“A lively night indeed.”
After about half the length of an incense stick had burned, a boy finally lay down beneath the peach tree in the side courtyard.
“Just like the New Year celebrations in my childhood village.”
Yun Mu murmured to himself, staring blankly at the red glow illuminating the main courtyard against the night sky.
Perhaps it was the few pieces of cake he had just eaten, or perhaps the late hour, but despite the noise filling his ears, a drowsy fatigue gradually took hold.
Faint memories surfaced amid the dazzling light, and he slowly closed his eyes, turning his body slightly to the right before falling into a deep sleep once again.
Eight years ago.
At just six years old, the boy had endured the darkest chapter of his life.
Born in a remote border town, Yun Mu’s parents had taught him from birth to focus on his studies.
They told him that if he could achieve fame and rank through learning, he would never have to toil for mere sustenance as they did.
The young child obediently followed their teachings, learning to recognize characters, attempting to read, and even trying his hand at composing poetry from an early age.
Yun Mu was gifted—possessing not only an extraordinary memory but also a sharp intellect, easily grasping the meaning in books and applying what he learned.
Calling him a prodigy was no exaggeration.
At five, he wrote his first original poem, which immediately won the admiration of the local schoolteacher.
The teacher, eager to nurture talent, rushed to Yun Mu’s home, repeatedly reciting the poem with excitement before lifting the boy up in his arms and promising to waive all tuition and fees—a clear sign of recognizing rare talent.
And he truly followed through.
His only request was that Yun Mu never forget this kindness.
In truth, this debt of gratitude was even more precious than the waived fees.
But for Yun Mu’s family, it hardly mattered whether the teacher’s intentions were sincere or not.
In such desperate poverty, a sudden ray of light was enough to inspire lifelong gratitude.
From that day on, while the parents worked, the teacher taught, and Yun Mu studied.
The sound of his earnest recitations filled the air, and time seemed to flow toward a brighter future.
But—
That was only an illusion.
On the night of his sixth birthday, after eating longevity noodles, Yun Mu held his father’s carved wooden sword and his mother’s handwoven cloth lamb doll and fell into a deep sleep.
That night, he dreamed of a sea of crimson spider lilies.
Within the dream, he “awoke” to see a calm river of blood flowing before him.
On the river was a lone boat, rowed by a Red-Clad Woman.
In a haze, he found himself at the riverbank, one foot hovering over the still blood-red water.
“Auntie? May I ask where this is?”
The Red-Clad Woman remained silent, continuing to row slowly from the opposite shore toward him.
Then, with a faint
“tsk,”
the oar lifted, stirring the foul tide to suddenly surge.
“Auntie!”
Startled, Yun Mu was engulfed by the blood-red water, the rot-infused agony instantly corroding his body.
A heart-wrenching scream erupted—
He woke.
The wooden sword in his hand was broken, the cloth lamb doll tattered, the house collapsed, and his parents were dead.
Around the village, blood-red streams overflowed, the pungent stench assaulting his nose.
His vision blurred for unknown reasons, but he saw a White-Haired Woman stepping through the bloodstains, slowly approaching him.
“Child, come with me. Your home is gone, destroyed by the Moxiu.”
What was a Moxiu?
The young Yun Mu did not know, but he understood one thing.
His home was gone.
Almost instinctively, he climbed onto the slender back of the woman, the overwhelming stench nearly making him vomit.
But he held it back—he didn’t want to be abandoned again because of such things.
“Sis… sister, will I see Mother and Father again?”
He asked from his place on her back, still unable to grasp the gravity of death and separation, yet already trembling from his own question.
What he had only read as sorrow in books had now turned into bone-piercing grief.
Premature wisdom was not always a blessing.
“You will see them. In eight years, you will die, and then you will be reunited.”
“If that’s the case… why are you taking me away? I… I want to leave now, with Mother and Father…”
The White-Haired Woman sighed softly, stepping through thick snow, burdened by fate beneath her feet.
“At that time, someone will use the life you should have lost to save someone who shouldn’t die.”
“Really? So before I die, I can still save someone? That’s… that’s not bad, right?”
The boy’s lips trembled as he recalled a phrase.
“Saving a life is better than building a Thirteen-Story Stupa. Then… then Mother and Father will surely be happy, right?”
Before he finished, the woman’s footsteps faltered, her weight pressing heavier against the snow.
A rich and gentle Star Power flowed from her pulse points, enveloping the small figure on her back.
The warm current, mixed with a faint fragrance, dispelled the biting cold.
Yun Mu curled up his frail body, clinging to her like a wounded fledgling, his eyelids struggling to stay open.
“Sleep… Before your time comes, you will go with me to stay at the Shangguan family in the capital, living as my disciple in peace. At least… until you are fourteen, your days will be better.”
“Ma… Master…?”
Snow fell thickly as the collapsed wooden pillar crushed the burnt-out lantern remnants.
A cold wind slipped through his whispered words, bringing unbearable chill and stirring a low cry.
“Master!”
Beneath the peach tree,
The boy suddenly opened his eyes.
His right hand, buried deep in the soil, clenched instinctively, raising a handful of damp earth and scattering a few fallen peach blossoms.
He slowly sat up, then leaned back against the tree.
Above the main courtyard, the scarlet light still pierced the night sky.
The festive sounds of drums and gongs had reached their peak.
He lifted his gaze to the shifting radiance, a faint smile curling at the corner of his lips.
“Ah, it feels like it’s been a long time since you all gathered like this. How cute…”
By “you all,” Yun Mu meant the particles of Star Power.
More vividly, they resembled thumb-sized, multicolored spheres, each exuding a different emotional aura.
Yet without exception, they naturally gravitated toward the boy.
“So ticklish, you little rascals, hahaha…”
Feeling the tiny spheres hopping and teasing on his face, he chuckled and instinctively raised his gaunt hands.
The spheres seemed to understand, rushing eagerly toward his palms.
Some, too weak, were pushed out of the “group,” drifting alone in a corner, emitting faint threads of sorrow.
“All right, all right, don’t crowd. One by one, there’s enough for everyone…”
“Ugh—!”
Before he finished, Yun Mu collapsed again.
“…Who—”
With effort, the boy barely opened his eyes and caught sight of two pairs of shoes beneath his vision—the embroidered slippers and leather boots—before plunging into boundless darkness.
“This kid’s constitution is truly terrifying. Even at such a distance, he instinctively absorbs Star Power. He almost ruined our Autumn Moon’s blessing ceremony.”
The owner of the boots spoke first, his voice hoarse.
His sharp brows and starry eyes made for a handsome face.
This man was the head of the Shangguan family—Shangguan Hongzhi.
“Hongzhi, for Autumn Moon’s illness… must it really be the child’s bones and eyes?”
The owner of the embroidered slippers spoke softly, her figure outlined by a cheongsam, delicate and graceful.
Her face was tender and youthful.
It was easy to see that both she and Shangguan Hongzhi bore a resemblance to Shangguan Qiuyue.
“Yayue, your compassion for this servant—are you still pitying him?”
Shangguan Hongzhi turned his head to the frowning woman beside him, his voice softening.
“What about our daughter’s life? Besides, even if we replaced his bones, he wouldn’t die.”
Lin Yayue pressed a hand to her chest and lightly hummed in acknowledgment, though her left hand, naturally resting at her side, unconsciously clenched the edge of her garment.
“If that’s so, then quickly cure the child and take him away, to avoid complications… After all, our Shangguan family owes him, whether it’s his master or his parents…”
“Eh, that’s not quite right,”
Shangguan Hongzhi lifted a hand to stop her words, his face darkening.
“His master’s death was self-inflicted. She was the demon who slaughtered a village, yet she still dared to send this child away to atone for her sins? In the end, her spirit gave up and fell into the Endless Abyss. Our Shangguan family took in this child out of necessity, and we’ve already done our utmost kindness. There’s no question of owing him anything.”
Seeing his wife still looking downcast, he added,
“Rest assured, Lu the Divine Doctor’s medical skills are unrivaled across the ancient Kingdom of Lixun. If the child truly can’t die, maybe his eyes won’t even go blind. Do you really think… I, your husband, would deceive you without proof?”
“…”
Lin Yayue’s lips trembled before she quietly replied,
“…Mm.”
Seeing his wife seemingly persuaded, Shangguan Hongzhi’s lips curved with satisfaction.
“Bring him here!”
Two black-clad figures silently emerged from the shadows.
“Once he’s healed, lock him up…”
He frowned slightly, thinking for a moment before changing his words,
“No, send him back to his original residence. Remember to be gentle.”
“As you command!”
The black-clad men obeyed, swiftly and silently lifting the limp Yun Mu into the darkness.
“All right, Yayue.”
Shangguan Hongzhi turned to his wife, forcing a smile,
“Why the long face? Today is the joyous day of our daughter’s blessing. Looking like this will only offend fortune. Smile.”
“…Okay.”
Lin Yayue forced her lips into a bitter but elegant smile.
That smile warmed Shangguan Hongzhi’s heart.
He gently pinched his wife’s soft cheek and whispered close to her ear.
“When everything goes smoothly, I’ll reward you properly, how about that?”
“You…!”
Lin Yayue’s cheeks flushed red as she pushed away his wandering hand with a shy scowl.
Her bashful, angry expression only stirred Shangguan Hongzhi’s blood to boil.
“Hahaha! Come on! Let’s keep drinking!”
Moonlight poured coldly over the peach tree courtyard, leaving behind a patchwork of yellow and white light interwoven with silence.
The people had long gone, only the night wind brushed past a few scattered petals.
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