As Mu Qingyan returned from Taichu Temple, his face was ashen, and he remained silent. His followers dared not speak. Only when Mu Qingyan whistled to summon the golden-winged roc, clearly intending to leave alone, did You Guanyue reluctantly step forward to inquire about the cult leader’s plans.
Mu Qingyan turned back, his eyes full of fury. “Do what needs to be done. Do I need to teach you everything?!”
You Guanyue hastily bowed and acknowledged the order.
Watching the golden-winged roc grow smaller in the sky, You Guanyue had a sudden realization. It was said that he and Shangguan Haonan were the most trusted young lieutenants under Mu Qingyan, yet only he had taken the Seven Insects Seven Flowers Soul-Chasing Pill. Shangguan Haonan hadn’t. Thinking of the young cult leader’s cunning mind and obscure intentions, You Guanyue couldn’t help but shudder.
Mu Qingyan lay on the roc’s back, constantly urging the giant bird to spread its wings and return to the Hanhai mountain range as quickly as possible. The cold, rushing wind felt like blades on his face, but he paid no attention, his mind filled with turbulent thoughts.
For several days, whether on the roc’s back or resting on the ground, he pondered one thing—his father, Mu Zhengming.
His father once said that memory is like an ever-flowing dark river; no matter how large a stone you throw in, the surface eventually becomes calm again.
No matter what sadness, joy, shock, or betrayal one experiences, when recalled later, it all becomes vague. A peaceful and calm state of mind is more important than anything else.
In his youth, father and son often fished by the stream.
Small, dull-witted fish would swim past the young boy’s pale, slender ankles, ticklish and slippery. The stream water was cool and refreshing, his father’s expression gentle and content. At those times, Mu Qingyan thought that spending a lifetime in such tranquility wouldn’t be bad.
But only at such times.
From a young age, Mu Qingyan knew he was different from his father. His father was calm and peaceful, but Mu Qingyan had a fire burning in his heart, a restlessness that wouldn’t subside. He wanted to level the hills blocking his path and break the dense forests obscuring his view. If the rivers and seas didn’t bend to his will, he wouldn’t hesitate to overturn them.
But his father wasn’t like that.
Lying on the smooth floor of the porch in the afternoon sun, eyes half-closed, Mu Qingyan would occasionally hear his father sigh—wishing they weren’t descendants of the Mu family.
Mu Qingyan knew that many secretly criticized his father for being weak and easily manipulated throughout his life, but only he knew that Mu Zhengming had no interest in power. In Mu Zhengming’s heart, the position of the Liejiao cult leader was more of a massive burden than a source of glory and wealth, forcing many unsuitable Mu family members to strain themselves.
Mu Zhengming often said that setting aside family names and bloodlines, Nie Hengcheng was far more suitable to be the cult leader with his great talent, self-discipline, and kindness—a hundred times more so than his sickly and short-tempered father, or himself with his disinterest. Why couldn’t Elder Chou and the others see this?
In his memories, Nie Hengcheng, who had controlled him for half his life, wasn’t entirely cold-blooded and ruthless. He even showed some sentiment.
Out of affection for his brother and sister-in-law, he carefully raised his nephew Nie Zhe, despite the boy being a complete failure. For his childhood sweetheart who died saving him, he remained unmarried and childless until old age. Having suffered the pain of losing his parents early, he treated his four orphaned disciples and his sworn brother’s daughter as his children.
Nie Hengcheng didn’t lack better ways to erase the Mu family’s influence in the Liejiao cult, but he was somewhat restrained out of gratitude for the nurturing he had received, acting with a measure of softness and discretion.
Mu Qingyan reserved judgment on these various perspectives but never argued with his father. If a lifetime of control and repeated suppression hadn’t changed his father one bit, why should he hurt his father with rebuttals?
He deeply respected and loved his father, more than the coveted power of the vast Liejiao cult, more than the accumulated rare treasures and the vast ancient texts in the Nine Provinces Treasure Pavilion. This respect and love even carried a hint of pity and protectiveness.
From the time he first achieved his cultivation at fourteen, he had secretly vowed to wield a long sword and torch, protecting his father as they traveled across the land, living life to the fullest. This time, no force would be able to stop his father from fulfilling his wishes.
However, the outcome was like one of countless submerged stones in the dark river—tragic yet unsurprising.
Could such a father be the treacherous person who deceived Cai Pingzhu and helped Nie Hengcheng harm various heroes?
No, it was impossible.
Mu Qingyan jumped down from the giant roc with a grim expression.
There must be another reason.
As dusk approached, Huanglaofeng Peak was cold and silent, with Busi Zhai empty.
Swiftly moving through the familiar corridors of his childhood, Mu Qingyan walked straight into the study his father had used in life. He urgently began searching through various manuscripts and notes, trying to find any clues.
However, after his father’s death, he had already tidied up the belongings meticulously, handling each item at least three times. If there had been anything suspicious, he would have discovered it long ago.
Mu Qingyan forcefully suppressed his frustration and sat at the desk, closing his eyes in deep thought.
Long ago, he had suspected that Cai Pingzhu had a secret love, otherwise, her attitude would have been too strange.
Even a good-tempered girl like Zhao-zhao (as he perceived her) couldn’t help but be upset when faced with a fiancé entangled with her cousin, even with the entire Zhou family on her side. Twenty years ago, the Zhou family matriarch constantly found fault with Cai Pingzhu, wanting to match her son with a niece from her maiden family. Zhou Zhichen wasn’t someone who could be ruthless towards his childhood sweetheart cousin. Yet, in this situation, Cai Pingzhu showed no resentment towards her fiancé, instead being full of apologies and strongly urging him to marry another…?
Combined with the guesses and fragments from Qi, Cai, and Ning, it was almost certain that Cai Pingzhu had another love.
So, who was this person?
This person who told Cai Pingzhu about the origins of the Purple Jade Golden Mallow, who knew the unique usage of the flower unknown to ordinary cult members, yet secretly caused the deaths of Cai Pingzhu’s brothers, indirectly helping Nie Hengcheng.
Moreover, his appearance was strikingly similar to Mu Qingyan’s own. Could he also be a member of the Mu family?
“Young Master?” Lian Shisan stood at the door, looking surprised. “I just saw Little Golden Wings flying overhead, so I came to check… Why are you back, Young Master?”
Mu Qingyan looked up. “Where’s Uncle Cheng?”
“He left, didn’t you…” Lian Shisan was extremely puzzled.
Mu Qingyan interrupted, “When did he leave?”
“He set off just as it was getting dark, he should be halfway down the mountain by now.”
Mu Qingyan took out an exquisite small golden whistle attached to a fine gold chain from his bosom and handed it to Lian Shisan. “Take my golden roc and find Uncle Cheng. Tell him I have something to discuss. Oh, and where’s Yan Xu? Bring him here too.”
Lian Shisan, accustomed to Mu Qingyan’s unpredictable behavior, immediately obeyed and left.
Silence settled over the study once more. Mu Qingyan picked up his brush and began writing on a sheet of Xuelang paper.
The Mu family line, neither too numerous nor too sparse, stood between the flourishing Song family of Guangmen and the Zhou family of Peiqiong Mountain, and the precarious Yang family of Siqimen.
Although the founding ancestor, Mu Xiujue, married late, he still fathered two sons and two daughters. However, apart from the eldest son Mu Lanyue, the other three children were free-spirited. They either secluded themselves in so-called “immortal mountains” to pursue cultivation or wandered eastward, their subsequent deeds unrecorded.
Mu Lanyue, ambitious to unify the realm, repeatedly attacked Wanshui Qianshan Cliff, forcing the Six Northern Sects to retreat to Jiuli Mountain. Yet, his dedication to governance left him with little time for family, resulting in only one son with his wife.
The third-generation leader, Mu Sheng, was unremarkable in both personality and talent. Lacking grand ambitions or passionate love affairs, he managed not to squander the family’s resources. In his idle time, he fathered numerous children with his wives and concubines. Strangely, these offspring either suffered from chronic illnesses or died young.
Suspicious of foul play within the inner palace, Mu Sheng conducted thorough investigations. However, he found no evidence of wrongdoing among his wives and concubines. It seemed his luck was simply poor when it came to healthy offspring.
His only surviving son, Mu Huaning, was sickly and struggled even to breathe. Consequently, Mu Sheng instituted an adoption system, fortunately finding a relatively honest and reliable adopted son.
Mu Huaning later had two sons: Dongxu and Dongli. After the eldest died unexpectedly and Mu Dongli fled, Mu Dongxu’s son with a concubine, Mu Song, inherited the leadership.
Although short-lived, Mu Song had numerous children from various wives and concubines, including four sons and three daughters, some of whom possessed strong personalities and decisive tactics. Despite not needing to adopt, he took in his deceased friend’s son as his fifth child out of gratitude.
Mu Song was kind-hearted and skilled at maintaining the family’s status. However, in middle age, after a severe illness, he became obsessed with sorcery and mysticism. He secluded himself in the alchemy room, squandering vast resources in pursuit of immortality.
As sect affairs fell into disarray, his four sons and three sons-in-law split into factions, constantly quarreling. Shortly after, Mu Song died suddenly.
With the help of his adopted son, the second son Mu Yinong eliminated all rival factions and ascended to leadership. However, the struggle took its toll on Mu Yinong’s health. He entrusted his young son, Mu Han, to his adopted brother before passing away.
Seven or eight years later, when Mu Han came of age, it’s hard to say if the adopted uncle willingly relinquished power. However, after Mu Han won over his only beloved daughter, the uncle had no choice but to accept the situation and content himself with doting on his grandchild.
This grandchild was Mu Qingyan’s great-grandfather, Mu Lingxiao.
Having benefited from his marriage, Mu Han believed that having a powerful father-in-law within the sect was invaluable. He arranged a similar match for his son, Mu Lingxiao. Although Mu Lingxiao reluctantly complied, he treated his wife coldly after marriage. Only after her death did he feel remorse, subsequently overindulging their only son, Mu Chen.
The subsequent events, involving Nie Hengcheng’s series of successful schemes, filled Mu Qingyan with anger, best left unmentioned.
The white paper was covered with densely written names, many surrounded by curved lines. Mu Qingyan was shocked to realize that his family had already undergone five generations of single inheritance.
Even if Mu Yinong hadn’t eliminated his siblings, even if Mu Lanyue’s younger siblings had living descendants, they would be beyond the fifth degree of kinship with Mu Qingyan. How could their appearance still closely resemble his?
Was Xi Yunke lying then? Did he fabricate the entanglement between Cai Pingshu and Mu Qingyan’s father to separate him from Zhaozao?
No, that didn’t seem right. The shock and disbelief in Xi Yunke’s expression didn’t appear feigned. He might lie about some matters, but he wouldn’t use Cai Pingshu to do so, especially not about such reputation-damaging affairs. He wouldn’t go to such lengths for Cai Zhao.
Mu Qingyan took another sheet of Xuelang paper and began drawing aimlessly. As he drew, he suddenly recalled an incident.
Shortly after learning to paint, he had jokingly offered to paint a portrait of his father, asking Mu Zhengming to sit still. Looking at his son, who appeared to be his replica, Mu Zhengming couldn’t help but tease him, suggesting he could simply paint his face in a mirror instead of troubling his old father.
Mu Qingyan casually remarked that his grandfather, Mu Chen, also looked just like them.
To his surprise, Mu Zhengming paused, then said that Mu Qingyan resembled his mother more—the unforgiving Ouyang Xue.
This implied that even if there were Mu family descendants beyond the fifth degree of kinship, they wouldn’t look so similar to him.
Mu Qingyan stopped writing and turned to the nearby mirror stand. The reflection showed a familiar handsome face with deep-set eyes and sharp features.
Ouyang Xue was undoubtedly a peerless beauty, captivating enough to enter the young sect leader Mu Chen at first sight. However, her temperament matched her extreme beauty—cold, proud, and ruthless.
Upon becoming the sect leader’s wife, she executed her stepmother who had caused her birth mother’s death, imprisoned her father who had allowed his first wife to die tragically, and stood by as her young half-siblings perished from shock.
Thus, the Ouyang family line also ended.
Mu Qingyan drew a small circle on the Xuelang paper, containing only three names—Ouyang Xue, Mu Zhengming, and himself. Where exactly had the discrepancy occurred?
He pondered deeply, sifting through memories and exploring every detail of past events, but to no avail.
Slamming down his jade brush in frustration, he considered visiting his grandparents’ residence again. Suddenly, he froze as if a subtle thought had flitted across his mind, stirring hidden memories.
His grandparents’ home was grand and imposing, with every decoration exquisite and luxurious. Only one place stood out—the nursery where Ouyang Xue had stayed after giving birth. The spacious bed is suitable for a baby to roll around, the soft and cozy corners, the intentionally lowered ceiling to maintain warmth…
Mu Qingyan’s eyes suddenly widened as he realized what had been amiss. He had vaguely sensed something odd about it at first glance.
At that moment, Jade Pendulum Elder Yan Xu and Uncle Cheng arrived one after another.
Yan Xu had been drinking and reading when he received the summons, so he hurried over. Although he was closer to the Busi Pavilion, he came on foot. Uncle Cheng, who had already reached halfway up the mountain, arrived on a golden-winged giant eagle, beating Yan Xu by two steps.
Without exchanging pleasantries, Mu Qingyan directly asked, “Elder Yan, Uncle Cheng, I have an old matter to inquire about. Did my great-grandfather and great-grandmother Ouyang only have my father as their son?”
As soon as the words left his mouth, both the slightly tipsy Yan Xu and the respectful, kindly Uncle Cheng visibly changed their expressions.
Knowing he had hit upon something, Mu Qingyan narrowed his eyes and continued slowly, enunciating each word, “Or should I ask, didn’t my father have a twin brother?”