When Yan Dan opened her eyes, the cabin was still dark, the sound of water striking the side of the ship echoing in her ears. She lifted the curtain and poked her head out, only to see Yu Mo standing at the bow, hands clasped behind his back, his sleeves shimmering silver beneath the moonlight. Hearing her stir, he glanced back and said evenly: “Are you awake?”
This was the first year she had known Yu Mo. In her heart, the mountain lord was still the mountain lord—akin to a mortal bully who occupied the mountain. She was powerless, a commoner, forced to submit. Fortunately, these two mountain lords were not grotesque beasts with obscene manners, which made her reluctant submission somewhat easier.
“What good dream did you have?” Yu Mo lifted his robe, sat slowly, long legs overlapping. “You were smiling so proudly in your sleep, I couldn’t rest.”
Though the warm night wind blew, Yan Dan’s heart chilled. She had dreamed a great dream: Zilin serving her tea with reverence, Yu Mo peeling apples for her—though she had scornfully demanded they be carved into rabbit shapes.
“Actually… it wasn’t a good dream. Just apples… many, many apples.” Yan Dan stammered nonsense. Yu Mo gave her a sharp look, and she broke into a cold sweat. “Mountain lord, have you ever wanted apples so badly but couldn’t peel them, forced to stare at them helplessly?”
“No.”
“If the mountain lord wants apples, someone will peel the best and serve them. But I can’t peel them. I can only watch.”
Yu Mo nodded flatly. “So you smiled proudly in your dream because you couldn’t eat?”
Yan Dan hurriedly explained: “I love apples most. Seeing many at once made me proud. But then I remembered I couldn’t peel them… and woke.” She thought gloomily: she would never eat apples again.
Yu Mo smiled slowly.
In that instant, the moon shone whiter, the wind clearer, the river bluer, peach blossoms piled high upon branches.
Yan Dan seized the moment. “Mountain lord, you look so good when you smile.”
“Really?” Yu Mo leaned closer, faint fragrance of Hanxuan on his robes, fingers brushing her hair, dark eyes locked on hers. Her heart skipped. He rose suddenly, brushed past, and entered the cabin.
Yan Dan exhaled in relief. The curtain swayed in the breeze like a white flag summoning souls.
The next day, she learned the truth: one lie requires a hundred more to sustain. At the market in Nandu City, Yu Mo bought five pounds of apples. The stall aunt, charmed by his looks, stuffed in extra. Yan Dan carried the basket, unable to explain.
Watching Yu Mo peel apples clumsily, she felt bitterer than Huang Lian. Would he cut off his fingers? She recalled Bai Ling listing Yu Mo’s favorite foods, robes, and habits for an hour before they left Chenglan Mountain Realm.
While she worried, Yu Mo said coldly: “A year ago, I was beaten back to my original form here.”
Yan Dan saw his fingers near the blade, rushed forward to grab his wrist. “Mountain lord, don’t face the knife edge.”
Yu Mo glanced lightly.
“If you want apples, I’ll peel them.”
He looked at her directly. “Didn’t you say last night you couldn’t peel?”
“…I couldn’t before. But since meeting the mountain lord, I can. I just don’t remember in dreams.”
Yu Mo handed her the deformed half‑peeled apple, wiping his fingers with a handkerchief. Yan Dan cut pieces, skewered them, and offered: “Mountain lord, you said you came here a year ago…”
Yu Mo replied without hesitation: “I was beaten back to my original form, then cultivated half a year to recover.”
Yan Dan’s heart ached. Should she praise his talent? She doubted she could transform from lotus to human in fifty years. As she pondered, Yu Mo gently held her fingers. His voice was low, pleasant: “Be careful with your hands.”
Her hand shook, the knife slipped, stabbing the boat board. She forced a smile. “Mountain lord…”
The boat rocked. She stumbled against his shoulder, retreating quickly. Yu Mo steadied the stern, pushing off the shore. A peach blossom branch leaned into the boat. He broke it, petals scattering, then handed it to her. She smiled faintly. “Thank you.”
The boat drifted toward the lake’s center. Yan Dan saw another boat nearby, swords flashing beneath the water, two figures in peril. “Mountain lord, can we help them? It’s unfair, so many against two.”
She thought he would refuse. Instead, Yu Mo leapt into the water without a word.
“…She just said she couldn’t act—why did he jump?” Yan Dan rowed closer, offering her hand. “Get on quickly, or you’ll fall.”
The woman grasped her hand, leaping aboard. Yan Dan sensed demonic aura—another flower essence. The man followed, light on the hull, clearly skilled. Yan Dan recalled hearing of Pei Luo and Qin Tuo, noble sons famed in Nandu. She had glimpsed Pei Luo before, unhappy then. Now he seemed changed.
Suddenly, a thin assassin was hurled aboard, the hull nearly capsizing. Corpses floated, peach blossoms embedded in foreheads, petals dyed red with blood. Yan Dan sighed—Yu Mo’s handiwork, heavy with murder.
Yu Mo climbed aboard, soaked. The flower essence girl exclaimed: “Yu Mo?”
They knew each other? Yan Dan’s eyes burned. Yu Mo said nothing, entered the cabin.
She thought: Yu Mo’s sorcery was storm and dragon, not delicate peach blossoms. There must be secrets.
She looked at the flower essence girl, then Pei Luo, sighing: Yu Mo was alone, but his heart already belonged. Love was deadly. Bai Ling had said Yu Mo liked tall, gentle women. This flower essence fit perfectly. Unlike her—bad‑tempered, disobedient, openly defiant. Why was she analyzing herself so cruelly?
Yan Dan cut cloth from the assassin, speaking kindly: “Our mountain lord has a bad temper. Come in, have hot tea.”
Pei Luo asked softly: “Mountain lord?”
Yan Dan smiled innocently. “What mountain lord? I meant my son.” She turned to the flower essence girl. “Didn’t I say my son?” The girl nodded silently. Yan Dan pointed her dagger at the assassin. “Did I say mountain lord?” He shook his head.
Yan Dan smiled. “Young master, you misheard.”
She was delighted—the assassin was pliant, her kind of man.
Yu Mo reappeared, changed, inviting: “Please sit. Forgive my poor hospitality.”
Yan Dan patted the assassin’s shoulder. “Do you know why my son spared you? Think carefully before speaking.”
The assassin trembled at Yu Mo’s red eyes. Yan Dan teased: “You shake so much. Shall I help you inside?”
Pei Luo questioned him clumsily. Yan Dan pouted, wanting to intervene, but Yu Mo’s gaze silenced her.
The assassin shouted: “What if I die? I’m not afraid!” Yan Dan praised: “Courage! To die without yielding is manly.” She leaned close, smiling. “But when tortured, will you still endure?”
Yu Mo watched silently.
Yan Dan drew a kitchen knife, tapping it. “Martial flesh is strong, tenacious, with bite.”
The assassin sneered: “You’re weak. Do you even know how to use a knife?”
Yan Dan feigned surprise. “How did you know? My son says I’m inaccurate—one knife could kill, but hundreds might not.” The assassin paled.
“Don’t fear. A few more pains, then golden medicine will save you.” She turned to Yu Mo. “Young master, dumplings for lunch? We have filling ready.”
Yu Mo smiled. “Fine. But what of tomorrow?”
Yan Dan replied sweetly: “This man is strong. He’ll last ten days. Let’s start with his thigh.”
Pei Luo held the assassin’s chin. “Prevent him biting his tongue.”
Yan Dan raised the knife. The assassin fainted. She sighed. “He passed out before I began.”
She chopped meat and noodles instead. When he awoke, she asked kindly: “How many dumplings do you eat?” He fainted again.
She muttered: “Wild thoughts kill.”
Rolling dumplings, she revealed white wrists. When he awoke again, she said gently: “The filling is short. Don’t worry, I’ll cut lightly, and medicine will save you.”
This time he screamed but did not faint. Pei Luo steadied him.
“I’ll tell everything! Please don’t cut!” He confessed all—who hired him, which bank paid.
Yan Dan sighed, retreating to her dumplings.
After Young Master Pei finished his questioning, they prepared to leave. The beautiful flower‑essence girl gently shook Yan Dan’s hand, and in that moment Yan Dan felt an odd sense of pride—her flower‑essence kin truly were extraordinary beauties, whether mortal or demon.
Yan Dan lowered her voice: “What is Yu Mo’s true body?” She knew Zilin’s real form was a mountain turtle, but Yu Mo’s remained a mystery.
The flower‑essence girl looked at Yu Mo, then at the water. Yan Dan suddenly understood. No wonder Bai Ling had warned her never to bring fish to the table—this was the reason.
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