The Wind and Moon Are Merciless, Shadows Change in Secret, Part 3

Even though Mu Hanyuan didn’t spell it out entirely, Yun Yao understood his meaning.

“Killing him” meant destroying the evil aspect’s soul.

“Killing me” meant erasing the Endfire entity from this timeline completely.

Without the Endfire vessel, which grew stronger with each death, the evil aspect’s soul, even if still bent on chaos, would be powerless.

“Both paths are difficult,” Mu Hanyuan said calmly, as if reading her struggle. “But whichever you choose, I’ll help you see it through… even if it’s the latter.”

Yun Yao stared at him, leaning against the railing.
His tone was so light, as if they weren’t discussing his life-or-death fate.

“No—not until the final step.”

She shuddered, shaking off a chilling aura despite the warm sunlight bathing her.

Gripping her sword, Naihe, tightly, she declared, “In this world, everyone can die, and everyone will die—no one truly lives as long as the heavens and earth. But death should have meaning. No life should be a bargaining chip or a condition. Even if death comes, it must be clear and justified. Why can’t we defy the Endfire fate? Why would the evil aspect pay such a price to turn back time with the Wheel of Reincarnation and bring ruin to Qianmen? Until I understand all this, I won’t let either of you die senselessly.”

“…”

In the resolute cadence of her words, Mu Hanyuan seemed lost, gazing at her motionlessly for a long time.

Until Yun Yao, puzzled, waved a hand before his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“…Nothing.”
He snapped back, smiling faintly. “I was just thinking—perhaps only Master would cling so stubbornly to this.”

Yun Yao bristled. “How is that stubborn?”

His voice softened. “That’s why he and I, only after meeting you, didn’t become demons three hundred years ago.”

“…”

Caught in his gentle, dawn-like gaze, Yun Yao froze.

Until a sword’s cry, laced with an enraged phoenix’s call, tore through the sky, shattering clouds like jade, aiming straight for the teahouse’s second floor—

*Clang!*
Naihe remained sheathed, its hilt rising to block the sword light aimed at Mu Hanyuan.

Yun Yao shot to her feet, shielding him, and looked down to see Feng Qinglian’s furious figure hovering in the air.

“Feng Qinglian, what are you doing?!”

Under the sword’s light, the teahouse’s patrons scattered in panic, and city guards swiftly converged.
“Who dares cause trouble in Two Realms City?!”

Feng Qinglian glared back. “I should be asking you that! At a time like this, you’re sitting with *him*—did you drink tea into your brain?!”

Before he finished, Two Realms City’s armored guards arrived, encircling him.
The lead guard, eyes blazing, scanned the teahouse. “Where’d this feathered pest come from, daring to brawl in Two Realms City? And you two up there—get down here and face death, or I’ll—”

His words cut off abruptly.

From the teahouse’s second floor, a refined young man in dark robes, looking like a harmless scholar, stepped past the red-robed woman, leaning over the railing.
His jade-like, ethereal face was revealed to all.

The tiger-demon guard stared in shock, then dropped to his knees. “This lowly one failed to sense the Lord’s arrival—please forgive my offense!”

“…”

The other imposing demon guards exchanged glances, then snapped to attention, their armor clattering as they knelt in waves. Even the lingering citizens outside the teahouse dropped to their knees in a clamor.

“Lord!”
“We pay respects to the Lord!”
“…”

The city roared with reverence.

Mu Hanyuan seemed exasperated. “No kneeling in the demon realm.”

“Yes!!”

Feng Qinglian, just called a “feathered pest,” had a face as colorful as his feathered robes, hovering without descending, his eyes blazing at Mu Hanyuan.

Perhaps his killing intent was too obvious, as the tiger guard, just rising, noticed it. He gripped his halberd, its blade glinting coldly. “Lord, this pest dared attack you. Let us—”

“Who’re you calling a *feathered pest*?!”

Feng Qinglian’s rage erupted, his phoenix fire wings unfurling several zhang wide behind him, their flames blazing gloriously.

The spectacle intimidated the onlookers below.
But the tiger guard, clearly experienced, tensed without retreating, twisting his halberd to point its icy tip at the hovering phoenix.

Yun Yao sighed, turning back. “Hanyuan.”

“…”

Mu Hanyuan spoke, looking over the railing. “This is a friend of mine. It was just a jest. There’s no issue here—return to your posts at the gate.”

The tiger guard hesitated, sheathing his halberd. He started to kneel, then recalled Mu Hanyuan’s order and awkwardly stopped. “As you command, Lord.”
He turned, waving his hand, and the guards dispersed.

Fearing the demon realm’s legendary Lord, the onlookers dared not linger and quickly scattered.

A plain-looking monk in simple robes appeared in the cleared space.

“Amitabha.” Feeling the gazes from the second floor, the monk pressed his palms together in greeting to Yun Yao and Mu Hanyuan.

Feng Qinglian, after a fierce glare from Yun Yao and some private spiritual message, retracted his wings and landed, inviting the monk into the teahouse.

As they ascended, Yun Yao exhaled in relief.
Seeing the monk’s plain robes vanish downstairs, she clicked her tongue. “The great monk is still the great monk—not like that flamboyant monk whose gaudy robes I could spot from three hundred li away.”

“Master, tea.”

“Oh, right—”
Yun Yao reached for the cup, then froze at the sight of her own “gaudy” red robes.
She looked up.

Sure enough, a faint smile flickered in Mu Hanyuan’s eyes.

“You,” she gritted her teeth, “what, is Master’s outfit too gaudy for you?”

“How could it be?”
His response was smooth and natural. “All the colors in the world pale before Master.”

“…”

His words were so effortless, without a hint of flattery, spoken while pouring two fresh cups of tea, not even meeting her eyes.
Yun Yao had no room to deflect, so she coughed lightly, hiding behind a sip of tea.

“Hmph.”

A cold laugh came from behind.

Without turning, Yun Yao knew it was that sharp-tongued phoenix.

Sure enough, Feng Qinglian plopped down unceremoniously on the bench between them. “Sweet talk—just enough to fool someone like her with no suitors.”

“?”

Yun Yao gripped her sword, expressionless.

Mu Hanyuan, intrigued, raised his eyes. “Master has many admirers, yet none have confessed?”

“…”

Feng Qinglian’s face froze, as if choked by the air, glaring at Mu Hanyuan.

But Mu Hanyuan’s gaze remained on Yun Yao, sparkling with interest.

Her face heated, and she looked away. “No, nothing like that. Qianmen emphasizes cultivating the heart for the Dao—”

“Taiyi True Man never cared,” Feng Qinglian cut in mercilessly, sneering. “Pity some took confessions as provocations, drawing their sword to challenge everyone from the suitor’s master to their great-grandmaster, scaring whole sects into seclusion. Who’d dare confess to her now?”

“…”

Before Yun Yao could grind her teeth to dust, another “Amitabha” drew her attention.

The monk took a seat across from Feng Qinglian.
“Donor Yun invited this humble monk for the matter of the Wheel of Reincarnation, yes?”

“Master indeed knows of the Wheel’s existence.” Yun Yao was both unsurprised and awed. “The chasm between immortal and mortal realms is vast. Mortals know ascending is hard, but descending is harder still. Only a creation artifact could shield someone descending. Is the Reincarnation Tower you guard also a creation artifact?”

The monk gave her a deep look, then smiled. “Yes.”

“Why does Master laugh?”

“Cause begets effect, effect begets cause.” He lowered his eyes. “Donor, you’ll understand in time.”

Yun Yao resisted the urge to throttle him.
—If he truly wielded a creation artifact, ten thousand minor immortals together might not best him.

“Fine, I won’t press about your origins or purpose,” Yun Yao leaned forward. “Why is the Wheel of Reincarnation in Qianmen? Does Master know?”

Instead of answering, the monk turned to Mu Hanyuan.

His gaze was far deeper than when he looked at Yun Yao, as if countless golden swastika seals formed twin rivers in his eyes, beginning at a single point and vanishing into boundless eternity.
After a long moment, he closed his eyes, pressed his palms together, and sighed deeply in salute.

“This act defies heaven, bringing calamity to all beings for one person. Do you truly have no regrets?”

“…”

Both Yun Yao and Feng Qinglian froze.

Mu Hanyuan smiled faintly. “He’s sleeping now, Master. I’m afraid he can’t hear you.”

“…”

Feng Qinglian’s face turned faintly green.
After a moment, he turned stiffly to Yun Yao. “…Your disciple really has two souls from different timelines in one body?”

Yun Yao rolled her eyes inwardly. “So you didn’t believe a word of my spiritual message?”

“Even if you dug my great-grandfather out of his grave, he wouldn’t believe something this absurd.”

Yun Yao: “…”

Feng Qinglian, frowning deeply, turned to the monk. “Master, if timeline convergence exists, why don’t we have dual souls like him?”

The monk swept his robe.
In the center of their circle, a phantom chessboard appeared, black and white pieces clashing chaotically.
Pointing to it, he said, “This board is Qianmen Continent. The black and white pieces are the immortal and demon realms.”

The game shifted endlessly, but over time, black gained the upper hand, crushing the last white piece.
A light of heaven and earth burst from the board’s center, breaking its barrier.

“In the previous life, that Lord broke the game thus, forcing his way into the immortal realm.”

Feng Qinglian’s face changed. “The immortal realm fell entirely?”

“Yes.”

“…”

His gaze on Mu Hanyuan turned venomous, brimming with killing intent.

But Mu Hanyuan seemed oblivious, calmly studying a point on the board.

Feng Qinglian gritted his teeth. “And then?”

“The Wheel of Reincarnation, a creation artifact, can revive the dead, restore flesh, renew objects, or reshape an entire realm…”

“A realm as vast as Qianmen, an entire world—not just a corner of it?” Feng Qinglian’s voice was cold. “Can the Wheel truly alter an entire world?”

“With a soul comparable to the Three Saints as a sacrifice, yes.”

Feng Qinglian froze.
Yun Yao started, horrified, turning sharply. “Impossible!”

Across from her, Mu Hanyuan met her gaze, stirred by her emotion. “Master?”

She ignored him, her face grim. “The Initial, Calamity, and Transcendence Saints have existed since the immortal realm’s birth. Their seats never empty, or the three thousand lesser worlds would collapse, and all ages would perish!”

The monk looked at her deeply. “Donor, no need for alarm. The Three Saints aren’t eternal… and I said *comparable*, not one of them.”

“…”

In his fathomless gaze, unease crept over Yun Yao from countless dark corners, yet she couldn’t trace its source.
“Original Three Saints”?
The Three Saints were immutable, known to all in the immortal realm.
As someone from there, the monk should know this, yet his odd phrasing shook her.

“So,” Feng Qinglian, the only one with a straightforward perspective due to his limited understanding, pressed, “the Mu Hanyuan from the immortal realm sacrificed his soul to the Wheel to turn back time…”

Cutting him off, the monk swept his sleeve again.
The chessboard shifted, returning to its earlier chaotic black-and-white clash.
He lowered his eyes. “Qianmen’s beings are within the game, never escaping, so they don’t form dual souls.” He raised a palm. “But that one, a player who entered the game, became an external soul.”

“An external soul?”

Feng Qinglian’s face darkened. “If so, then here…”

“Indeed. Within the game, an external soul is immortal,” the monk said, looking at Yun Yao. “Only by breaking the game can the karmic cycle be resolved.”

Feng Qinglian recalled the earlier game, where black devoured white, and a heavenly light broke the board, his forehead veins pulsing. “Breaking the game brings calamity, and not breaking it lets that demon wreak havoc! What’s the difference?!”

“No, this life has another cause to break the game.”
It was Yun Yao who spoke, her gaze complex as she looked at Mu Hanyuan.

Feng Qinglian snapped, “What?”

“The Wheel of Reincarnation.” Yun Yao clenched her fist. “An immortal artifact, a creation artifact, it doesn’t belong to this world—it’s external.”

“Correct.”
The monk stood, pressing his palms together.
“To end the threat of calamity, you must restart the Wheel, trace back the past, and return to the immortal realm to destroy it completely.”

With that, he stepped back cleanly, turning to leave.

“Master, wait.”
Yun Yao hurried after him. “Does the Wheel truly hold my lost memories of the immortal realm?”

He sighed with a smile. “Why ask what you already know?”

“For some reason,” she glanced at Tianyun Abyss, “I feel… afraid.”

“All fear their past, even saints. Besides…”

His plain robes fluttered as he departed, leaving only a faint shadow and an unfinished sentence.

“Donor, don’t you want to know why that near-saint demon insists Qianmen’s beings pay for one person?”