Feng Qingyun withdrew his consciousness without saying a word. Under the pale moonlight, he stepped out of his bedroom, a faint glow of green flashing through his fingertips. When he raised his hand, a tender green bud rested quietly in his palm, its delicate form as fragile as his own resolve.
The moon in the sky had shifted slightly, yet the moonlight illuminating Xiaoyao Valley was no different from that in the Xiān Gōng Sect. As for Mu Tingwan, she appeared unsurprised to see Feng Qingyun, just as if she had long anticipated his arrival .
But when she accepted the newly sprouted branch he offered, her expression still faltered. “This is… A branch born from you?”
Feng Qingyun nodded gently before saying: “I must trouble you, Senior Mu.”
A long time ago, when she was barely a child, Mu Tingwan was saved by the legendary Zhong Yulan, so now she regarded the young disciple of her benefactor with a complex gaze. She hesitated to speak but, in the end, she still took the emerald branch and said: “Qingyun… Although you’re Lord Mu’s Dao companion, you’re just a Foundation-Building cultivator. Why sacrifice so much for him?”
However, Feng Qingyun arranged his sleeves, shaking his head to signal his unwillingness to elaborate. “Karma must be repaid,” he replied softly.
Only in that way could they truly owe nothing to each other.
Catching the hidden meaning of his words, Mu Tingwan seemed momentarily at a loss. She opened her mouth as if to speak but closed it again, a sigh escaping her lips. She could only think back to the days when Feng Qingyun had been nurtured by Mu Hanyang, growing from just a little seed under his careful watch. Now, to see the two of them reduced to that… Perhaps some matters were simply too painful to express.
…………
When they returned to Xiān Gōng Sect, Mu Hanyang was already waiting in front of the Heavenly Gate. He personally escorted Mu Tingwan to the main hall, his demeanor uncharacteristically nervous and his usually composed manner nowhere to be seen as he hovered anxiously over his friend. Even Mu Tingwan noticed his unusual behavior. However, after observing him for a moment, she only let out a soft sigh before focusing on her task. And as simple as that, the fox clan’s illusions were expelled from Lian Ziqing’s body in less than an hour.
But the real challenge lay not with him, but rather with that Cultivator Qi, who remained in an unshakable slumber no matter the effort.
“I cannot save this one,” Mu Tingwan declared after a brief examination. She then withdrew her spiritual power and continued: “The fox clan didn’t harm him. This man simply doesn’t want to wake up. If the heart doesn’t wish to return, no one else can bring him back.”
“How can this be?!” Mu Hanyang frowned deeply. “The fox clan’s dream illusions are at best elementary spells!”
“The art of illusory dreams may seem simple,” Mu Tingwan explained patiently, “but its power lies in showing the dreamer what they desire most. Ordinary fox demons lack sufficient skill, so their illusions can easily be broken. But the fox master… His illusions blend truth and falsehood seamlessly. He’s even able to summon visions of people one can never see again in this lifetime.”
Mu Hanyang froze as the implications struck him. Lian Ziqing, standing nearby, asked with wide-eyed confusion: “But the dream is false! Brother Qi is so strong-willed! How could he fall for an illusion?!”
However, Mu Tingwan shook her head. “The illusion is built from the truth,” she said gravely. “And that specific truth… Must be something he’s unwilling to let go of.”
Her words hung heavily in the air and yet… No one dared refute her. Turning to Mu Hanyang, Mu Tingwan gave him a long, meaningful look before continuing: “The flower in the mirror is still a mirage. Even if seen, it cannot be touched. Sometimes, the truth itself can be crueler than lies.”
Mu Hanyang gazed at his unconscious friend, too stunned to speak. Seeing that her words amounted to nothing, Mu Tingwan sighed and left without another word. As for all the disciples and cultivators gathered in the hall, they were frozen by her grim evaluation. Some of them hesitated whether to pursue Mu Tingwan as she departed, but the weight of her presence was enough to keep them rooted in place.
Lian Ziqing, shaken to the core, glanced nervously at Mu Hanyang. And yet, Mu Hanyang appeared entirely unaware of his little glances, unable to see beyond his friend, who was forever caught up in a beautiful dream.
For the first time in his life, Lord Mu, known for his upright and selfless nature, was gripped by a selfish thought:
If I were to dream… Could I see her again?
But the one he longed for… It wasn’t his Dao companion. In fact, it was someone who had no connection to him, except in his memories.
…………
Feng Qingyun couldn’t care less about the chaos unfolding in the main hall. Ever since he started cultivating, he rarely paid attention to the rising or setting of the sun, unless it was for meditation. Yet today, he found himself standing atop the heavenly steps, quietly observing the eastern sky as the sun ascended.
Unexpectedly, his moment of distraction lasted for seven days.
For a cultivator, such a period was insignificant. Someone in the Golden Core stage could spend several months meditating in seclusion, and for those who already reached Nascent Soul, a century of isolation was the norm. By comparison, Feng Qingyun’s seven days of reflection were nothing remarkable— barely enough to be called an entry into meditation.
However, in his brief absence, Xiān Gōng Sect descended into chaos. Letters and jade invitations piled high in the main hall, forming a menacing heap.
Desperate, the poor disciples turned to Mu Hanyang, asking for help with tears in their eyes. But Mu Hanyang, who hadn’t managed sect affairs in centuries, was utterly unprepared to take on the responsibility. Moreover, having just quarreled with Feng Qingyun, he avoided approaching him altogether, whether out of guilt or something else.
As for Bai Ruolin… Despite all matters of the sect falling on her thin shoulders during Feng Qingyun’s absence, she was the only person unwilling to climb the mountain and call him back, hoping her brother could get even a second more of peace.
“Already tired, ha?!” She sneered at the elders who came to plead. “Am I not more exhausted than any of you?! My brother only rested for a couple of days, and the entire sect is already on the brink of extinction! If that’s how you want to play, there’s no need to call yourselves elders! Just go down the mountain and join a troupe of monkeys!”
Her sharp tongue was infamous within the sect. Even Mu Hanyang, the one who was often the prime target of her scorn, could merely rub his nose sheepishly when confronted. Faced with her disdain, the elders had no choice but to bow their heads and endure in silence.
However, the sect still needed salvation.
Eventually, Liu Wu1柳无, Liǔ Wú, where 柳 (Liǔ) means willow and 无 (Wú) means no/nothing, Mu Hanyang’s eldest disciple, was pushed to the forefront. Reluctantly, and under immense pressure, he ascended the mountain to seek Feng Qingyun. In fact, Liu Wu owed everything to him. His foundation, his swordsmanship… Even his life should have belonged to Feng Qingyun, who raised him personally. And yet, when he stood on top of the mountain and saw that familiar silhouette gazing over the horizon, he still hesitated.
“Shi…” He opened his mouth, but the title he intended to use, Shi Niang2Shi Niang is a respectful term used to address your master’s wife, stuck in his throat. Instead, he awkwardly said: “Uncle Feng…”
That split second of hesitation reflected the growing distance between them.
Without turning around, Feng Qingyun asked: “What is it?”
“The sect needs you,” Liu Wu began, careful with his words. “The disciples and elders are overwhelmed. Even Aunt Bai struggles to manage alone…”
However, Feng Qingyun responded lightly: “Isn’t your master still here?”
Liu Wu quickly added: “Senior Qi hasn’t awakened yet. Master intends to take him down the mountain for treatment… He’s waiting in front of the Heavenly Gate as we speak.”
Feng Qingyun finally turned his head, his gaze steady while asking: “And what do you want me to do?”
Liu Wu hesitated, the weight of those words pressing on him. In the end, he somehow managed to say what was truly on his mind, his tone betraying a trace of coquettish complaining: “If you don’t come back, Master and I won’t be able to leave…”
Feng Qingyun understood. The boy was simply pushed forward by the other disciples. If it hadn’t been for his delay, Liu Wu and his master would have long gone down the mountain, in search of their new adventure. But now, the elders refused to let Mu Hanyang depart until the sect’s affairs were stabilized.
It was a silent but straightforward complaint. To be able to voice those words actually showed a level of intimacy to some extent. Normally, it would have been enough to move a soft-hearted person like Feng Qingyun. However, hearing that tone, he still couldn’t help but remember the first time he met Liu Wu.
Back then, Feng Qingyun had taken Bai Ruolin to visit a mortal town and stumbled upon a young beggar on the roadside. At that moment, he was no different from any forsaken soul: barely skin and bones and kneeling in the dirt, begging for enough money to bury his little sister, who had died in a plague.
Moved by pity, Feng Qingyun handed over some silver and, on impulse, took the boy by the hand, bringing him back to Xiān Gōng Sect. For three years, he nurtured Liu Wu, ensuring his body recovered from the effects of malnutrition and disease. By the time he was finally allowed to formally enter the sect, Feng Qingyun expected nothing in return. And yet, on the day Liu Wu chose his master, he bypassed him entirely, kneeling before Mu Hanyang and offering him tea as his teacher. He did not choose the one who saved his life, nor did he choose Bai Ruolin who could be considered his childhood sweetheart. Instead, he looked up to the renowned Lord Mu, a person with whom he had never crossed paths before.
Mu Hanyang, of course, accepted. But afterward, he still dumped Liu Wu in Feng Qingyun’s care, who continued to guide the boy’s cultivation.
“I’ll become a swordsman like Master one day!” Liu Wu had once declared with youthful enthusiasm, his eyes full of determination. And in those years, everything he knew was learned under the guidance of Feng Qingyun, basically never seeing Mu Hanyang again.
As for Feng Qingyun, he merely smiled.
However, on the day Liu Wu succeeded in building his foundation, a big event happened at the gates of Xiān Gōng Sect. Feng Qingyun, the Second Palace Master, was defeated and humiliated by the Demon Lord in one, single move3I really, reaaaly can’t wait to get to this part and see what really happened between FQ and the Demon Lord on that day. They all call it a shameful defeat, but let’s not forget that Shitty Mu is under the impression that was when FQ seduced the Demon Lord as well. Shame hung heavy over Xiān Gōng Sect, and in the days that followed, Liu Wu started avoiding Feng Qingyun entirely. Two months passed before they saw each other again and by then, Liu Wu had already discarded everything Feng Qingyun had taught him, determined to follow in Mu Hanyang’s footsteps instead.
Furious and completely enraged, Bai Ruolin dragged Liu Wu to the martial arts arena and reprimanded him harshly. But even in that state of being severely beaten, Liu Wu still stubbornly declared: “There’s no point in learning the sword of Shi Niang! From now on, I’ll follow Master!”
Feng Qingyun heard every single word. Even though he was recuperating in seclusion, he still paid attention to their exchange, afraid that Bai Ruolin might hurt him too badly.
…………
Standing atop the mountain, Feng Qingyun’s thoughts returned to the present. He looked at Liu Wu, the disciple he had once cherished, and said calmly: “Then go back. Don’t keep Brother waiting.”
Faced with those cold, unfeeling eyes, Liu Wu’s heart sank. For a split second, he had the illusion of hearing the sound of something breaking. Maybe it was something that had been with him for a long time, something he had unfortunately ignored. Liu Wu descended the mountain hurriedly, his heart heavy with unspoken feelings he couldn’t name. And just like his master, he chose to bury his unease in haste, retreating as if fleeing from something he couldn’t confront.
When the rest of the disciples saw him return alone, their anticipation and anxiety grew palpable. Moments later, Feng Qingyun appeared in front of the main hall, his figure calm and composed. Everyone collectively exhaled in relief, thinking: The Second Palace Master is not like Lord Mu… How could he knowingly abandon the Xiān Gōng Sect?
However, none of them questioned the differences between the two lords. Perhaps the answer was too obvious or maybe… They simply didn’t care enough to ponder it.
Once inside, Feng Qingyun approached the mountain of jade slips piled haphazardly on the table, his expression unreadable. Just as he was about to address the mess of affairs, a disembodied voice reached his ears, acting like it was waiting for his return before slipping away: “Good brother, I’m glad you decided to come down. I’ll take Brother Qi and the others down the mountain for medical treatment. I won’t be back for a while.”
Mu Hanyang’s tone was as casual as ever, his words light as a breeze. It was as if their argument had never happened.
Feng Qingyun’s hand froze on the jade slip he had just picked up.
His “good brother” was always like that. Whitewashing everything, glossing over any rift as if it had never existed.
After a long pause, Feng Qingyun set the jade slip aside and retrieved a stack of coarse rice paper from his storage ring. It was the kind mortals used for letters, rough yet earnest. He spread the paper on the table and, as he dipped his brush, the tip hesitated, leaving a small blot of ink. For a moment, his thoughts faltered as well.
But soon, the brush moved smoothly across the page.
Some decisions, long settled in one’s heart, only required a beginning. Once that beginning took shape, the rest followed naturally. When he finished, Feng Qingyun folded the letter and slipped it into his storage ring.
“A beginning must have an end”, he thought. “And a good meeting should also have a proper farewell.“
He decided to give the letter to Mu Hanyang upon his return. After resolving the pressing matter in his heart, Feng Qingyun prepared to immerse himself in sect affairs before returning to his bedroom for meditation. But just as he turned his head, his divine sense detected something unusual appearing on his table.
A hairpin.
Feng Qingyun paused. The hairpin had not been there moments ago. It was crafted from jade, its tail intricately carved into the shape of delicate peach blossoms. Beneath it lay a piece of rice paper, also faintly printed with flower patterns. Frowning slightly, Feng Qingyun picked up the hairpin, his fingers brushing against the smooth surface. The craftsmanship was exquisite, and the material unmistakable: it was crafted from a whole piece of Tianshan jade.
That type of jade, once abundant in ancient times, had long since vanished from the world. Decades ago, Mu Hanyang had scoured the lands for fragments of that rare material, in order to save a friend poisoned by a fire snake. After exhausting his resources, he barely managed to procure a few scraps of Tianshan jade at a shadowy auction, nearly bankrupting himself in the process. Feng Qingyun even had to lend him some of his personal spiritual stones to help settle the debt.
As for those spiritual stones… It was natural to try your best to pay it back if they belonged to strangers, but of course, it was not considered a debt if they belonged to your younger brother.
And now, here was an entire piece of Tianshan jade, crafted into a simple ornamental hairpin without any inscriptions or practical use. Its extravagance even bordered on wastefulness, to the point where others might be heartbroken to see it.
And yet, Feng Qingyun didn’t feel pity. Instead, his mind was filled with questions.
Who could deliver such an item to his table so quietly, bypassing his divine sense? As he watched the hairpin, a faint spiritual fluctuation emanated from the rice paper below. Feng Qingyun shifted his gaze to it. Slowly, two lines of bold characters appeared, as if written by an invisible hand:
“I heard that the Little Palace Master has given birth to a new branch. I present this hairpin in celebration.”
“However, I have not seen any of your branches before, let alone the flowers they bear, and do not know their full beauty. Thus, I offer this peach blossom as a substitute. If the Lord is dissatisfied, how about you give birth again for me to see?”
……………………..
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