Upon returning from Grand Beginning Temple, Mu Qingyan's face was livid, and he remained silent, with none of his subordinates daring to speak. It wasn’t until Mu Qingyan summoned the Golden-Winged Great Peng with a piercing whistle—clearly intending to depart alone—that You Guanyue finally stepped forward to inquire about the sect leader’s next steps.
Mu Qingyan turned with eyes full of malice. "Do what needs to be done. Must I teach you that?!"
You Guanyue quickly lowered his head and clasped his hands in acknowledgment.
Watching the Golden-Winged Great Peng shrink into the distance in the sky, You Guanyue suddenly had a thought. It was said that he and Shangguan Haonan were the most trusted young aides under Mu Qingyan’s command. Yet only he had been forced to take the Seven-Insect Seven-Flower Soul-Chasing Pill—Shangguan Haonan had not. Reflecting on the young sect leader he served—whose mind was cunning and intentions inscrutable—You Guanyue shuddered involuntarily.
Mu Qingyan crouched on the back of the Giant Peng, urging the great bird to spread its wings and hasten back to the Vast Sea Mountains. The icy wind lashed at his face like blades, but he paid it no mind, his thoughts churning relentlessly.
For days, whether atop the Giant Peng or resting on the ground, one question consumed him—his father, Mu Zhengming.
His father had once said that memory was like an ever-flowing underground river. No matter how large a stone was cast into it, the surface would eventually return to calm.
No matter what sorrow, joy, shock, or betrayal one had experienced—looking back in time, it would all fade into indifference. A tranquil heart was the most precious thing of all.
In his childhood, father and son often fished by the streams.
Small, foolish fish would brush past the boy’s pale, slender ankles—ticklish, slippery—while the cool water soothed his skin. His father’s expression was gentle and content. Back then, Mu Qingyan thought a peaceful life like this wouldn’t be so bad.
But those moments were rare.
From a young age, Mu Qingyan knew he was different from his father. His father was serene and detached, but in his own chest burned an unquenchable fire, a restless energy. He wanted to flatten the hills blocking his path, topple the dense forests obscuring his sight—and if the rivers and seas defied him, he would overturn them without hesitation.
But his father was not like that.
Lying on the smooth wooden floor of the veranda in the afternoon sun, half-lidded, Mu Qingyan would often hear his father sigh—"If only we weren’t descendants of the Mu family."
Mu Qingyan knew many whispered that his father had lived a weak life, easily manipulated. But only he understood that Mu Zhengming had no interest in power. To Mu Zhengming, the position of Nether Sect’s leader was less an honor or privilege and more like a colossal burden—one that forced generations of Mu descendants, unsuited for leadership, to strain themselves under its weight.
Mu Zhengming often mused that, setting aside bloodlines, Nie Hengcheng was a man of extraordinary talent, disciplined and benevolent—far more suited to lead than his own frail, temperamental father or his disinterested self. Why couldn’t Elder Chou and the others see that?
In his memories, Nie Hengcheng—who had controlled half his life—was not entirely cold and ruthless. In fact, he was sentimental in his own way.
Out of gratitude for his elder brother and sister-in-law’s kindness, he raised his nephew Nie Zhe with care, despite the boy being utterly hopeless. Because the childhood sweetheart who had saved his life died for him, he never married, remaining wifeless and childless till old age. Having suffered the loss of his parents early, he treated his four orphaned disciples and his sworn brother’s daughter as his own.
Nie Hengcheng could have erased the Mu family’s influence in the Nether Sect more ruthlessly. But out of respect for the mentorship he had received, he acted with restraint, always measured in his methods.Mu Qingyan held reservations about these views but never argued with his father. If half a lifetime of constraints and repeated suppression hadn’t changed Father in the slightest, why should he use rebuttals to wound him?
He deeply revered and cherished his father—more than the vast, coveted power of the Nether Sect, more than the accumulated treasures of generations or the ancient tomes as boundless as the sea in the Nine Provinces Treasure Scroll Pavilion. This reverence even carried a hint of pity and protectiveness.
From the age of fourteen, when his cultivation first bore fruit, he had secretly resolved to wield his sword and torch, shielding his father as they journeyed across the land, indulging in freedom. This time, no force would stop Father from fulfilling his wishes.
Yet, the outcome was like one of the countless submerged rocks in a dark river—tragic and utterly unoriginal.
Could such a father truly be the sinister schemer who deceived Cai Pingshu and aided Nie Hengcheng in killing those heroes?
No, absolutely impossible.
With a grim expression, Mu Qingyan leaped down from the Giant Peng.
—Then, there must be another reason.
The desolate silence of Huanglao Peak at dusk enveloped the Unsentimental Study, now empty.
Moving swiftly through the familiar corridors of his childhood, Mu Qingyan strode straight into the study his father, Mu Zhengming, had used in life. He eagerly flipped through various manuscripts and notes, searching for clues.
Yet, after Mu Zhengming’s death, he had long since organized the relics meticulously, handling each item no fewer than three times. Had there been anything amiss, he would have noticed long ago—there was no need to wait until now.
Suppressing his frustration, Mu Qingyan sat at the desk and closed his eyes in contemplation.
Long ago, he had suspected Cai Pingshu harbored a secret love. Otherwise, her attitude would have been too peculiar.
Even a good-natured girl like Zhao Zhao (as he saw her) couldn’t help but grow frantic when faced with a fiancé entangled with his cousin—and that was with the entire Zhou family on her side. Twenty years ago, the Zhou matriarch had constantly found fault with Cai Pingshu, eager to marry her nephew to her son, and Zhou Zhizhen was hardly the type to harshly sever ties with his childhood sweetheart. Under such circumstances, Cai Pingshu bore no resentment toward her fiancé. Instead, she was full of remorse, earnestly urging him to marry another...?
Combined with the conjectures and fragments from the Qi, Cai, and Ning families, it was almost certain Cai Pingshu had loved another.
Then, who was it?
Someone who told Cai Pingshu the full story of the Purple Jade Golden Sunflower, who knew its alternate uses unknown even to ordinary sect members, yet secretly caused the deaths of Cai Pingshu’s comrades, inadvertently aiding Nie Hengcheng.
Moreover, this person bore a striking resemblance to himself. Could he also be a descendant of the Mu family?
—“Young Master?” Lian Shisan stood at the door, looking surprised. “I saw the little golden wings flying overhead and came to check… Why have you returned?”
Mu Qingyan looked up. “Where is Cheng Bo?”
“He left—didn’t you tell him to…?” Lian Shisan was baffled.
Mu Qingyan cut him off. “When did he leave?”
“Just now, as it was getting dark. He should be halfway down the mountain by now.”
Mu Qingyan took out an exquisite little golden whistle attached to a thin golden chain and handed it to Lian Shisan. “Take my Golden Peng and bring Cheng Bo back. Tell him I need him. Also, where is Yan Xu? Fetch him as well.”
Accustomed to Mu Qingyan’s unpredictable ways, Lian Shisan accepted the order and left.
Silence returned to the study. Mu Qingyan picked up a brush and began writing on a sheet of Snow Wave Paper—The Mu clan's descendants were neither too numerous nor too few—not as flourishing as the Song family of Guangmen or the Zhou family of Jade Pendant Mountain Manor, nor as precarious as the Yang family of Four Stallions Gate.
The founding ancestor, Mu Xiujue, married late but still fathered two sons and two daughters. However, except for the eldest son, Mu Lanyue, the other three children were all free-spirited wanderers. Some secluded themselves in so-called "immortal mountains" to cultivate immortality, while others roamed the world, their deeds lost to history.
Mu Lanyue, on the other hand, was ambitious and sought to unify the martial world. He repeatedly attacked Myriad Waters, Thousand Mountains Cliff, driving the Big Dipper Six Sects into hiding at Nine Conch Mountain. But his relentless dedication to governance left him little time for family, and he only managed to father one son with his wife.
The third-generation sect leader, Mu Sheng, was unremarkable in both temperament and ability. He lacked the ambition to dominate the martial world and had no deep romantic attachments, but at least he didn’t squander the family fortune. With little else to occupy him, he spent his days with his wives and concubines, fathering many children. Yet, for some reason, most of his offspring were either sickly or died young.
Mu Sheng once suspected foul play within his household, but after thorough investigations, no evidence of tampering was found among his wives and concubines. It seemed fate simply cursed him with unhealthy heirs.
The only surviving son was Mu Huaning, who was frail and struggled even to breathe.
Left with no choice, Mu Sheng adopted the practice of taking in foster sons—and luckily, he found one who was relatively honest and dutiful.
Later, Mu Huaning fathered two sons: Mu Dongxu and Mu Donglie.
After the eldest son died unexpectedly and the second, Mu Donglie, fled in disgrace, the position passed to Mu Song, Mu Dongxu’s son by a concubine.
Though Mu Song did not live long, he left behind many children—four sons and three daughters—born to his numerous wives and concubines. Among them were several strong-willed and decisive individuals. Under normal circumstances, there would have been no need to adopt a foster son, but to honor his deceased close friend, Mu Song took in the man’s son as his fifth child.
Mu Song was kind-hearted and quite capable of maintaining the family’s legacy. Yet in middle age, after a severe illness, he suddenly became obsessed with occultism and mysticism. He locked himself in an alchemy chamber, chasing visions of immortality while squandering vast amounts of gold and treasure—all in pursuit of a better afterlife.
As sect affairs grew increasingly chaotic, his four sons and three sons-in-law split into factions, embroiled in endless disputes. Not long after, Mu Song died suddenly.
With the help of his foster son, his second son, Mu Yinong, eliminated all rival factions and succeeded him.
Though Mu Yinong emerged victorious, his body was left severely weakened. He entrusted his young son, Mu Han, to his foster brother before passing away.
Seven or eight years later, when Mu Han came of age, it was hard to say whether his foster uncle willingly relinquished power. But after Mu Han charmed his only beloved daughter away, the old man could only stroke his beard and resign himself to doting on his grandson at home.
That grandson was Mu Qingyan’s great-grandfather, Mu Lingxiao.
Having benefited politically from marriage himself, Mu Han thought it a brilliant idea to secure a similarly advantageous match for his son, Mu Lingxiao. Reluctantly, Mu Lingxiao obeyed, but he treated his wife coldly throughout their marriage. Only after her gentle passing did he realize his regret, and he subsequently spoiled his only son, Mu Chen, to excess.
The rest of the story—Nie Hengcheng’s series of successful schemes—was something Mu Qingyan recalled with bitterness, so he chose not to dwell on it.
The white paper was densely covered with names, many surrounded by winding lines. Stunned, Mu Qingyan realized his family had been reduced to a single heir for five generations straight.Even if Mu Yinong hadn't thoroughly eliminated his siblings, even if Mu Lanyue's younger brothers and sisters had descendants still alive, they would already be beyond the fifth degree of mourning relationship with Mu Qingyan. Could their appearances really bear such a striking resemblance to his own?
Then was Qi Yunke lying? To separate him from Zhao Zhao, did he fabricate the grievances between Cai Pingshu and Father?
No.
The shock and disbelief in Qi Yunke's expression at the time didn't seem feigned. He might lie about certain matters, but he wouldn't use Cai Pingshu to fabricate lies, nor would he resort to such reputation-damaging affairs between men and women. He wouldn't go to such lengths for Cai Zhao.
Mu Qingyan took another sheet of Snow Wave Paper and smoothed it out, sketching aimlessly. As he drew, he suddenly remembered something.
Back when he had just begun painting, he had jokingly asked to paint Father's portrait, demanding Mu Zhengming sit perfectly still. Mu Zhengming, looking at his son who was like a mirror image of himself, couldn't help but grumble that his son might as well paint his own reflection instead of tormenting his old father.
Mu Qingyan casually remarked that Grandfather Mu Chen also looked just like them.
Unexpectedly, Mu Zhengming paused and said he actually resembled his mother more—Ouyang Xue, the lady who adamantly refused to forgive her husband.
—So even if there were Mu descendants beyond the fifth degree of mourning, they wouldn't resemble him so closely.
Mu Qingyan stopped his brush and turned to look at the mirror stand beside him.
The mirror reflected a familiar, handsome face with deep-set eyes and sharp features.
Ouyang Xue was undoubtedly a peerless beauty. Had she not been so dazzlingly radiant, captivating to the soul, she wouldn't have instantly bewitched the young sect leader Mu Chen. Yet her temperament was as extreme as her looks—cold, proud, unyielding, and ruthlessly vindictive.
One of her first acts as the sect leader's wife was to execute the stepmother who had caused her birth mother's death, imprison her birth father who had tacitly allowed his first wife's tragic demise, and watch indifferently as her young step-siblings perished from shock and neglect.
Thus, the Ouyang family was no more.
Mu Qingyan drew a small circle on the Snow Wave Paper, inside which he wrote only three names—Ouyang Xue, Mu Zhengming, and himself... Where exactly had things gone wrong?
Mu Qingyan focused his thoughts, combing through the minutiae of past memories, but found nothing.
He set down the jade brush heavily, thinking he might need to revisit his grandparents' residence... Just then, he suddenly froze, as if an extremely subtle thought had brushed past his mind, stirring a deeply buried memory.
His grandparents' residence was grand and lofty, every adornment exquisite and solemn—except for one place that stood out: the nursery where Ouyang Xue had temporarily stayed after childbirth. The spacious bed for the infant to roll about, the soft and cozy corners, the deliberately lowered ceiling beams to keep the room warm...
Mu Qingyan's eyes snapped open. He knew what was amiss. He had vaguely sensed something odd when he first saw it.
At that moment, Elder Yuheng Yan Xu and Cheng Bo arrived one after the other.
Yan Xu had originally been drinking and reading in his quarters when he hurried over upon the sect leader's summons. Though his location was closer to the Unsullied Study, he came on foot, while Cheng Bo, who had already reached the mountainside, arrived earlier by riding the Golden-Winged Great Peng.
Without preamble, Mu Qingyan asked, "Elder Yan, Cheng Bo, I have a question about an old matter. Did my grandfather and grandmother Ouyang Xue have only my father as their son?"
At these words, the slightly tipsy and headache-plagued Yan Xu and the respectful, kindly Cheng Bo both abruptly changed expressions.Mu Qingyan knew he was right. His eyes narrowed slightly as he spoke slowly, word by word, "Or perhaps... I should say, Father doesn't have a twin brother."
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