Mo Yanluo opened his eyes to a world he thought he had lost forever. He lay in his bed, the familiar scent of burning incense and parchment surrounding him. Sunlight streamed through the window, painting golden stripes across the floor.
For a moment, he questioned if the betrayal, the pain, the hatred in his disciples' eyes had been nothing more than a nightmare.
But the memory was too intense, too real. He had died a miserable death—and yet, somehow, he had returned. He did not dwell too deeply on the reason why he was given this second chance, but he was grateful that it happened.
He sat up, his body trembling with disbelief. The room was as it had been ten years ago. The scrolls on the desk, the sword that hung on the wall, the tranquil hum of life outside—all of them were painfully familiar.
He rose to his feet and moved to the window, peering out at the courtyard below.
There, his disciples—still young, still unstained by the darkness that would one day claim them—were gathered in the morning light.
Ming Yue, aged sixteen, her silver hair drawn back in a simple braid, was sparring with Xue Lan, who was fourteen with misty blue eyes and a shy, reserved temperament. Yan Ling, the fiery thirteen-year-old with flowing crimson hair, was practicing her martial arts with unwavering concentration. Qing Mei, the mischievous twelve-year-old with clear emerald eyes, was perched on a low wall, observing the spar between her senior sisters with a playful grin. And Ying Tao, the youngest at age eleven, sat cross-legged in the grass, her pink hair catching the sun as she meditated.
Mo Yanluo's heart ached at the sight. He had seen them in his final moments as his killers, their eyes cold with hatred. Now, they were children again—innocent, optimistic, full of life.
He took a deep breath and stepped outside.
The moment Mo Yanluo appeared in the courtyard, the disciples stopped what they were doing and turned to him, their expressions bright with surprise.
"Master!" Yan Ling called, her voice filled with excitement. "You're finally awake!"
Mo Yanluo smiled, a warmth in his eyes that none of them had ever seen before. He walked towards them, his steps light, his demeanor gentle and comforting.
"Good morning," he said softly. "How are you all today?"
The disciples exchanged confused glances. Their master had always been distant, quiet, and stern. He had never greeted them like this, never smiled so genuinely.
Ming Yue, stepped forward. "We're well, Master," she said, her silver eyes wide with curiosity and confusion. "Are you… feeling alright?"
Mo Yanluo chuckled, a sound so foreign to their ears that Qing Mei nearly fell off the wall in shock.
"I am," he said. "I had a strange dream last night. It made me realize that I have not been the master or the family that you deserve. I'm sorry."
The disciples stared at him, their mouths slightly open. Even Ying Tao, who was usually lost in her own thoughts, looked up, her pink-violet eyes wide with wonder.
"What do you mean, Master?" Xue Lan asked, her voice quivering. "Why are you apologizing?"
Mo Yanluo knelt and dropped to their level, his gaze meeting each of theirs in turn. "I mean that from this point on I want to be here for you all. I want to teach you, guide you, and protect you—not just as your master, but as your family."
The silence that followed was thick with disbelief. Yan Ling's fiery spirit seemed to dim for a moment, replaced by confusion. Qing Mei's playful grin faded, replaced by a look of utter shock. Ming Yue's silver eyes shimmered with unspoken questions. Xue Lan's misty gaze was clouded with emotion. Even Ying Tao, the youngest, looked up at him with wide, trusting eyes.
"Master," Yan Ling said, her voice trembling, "are you sure you're alright? You're… different."
Mo Yanluo reached out and caressed her head, a gesture so alien but affectionate that Yan Ling's face turned red with surprise.
"I am different," he responded. "And I trust that is for the better."
From that day forward, Mo Yanluo's behavior changed completely. He joined his disciples in their training, not as a distant spectator, but as a participant, teaching them techniques and giving them advice. He laughed with them, ate with them, listened to their stories and fears. He praised their progress, comforted them when they struggled, and encouraged them.
The disciples, still in awe at the sudden change in their master, slowly began to open up.
Ming Yue, at sixteen, was the eldest and most responsible. She had always taken care of the others, but now, for the first time, she felt appreciated and valued by her master.
Xue Lan, fourteen, was shy and reserved, but through Mo Yanluo's patient guidance, she began to find her voice.
Yan Ling, thirteen, was fiery and hot-headed, but Mo Yanluo taught her to how to control her energy, and to think before she acted.
Qing Mei, twelve, was mischievous and cheeky, but Mo Yanluo showed her that her cleverness could be a strength, not just a source of trouble.
Ying Tao, eleven, was quiet and thoughtful, but Mo Yanluo encouraged her to have confidence in herself and share her ideas, to believe in herself.
The sect, once a place of discipline and silence, became alive with laughter and warmth. The disciples, still young and impressionable, blossomed under Mo Yanluo's loving care.
But beneath the surface, Mo Yanluo was always watching, always scheming.
He remembered the future, recounting Wei Lian's treachery vividly, and the pain of betrayal. He was going to make him regret ever laying his hands on his disciples.
He knew that the orthodox sect would come for them, that Wei Lian would seek to destroy everything he had built. He could not let that happen, not again.
Mo Yanluo began to gather information about Wei Lian and the orthodox sect. He sent his most trusted subordinates to spy on their movements, to monitor their plans, to uncover their weaknesses.
He studied Wei Lian's habits, his allies, his tactics. He knew that the man was cunning, charismatic, and ruthless. Wei Lian's greatest weapon was not his sword, but his tongue. His ability to deceive and lie effortlessly made him a tricky enemy.
He began to teach his disciples the art of discernment, the power of critical thinking, the importance of questioning what they were told—to not believe everything they are told. Him being the only exception, of course.
He warned them of the dangers that lurked beyond the sect's walls, of the lies that could destroy even the strongest bonds.
He did not tell them of the future, of his betrayal. He could not bear to see the light in their eyes dull, the trust in their hearts waver.
But he made sure that they were ready so that they would not be so easily swayed by honeyed words and empty promises.
And all the while, he plotted. A plan to completely eradicate the orthodox sect and Wei Lian.
He prepared for the day when the orthodox sect would come for them, when Wei Lian would seek to destroy the relationships he had built, his family.
—
One evening, as the sun set over the mountains, Mo Yanluo stood on the rooftop of the sect's main hall, watching his disciples below.
They were gathered around a fire, laughing and sharing stories, their faces bright with joy.
He felt a pang of sorrow, remembering the cold, hatred filled eyes they had shown him, and the cold steel that pierced his body.
But he also felt hope. They were still his disciples, his kin, still untouched by the treacherous lies of Wei Lin.
He looked up at the stars, his mind racing with different plans and countless possibilities. He knew the road ahead would be long and difficult and that Wei Lian would not give up easily, that the orthodox sect would not rest until the Heavenly Demon Sect was destroyed.
But he was ready. He had seen the future, and he would not let it come to pass. He would protect his family, no matter the cost.
As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, Mo Yanluo's disciples grew stronger, not just in body, but in mind and spirit. They trusted each other, and most importantly, trusted him.
Mo Yanluo watched them with pride, but also with caution. He knew that the greatest danger did not come from the enemy, but from those closest to him. The battle ahead would not be won by strength alone, but by wisdom.
—
One day, a messenger arrived at the gates of the Heavenly Demon Sect.
He bore a letter from the orthodox sect, inviting Mo Yanluo and his disciples to a grand martial arts tournament, a celebration of unity and peace. But in reality it is hosted by the Orthodox Sect to assess the strength of the various groups involved, to build or break relationships.
Mo Yanluo's heart raced, he recalled the events that transpired. The tournament was a ruse, a ploy by Wei Lian to approach his disciples to slowly plant the seeds of doubt in his disciples' hearts.
But this time it will be different, he had trained and prepared his disciples for situations like this.
He summoned his disciples in the great hall, holding the letter tightly in his hand.
"We have been invited to a tournament," he said, his voice firm and unshakable. "But I do not trust the intentions of those who sent it."
The disciples listened, their faces serious. A year had passed since Mo Yanluo returned to the past, from his hellish future.
Ming Yue, was now seventeen, Xue Lan, fifteen, Yan Ling, fourteen, Qing Mei, thirteen, Ying Tao, twelve. They had all matured and grown stronger under the careful guidance of their devoted master.
"What should we do, Master?" Ming Yue queried.
Mo Yanluo looked at each of them, his heart swelling with pride.
"We will go," he declared. "We will show them the power of the Heavenly Demon sect."
The disciples nodded, their resolve firm. They were ready to overcome any obstacle that blocked their path.
"You are all my precious disciples, my pride and joy." He added, his voice comforting and reassuring.
The future was not determined yet, and the past could be changed. He would not let Wei Lian win. He would not let his disciples be taken and used as puppets. Never.