe.”

Their unified chant echoed to the heavens.

Atop the steps, in the exalted chair, Yun Yao was the only one in the countless crowd who hadn’t knelt.

She gripped the chair’s gilded beast-head armrests, their sharp edges digging into her palms, leaving marks.
Beyond the kneeling figures, she could clearly see two wedding palanquins descending. Mu Hanyuan and Chen Jianxue, in wedding attire, stepped out, their red robes trailing like blood across the white jade steps.

If this continued, after the wedding, Mu Hanyuan would revive the Demon Sovereign Hall and ascend as the demon realm’s supreme ruler.
The red trail would soon become a true sea of blood, engulfing Qianmen.

She had to stop that day from coming.

Her fingers trembled on the beast-head armrests, the sharp edges cutting into her flesh until a drop of crimson blood spilled from her fingertip.

*Plink.*
It fell onto the snow-white jade step.

A piercing, commanding gaze shot toward her—

Yun Yao snapped back, looking down to see Mu Hanyuan, in his wedding robes, ascending the steps toward her.

Unlike tradition—

Chen Jianxue, who should have been ascending alongside him to offer tea, stood motionless at the base of the steps, head bowed.

Something was wrong.
Chen Jianxue was supposed to join him to present the tea.

Before Yun Yao could process, Mu Hanyuan had crossed the steps and stood before her.

He stopped below the exalted chair.
Lifting his sleeve, he slowly removed the dark gold bronze mask, a strand of snow-white hair falling loose, swaying in the wind.
It curled around his abyssal black eyes and the blood-red demonic mark.

“Master…”

His voice hoarse, he gazed at her. “Do you know how many centuries it took me to walk, step by step, to stand before you again?”

“…”

Yun Yao’s heart trembled faintly.
She lowered her gaze, avoiding his devouring look. “I told you, I’m no longer your master.”

“And if I insist you drink this master’s tea?”

Mu Hanyuan raised his hand, and a kneeling attendant lifted a pearwood tray, offering a teacup.
He took it, stepping forward.

It could hardly be called an “offering.”

As he held the cup condescendingly to her lips, Yun Yao coldly turned her face away.

His hand froze beside her chin.

After a breath or two, he laughed, his unmasked voice ringing through the palace grounds—

“Indeed, she is Qianmen’s Little Martial Ancestor, Yun Yao, my master.”
“At the peak of Xuanyuan, she personally expelled me from the sect, pierced my heart with a sword, and cast me into the frigid abyss. Amid rotting bones, vultures tore my flesh and organs, only for them to regrow and be torn again…”

“—”
Yun Yao’s pupils constricted. She whipped her head around, glaring at him. “What are you saying?”

He looked at her, smiling. “In that frigid abyss, I lingered for ten full days before surviving.”
“Ten days, and not once did Master come to see me.”

“Impossible. I clearly cast—” Pain tore through her organs, her eyes reddening, teeth trembling. “Impossible…”

Mu Hanyuan gazed deeply at her, then laughed softly. “So Master can feel heartache too. But who do you ache for—him, or me?”

“—”

Yun Yao fell silent, nearly suffocating.

In that silence, below the steps, the vast plaza stirred. The demon realm’s forces snapped to attention, their eyes bloodshot, countless ferocious auras surging.
A tidal wave of voices roared toward the summit—

“Kill her!”
“Kill!”
“Kill!!”
“KILL!!!”

“…Kill?”

Mu Hanyuan laughed softly. “How could I bear to?”

The demonic mark at his eye’s corner trailed like blood tears.

He tossed aside the mask, his sleeve brushing the beast-head armrest stained with Yun Yao’s blood.
His fingers gently traced the blood mark.

“Since Master won’t drink this tea…”

He raised his hand, drinking the tea himself at close range, then tossed the cup, letting it fall among their entangled robes.

“—!”
From his dark, lustful gaze, Yun Yao guessed what was coming and moved to dodge.

But she was a fraction too late.

With a mix of ferocity and tenderness, Mu Hanyuan pressed her slender neck, pinning her into the exalted chair and leaning down to kiss her.
The cold tea, warmed by his tongue, passed into her lips, not a drop wasted.

“This master’s tea—I offer, you drink.”

His voice was sharp, trembling like a sob from his core, yet laced with near-mad delight—

“From now on, be my wife, Master.”