That one address from Feng Qingyun, seemingly reluctant yet feather-light and brimming with a thousand twists of feeling, exploded at once in both their ears. Long Yin only curved his lips into a smile. Though a glance from Feng Qingyun forced him to suppress it, the delight brimming at his brow and the smugness in his eyes could not be hidden.
But Mu Hanyang, who had been relying on a spiritual pearl to secretly glimpse the two of them, heard this exchange from afar and stood frozen on the spot.
His face was ashen, the color of lime plaster smeared on mortal walls. To say he looked like one mourning his parents would not have been an exaggeration.
His mind went utterly blank, leaving him dazed and rooted where he stood.
For a moment, Mu Hanyang seemed to lose the very ability to think.
It was a long time before he finally dragged himself out of that instinctive denial, and in the emptiness of his mind arose but a single thought:
How could this be?
How could this be?!
All the truths he had refused to face, all the self-deceptions, came crashing down upon him.
So it had all been there from the beginning. He had not fallen in love twice, but with the same person all along. He had scoured the four seas and eight wildernesses for his beloved, yet that person had always been at his side. Only his blind eyes had failed to recognize him.
Only because he had been blind!
All his vows of searching heaven and earth, all the so-called love that he had sworn for years, yet in the end, he could not even recognize the right person. How laughable!
But when he searched his heart, he had to ask himself.
Why had he failed to recognize him?!
This “Miss Yu” and his Junior Brother… aside from gender, were they truly so different?
Had he really been unable to tell?!
Or had he been afraid?
Afraid that the flawless dream he worshiped like a perfect full moon would shatter once it took human form before his eyes… afraid that he had fallen in love with a man, doomed to be condemned by the world as a cut sleeve, or maybe…
…Afraid that his love remembered what had happened in the illusory realm, and hated him for it…
So many reasons, tangled and uncertain.
Or perhaps it was nothing but sheer stupidity. Maybe he really was so foolish that he cast pearls before swine, clutching at shadows while neglecting the gem before him, mistaking blindness for devotion.
All those details he had refused to examine in the past now surged up in his mind.
He suddenly remembered with painful clarity that the Miss Yu in the illusion, just like Feng Qingyun, also loved grapes. But in that village setting, grapes were a costly fruit. Fortunately, Widow Li, doting on her “daughter,” would buy a cluster from town once a month to satisfy her craving.
And when the two of them, “lovers at heart,” met in secret, Miss Yu would always save half the grapes for him.
On their wedding day, Widow Li, overjoyed, prepared a basket of grapes and lychees for her beloved “daughter.” But in the bustle of the ceremony, Miss Yu never had the chance to taste a single one, intending to share them later that night with her new groom.
But she never returned to eat them.
When Mu Hanyang learned the grim news that night in the illusion, he sprang up from the table, with grapes and lychees spilling across the floor. Dark purple juice splattered everywhere, and under the glow of the bridal candles, it looked like blood.
Now, in memory, that scene of chaos mirrored all too well the ruined ending between him and Feng Qingyun.
At once, his heart swelled with an ache that felt like poison. Not even the backlash he suffered after the blood deed was broken had ever hurt so much. It was agony like knives rending his chest. And only now did Mu Hanyang realize: the greatest pain in this world was not grief, but regret.
Regret could scour a man’s heart until he wept blood and broke his very soul.
Only now did he finally understand why his Master had refused to see him again, because she had long known. She had long known that Feng Qingyun and her Ah Yu were the same person.
The anguish was so sharp that, for a fleeting instant, Mu Hanyang could not help but resent her. Why hadn’t his Master told him? Why hadn’t she warned him sooner? Was he not her eldest disciple?
And why had Feng Qingyun himself refused to acknowledge him? If only he had said it sooner…
But his thoughts cut off abruptly. Suddenly, he realized something: it was not that Feng Qingyun had never given him a chance, but that he himself had never seized it.
Every time Feng Qingyun hinted, every time he probed gently about the “beloved” in his heart, Mu Hanyang had flared in shame and anger, storming off without giving him the chance to say more.
He hadn’t even managed to tell Feng Qingyun that person’s name. And in that flash of realization, Mu Hanyang suddenly understood the question that had once kept him awake through countless nights.
Why was it that, on the eve of their Dao ceremony, after seeing him converse with the phantom of Miss Yu he created, Feng Qingyun had so decisively turned away the very next day, only to go with the Demon Lord instead?
Because he had suddenly realized that the Senior Brother he had long revered was none other than the faithless man in the illusion who had personally pushed him to death.
A searing pain tore through Mu Hanyang’s chest. With a strangled groan, he shut his eyes, and before Lian Ziqing’s startled gasp, he spat out a mouthful of blood.
Was it a cruel twist of fate, or simply destiny’s decree?
Lian Ziqing, standing nearby, had already pieced together the whole picture in his heart, yet he dared not touch that raw wound. He could only whisper cautiously, “Brother Hanyang… they’re leaving. Shouldn’t we follow them?”
Mu Hanyang jerked back to himself, his jaw tightening as his fists clenched.
Meanwhile, Feng Qingyun was wholly unaware that his brief pause at the doorway had driven Mu Hanyang into such bottomless regret. At the moment, his full attention was on the egg. Who knew how long it had been trapped in the ruins? It seemed half-starved, twitching only occasionally before lapsing back into stillness.
And the egg was also finicky. It disliked the spiritual energy of a sword cultivator outright, and after sampling Long Yin’s demonic Qi once, had firmly shut it out, refusing even to let it through the shell.
Perhaps in other realms, merfolk did not count among the demonic clans, as it only seemed to favor the taste of Feng Qingyun’s spiritual plant Qi.
Yet even that could not be overdone. When Feng Qingyun poured too much into it, the egg seemed to suffer indigestion, spitting the excess back out and spraying him all over.
Long Yin watched for a while, then commented coolly: “A bit like spitting up milk.”
Feng Qingyun: “…”
He didn’t have to spell it out… What exactly the egg was “drinking” was more than obvious.
Feng Qingyun’s ears flushed red as he glared at Long Yin in indignation.
Fortunately, the troublesome egg soon redeemed itself. It rolled purposefully in a certain direction, as if to guide its “cheap father” away from further embarrassment.
It first led them into an unremarkable jade tower. But as soon as they entered, it bounced impatiently from Feng Qingyun’s arms to the ground. Startled, he rushed to catch it, afraid it would crack itself open. But the egg landed safely, still lively and unharmed, no doubt fueled by the energy it had just ingested.
It rolled in circles across the floor until suddenly, a flash of golden light burst forth at the tower’s center, revealing a second gilded treasure chest.
Both men froze in surprise. The egg, proud as could be, tapped itself against the floor to stand upright, then tumbled eagerly back into Feng Qingyun’s arms as if demanding praise.
Feng Qingyun couldn’t help but chuckle. Stroking the shell, he approached the chest. At first, he thought it might contain another egg. And judging by Long Yin’s expression, he had the same thought.
“All this trouble just to bring us here… If it really holds your turtle brothers or sisters, we might as well fry them up for supper,” Long Yin said with his usual mercilessness. “Otherwise, we’ll be stuck hosting a turtle gathering.”
At that, Feng Qingyun wondered if Long Yin had developed a turtle phobia from back in the Xuanwu ruins… otherwise, why else would he be so sensitive to shell-backed creatures?!
But when they opened the chest, it did not hold another egg. Instead, nestled within was a trove of shimmering, iridescent merfolksilk. The egg rolled happily around the chest as though hinting at its significance. Unlike the rough scraps of merfolk silk that had once lined the egg’s bedding, this silk was intact, lustrous, and radiant.
Unfolded, it stretched several yards, enough to wrap around two people, and, under the light, it glimmered with rainbow hues, exuding a spiritual aura far surpassing any ordinary spirit artifact.
Feng Qingyun’s heart leapt. As his fingers tightened on the silk, an impossible thought struck him.
Could it be… an immortal artifact?
Immortal artifacts were treasures said to belong only to those who had ascended. Like spiritual artifacts, they were said to rank in grades. But Feng Qingyun had never seen one before. The fact that he could recognize it at all was remarkable; any finer classification was beyond his reach.
Meanwhile, though the spiritual pearl veiled one’s presence, it did not make them truly invisible. Thus, Mu Hanyang dared not follow too closely. He lingered downstairs, watching from afar.
But after a few moments, Lian Ziqing’s expression flickered strangely, though it quickly smoothed back into his usual pure, gentle facade. With quiet hesitation, he warned, “Brother Hanyang, the two of them still haven’t come out. If this tower holds a formation, I fear…”
Mu Hanyang frowned. He thought it over, and when no one emerged, he finally decided: “Let’s go in and see.”
But once they stepped inside, both froze in their tracks.
The tower was empty. Feng Qingyun and Long Yin had vanished without a trace, as though they had dissolved into air.
Mu Hanyang’s face darkened as Lian Ziqing’s eyes flickered with confusion, scanning the scene.
But the spiritual pearl they hold could only cloak presence, not make one unseen. Thus, their entrance was witnessed clearly by the two men hidden under the merfolk silk.
From the moment the fabric draped over them, Feng Qingyun had realized its extraordinary nature.
Who would have thought that the egg’s blundering would uncover an immortal artifact? And not just anything, but one that cloaked both presence and form, far superior to Mu Hanyang’s pearl.
Therefore, concealed beneath the silk, they quietly watched as Mu Hanyang and Lian Ziqing entered.
Feng Qingyun’s pulse tightened. The egg shifted restlessly in his arms, so he pressed a hand against it, whispering: “Shh…”
Long Yin narrowed his eyes at the visitors and murmured in Feng Qingyun’s ear: “That one surnamed Lian is indeed suspicious.”
His breath spilled hot against Feng Qingyun’s skin, making his ears flush red. After a long moment, he lifted his gaze, asking: “Why do you say so?”
Long Yin pressed a hand to his waist, leaning in to whisper: “Unlike surnamed Mu, he doesn’t seem the least bit rattled. Likely, he expected this and came prepared. Just watch.”
The touch to his waist made Feng Qingyun shiver. He couldn’t tell if it was intentional or not, though Long Yin’s record suggested the former. He was about to shove him away in indignation, but at Long Yin’s words, his expression sharpened, turning toward the two uninvited guests.
“…We’ve lost them.” Mu Hanyang’s eyes swept the room. He then ground his teeth, hissing at Lian Ziqing: “Didn’t you say that pearl could conceal us?! How could they have noticed so easily?! Now we’ve lost them, perhaps they’ve already beaten us to Master’s legacy…”
Lian Ziqing quickly soothed him, voice soft as water: “This pearl is an immortal’s gift. How could it fail without cause? Perhaps it was only bad luck that we lost track of them. Don’t worry, Brother Hanyang, I still have another way.”
Mu Hanyang’s head snapped toward him, asking, “Another way? Do you have another immortal artifact hidden in your sleeve?”
Another immortal artifact?!
Feng Qingyun’s heart gave a sharp jolt. From behind the veil of silk, he stared fixedly at the two men. Lian Ziqing glanced around, then bit his lip, wearing an expression of helpless reluctance before finally speaking.
“In truth, I did acquire another immortal artifact from that ancient ruin. Only… it is but a half-broken relic, and can only be used once. I had intended to keep it as a final safeguard for my life.”
But upon hearing his reluctant words, Mu Hanyang immediately leaned in with solemn fervor, vowing: “Set your heart at ease. Help me this once, and from this day forward, I swear upon my Sword Heart, so long as I draw breath, no one shall ever harm you!”
Then, a cold gleam flashed in his eyes as he ground out through clenched teeth: “And as for the person you once asked me to eliminate, I will see it done!”
At that, Lian Ziqing seemed to relax as a shy smile touched his lips. “Then I must thank Brother Hanyang,” he whispered.
But from within the merfolk silk, Feng Qingyun could not shake the strangeness of it all.
Who could possibly possess two immortal artifacts?!
And yet Mu Hanyang still dared to believe that suspicious fellow whose origins were so clearly murky?!
But no matter how doubtful Feng Qingyun felt, to Mu Hanyang, there was no choice. Backed into a corner, gambling everything for the sake of restoring his cultivation, he had no luxury to question.
Lian Ziqing quickly pinched a hand seal, producing from nowhere a seven-colored pearl. “This is the Chaos Orb,” he stated. “Legends say it was birthed from the World Tree of a hidden realm. It can split the void and shape space. Simply by focusing on one’s desired destination, it shatters reality and pierces straight through.”
Mu Hanyang seized it at once, though suspicion lingered in his voice: “With such a treasure, why not bring it out sooner?”
Lian Ziqing gave a bitter smile, dimples shadowing his cheeks. “Please forgive me, Brother Hanyang… It was not unwillingness, only that this was my last card, meant for life and death, or for vengeance.”
Yet Mu Hanyang’s expression darkened with doubt. At last, he asked coldly: “…What is your true purpose here?”
“I only wish to see Brother Hanyang’s strength restored! Nothing more.” Lian Ziqing lowered his lashes. “All I told you before was the truth! Five hundred years ago, my entire family was slaughtered by the Demon Lord… He even sought to defile me! By sheer chance, I escaped with my life, blessed by Heaven’s favor and stumbling upon an immortal fate. But my roots were too poor. Burdened with a treasure yet powerless to wield it, I have had no chance for revenge.”
“Now, across all the realms, the only one both willing and able to avenge me is you! Brother Hanyang, I beg you!”
Long Yin: “…”
After his impassioned plea, silence fell heavy over the space.
Beneath the merfolk silk, Feng Qingyun turned his gaze on Long Yin. Even the egg in his arms seemed to roll accusingly, as if glaring at its “father”, the piece of garbage.
“…I don’t even know him!” Long Yin ground out between his teeth, itching to fling aside the silk, seize that lying brat, and split him in two.
At last, he understood what Feng Qingyun must have felt last night, listening to Mu Hanyang’s slander outside the walls!
Who would dare heap such filth on the Demon Lord’s name?! Disgust curdled in Long Yin’s gut, his face twisting in revulsion. Upon seeing his reaction, Feng Qingyun stifled a laugh and whispered, “Of course I believe you… Don’t get so worked up. Anger harms the body.”
Truth be told, even Mu Hanyang no longer fully believed Lian Ziqing’s tale.
Possessing one immortal artifact could be explained away as luck or as Heaven’s gift. But who would believe a plain, insignificant cultivator of the Qi Condensation stage just happened to carry two immortal artifacts?!
But truth be told, Mu Hanyang had never minded others’ double standards when it served him. When it came to his “newly found confidant,” Qi Jiang, the man who wandered in brothels after various blossoms, he had turned a blind eye. But the moment that man’s greedy gaze fell upon Feng Qingyun, Mu Hanyang had flown into a fury, as though even ten lives were not enough to pay for such an offense.
So now, it was no different.
He did not, could not, believe in a damsel-like benefactor, born with immortal treasures yet powerless to use them, selflessly throwing himself into peril for his sake. That was the stuff of storybooks, of dreams, not reality.
In truth, such things in the real world always came down to two aims: wealth or murder.
But whatever his doubts, they meant nothing now. Mu Hanyang was like a man bound to a pyre, flames licking higher. He could only swallow poison for water, logic burning to ash.
For him, cultivation was face, and face was worth more than life. Thus, without another word, he pressed a strand of spiritual power into the Chaos Orb.
In an instant, rainbow light flared as a vast, overwhelming surge of force rippled outward. Feng Qingyun narrowed his eyes, clutching the merfolk silk tighter. Before them, a tear split the void itself, just like the one that broke the sky in his past life. Without sparing Lian Ziqing a glance, Mu Hanyang strode straight through, stepping into the rift.
Lian Ziqing’s eyes flickered. The corners of his lips quirked faintly, then he too followed. From under the silk, Feng Qingyun and Long Yin exchanged a look and, without hesitation, they leapt in after, just as the rift sealed shut.
Light blazed, swallowing all four whole.
Time stretched, or collapsed. Perhaps it was only an instant, or perhaps the burning length of a whole incense stick. When Feng Qingyun finally opened his eyes, he stood within a vast white void, silent and endless.
There was no north, south, east, or west. No up or down either.
And in the distance, thrust into the emptiness, gleamed the phantom of their Master’s sword.
As Feng Qingyun and Long Yin arrived, Mu Hanyang was already before it, his hand closing around the hilt. The moment he touched it, space shivered, and his figure vanished.
Lian Ziqing narrowed his eyes, watching the place where Mu Hanyang disappeared. Then he stepped forward and reached for the sword in the same way, seeking to follow.
But the hilt did not respond.
Scowling, he tried again. Pain shot through his palm, and he jerked his hand back, realizing something. With a low laugh, he sneered: “Old hag, you still recognize me after all this time…”
Yet even as he spoke, the hilt flickered twice, emitting two faint pulses of light.
At least two others had touched it, just as Mu Hanyang had, and been carried away!
Lian Ziqing’s face darkened.
“Who’s there?!”
The empty void gave no reply.
Lian Ziqing’s expression instantly grew hideous. He realized that not only had he wasted an immortal artifact for nothing, he hadn’t even managed to glimpse Zhong Yulan’s lingering soul. Worse still, his words just now might have been overheard, so if Zhong Yulan ever spoke aloud the truth of that year…
He hadn’t even finished the thought before the snowy-white space he had forcefully opened began to collapse around him.
His heart sank.
Eliminating Zhong Yulan’s remnant soul was no longer possible. Still, even if she truly had glimpsed that half-dead Qilin, she could not possibly know the whole picture. The matter would need to be recalculated.
With that in mind, the moment the space began to unravel, Lian Ziqing flicked his sleeve and fled.
On the other side, the instant Feng Qingyun’s hand touched the sword hilt, a burst of multicolored light flashed. When he opened his eyes again, he was standing in the ruins of a village he knew all too well.
His heart gave a violent throb. Lian Ziqing’s words echoed in his mind, but before he could think them through, he turned and saw Mu Hanyang, standing wordlessly amidst the ruins, the Wangyue Sword tightly in his hand.
At last, Ming Jingtai’s prophecy had come to pass.
Feng Qingyun tore off the merfolk silk draped around him after crossing the rift. Sure enough, Mu Hanyang froze at once, then turned with a look of utter astonishment. The instant his eyes fell on him, disbelief and shock filled his face. Trembling, his lips parted.
“Qingyun…”
But then, like waking from a dream, he corrected himself: “No… Miss Yu, you must be Miss Yu…”
But Feng Qingyun neither confirmed nor denied.
The moment he stepped into this place, into the very heart of their Master’s true consciousness, he finally shed the bridal gown of illusion, as the phantom bride vanished; what stood there was Feng Qingyun himself.
He wore a sword robe embroidered with golden threads and dark patterns, a style Mu Hanyang had never seen before. His every movement radiated nobility and sharpness, looking nothing like the gentle Miss Yu Mu Hanyang imagined, and nothing like the Junior Brother he had once known.
They had been parted for only a few short months. And yet, it felt like an entire lifetime.
Mu Hanyang was dazed when, suddenly, light split open again as Long Yin stepped from the rift, demonic Qi already at his hands. The first thing he did was look toward Feng Qingyun, confirming his safety. Only then did he turn his head, only to catch sight of Mu Hanyang’s stricken, corpse-like face.
The Demon Lord’s lips curled as he said, “The mighty Lord Mu, skulking about like a rat in the street. A stray dog that still dares to appear here before his Master? The thickness of your skin truly shames the world.”
Mu Hanyang had believed only he and Feng Qingyun could enter this place, so at the sight of Long Yin, his face turned ashen.
Even Lian Ziqing had failed to pass through. Why could this demon?
Could it be… that Master had also deemed him worthy of inheriting her legacy?!
No!
In that split second, shards of memory flashed. The wedding rites Lian Ziqing had described, the way Zhong Yulan had seen only Feng Qingyun at first, ignoring even Bai Ruolin, yet later, she had acknowledged Long Yin’s presence as well.
Scene after scene replayed in Mu Hanyang’s mind, until a chilling, outrageous realization took root. Grinding his teeth, he stared at Feng Qingyun, his voice hoarse with disbelief as he asked: “…This demon was in the illusion as well?!”
Feng Qingyun did not answer, but the look he gave him carried both irony and a hint of mockery.
A for Long Yin, he only gave a low chuckle. “For your dull mind to piece together the past, how remarkable. In fact, this Lord ought to thank you. If not for the mountains being too cramped, I’d have invited you to do as you did last night, kneel outside in front of our wedding chamber.”
Mu Hanyang’s thoughts raced, scouring every role in the illusion that might connect to Long Yin. And then the truth struck him like lightning…
A dragon.
Long Yin was the dragon God of the illusion!
For one fleeting moment, Mu Hanyang’s face twisted grotesquely, as the truth shattered what remained of his sanity.
It was he himself who had delivered Feng Qingyun into Long Yin’s hands.
If regret had degrees, then Mu Hanyang had already reached the final, bone-deep stage. The poison of it seeped into his very organs, dragging his heart down like claws tearing it from his chest.
Had he not betrayed Feng Qingyun in the illusion, the blood deed would not have been so easily broken, and perhaps today’s calamity would never have come.
Yet just last night, he had basked in smug delusion, believing the bridal chamber belonged to him, that he had been the one with Miss Yu.
But the truth?
All those tender cries, the pleas for mercy, the moans beneath the dragon horns, the voice calling husband, none of it had anything to do with him!
“What, you still don’t remember this Lord?” Long Yin raised a brow. “Back then, esteemed Lord Mu, didn’t you kneel before my wife and me? Forgotten so soon?”
“…When did he ever kneel?” Feng Qingyun finally stirred, asking coldly. “Why don’t I remember?”
“Of course, after you boarded the bridal sedan,” Long Yin said lazily. “He and those villagers all knelt before your carriage, bowing three times then nine times again, praying for a bountiful harvest.”
Mu Hanyang’s face turned an ugly shade of green.
It was true. He himself had placed the phoenix-crowned bride into the sedan, then bowed alongside the villagers, praying she would return with the dragon’s heart.
And now, thinking back, how absurd it all was.
How laughable!
He had foolishly awaited his bride’s return, believing she would return with the dragon heart in hand, full of love for him.
But in truth? While he knelt outside, the bridal robes were already spread across the dragon’s cave floor, the golden pins in her hair scattered, cloud-like hair in disarray. The bride he had given away with his own hands was already whispering against another’s ear, body and soul trembling in pleasure.
Becoming another man’s wife, bearing another man’s joy beneath the moonlight.
So who had he been bowing to?!
With every kowtow of his, his bride had been moaning beneath the dragon God. With every kneel, her robes had loosened; with every final bow, red candles burned, and the bedchamber was warm, their union sealed.
He had bowed not to his beloved, but to the demon who had stolen her.
He had been kneeling to the dragon who had taken his wife!
And when he had lifted his eyes, expecting to see his bride return with a bloodied dragon heart and steadfast devotion, all he had been was a clown on his knees.
While she, disheveled and undone, sat enthroned in the dragon’s embrace, gazing down at him with contempt, as though he were nothing more than an ant.
T.N: Well, it takes a special kind of asshole for that to be the hill he chooses to die on :)) I think there are other, more important things you need to repent about, dear
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