Volume Two: Mortal Realm Chapter Forty-Six: A Nighttime Conversation Amidst Fireworks

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“Great Xia was founded by the mandate of heaven, and it is said that immortals aided in its founding. Afterward, countless immortals descended to the mortal realm, establishing Celestial Testing Stations in every province and county, so that every subject of Great Xia would have the chance to discover whether they possessed the aptitude for cultivation.”

“If one were recognized as a rare talent in the way of immortality, there was even the possibility of being accepted as a disciple by an immortal and taken to the Immortal Isles. Even those of ordinary talent, as long as they could cultivate, would find their status forever changed, no longer the same as mere mortals.”

“But how difficult is the path of cultivation? How many can even possess the lowest aptitude for it?”

Whenever the conversation turned to cultivation or to Great Xia itself, the usually composed man’s voice brimmed with irrepressible excitement and pride. But then, thinking of something, he sighed, and his voice fell into loneliness.

“Since the founding of Great Xia, the realm has been stable, and no great wars have erupted. But after three centuries, with a vast nation and the passage of time, many problems have inevitably arisen.”

“Is cultivation truly so difficult?” Ye Mingke asked. He was not surprised by the flourishing scene of everyone in Great Xia having a chance at cultivation; instead, he found Li Han’s lament curious.

He remembered the Daoist arts taught by the teacher in his small town were supposedly methods of cultivation, and the trials at the academy were not particularly hard. Most children in the town could attend.

Of course, that excluded him—he was the one the teacher had inexplicably sent back.

Though, in the end, he was given a reason, but it was so flowery and obscure—something about “How dare one become a teacher of the heavens?”

“Of course. Those who can cultivate are one in ten thousand... or even less than that. Among the tens of thousands in the dozen or so villages nearby, none have ever been tested and found to have the aptitude,” Li Han replied, a little surprised that Ye Mingke would ask such an obvious question.

Seeing the sincere bewilderment on Ye Mingke’s face, remembering all the peculiarities about him, Li Han was struck by a thought. He asked, a bit awed and cautious, “Brother Ye, are you a cultivator?”

“No,” Ye Mingke replied after a moment’s thought, recalling that his own training consisted of chopping wood, playing chess, climbing mountains—nothing of the sort of cultivation. “But, when I was younger, I did have many friends who were cultivators.”

He remembered Tao Yao, Qiao Qiao, and that town bully Li Yin, who first introduced him to Daoist arts. He remembered knocking Li Yin down with a single punch.

Were all cultivators not as formidable as they seemed? Or was it that the teacher’s instruction was lacking? That couldn’t be...

In Ye Mingke’s memory, the teacher was a formidable man, and the upheaval that later struck the town proved that no one there was simple. Each was entangled in a mystery he still could not unravel.

Uncle Jian, Aunt Long, Da Bai, the mason, old Liu the night watchman... each of them possessed a mysterious and powerful hidden side, yet in their daily lives, they seemed no different from ordinary folk.

Why was that? Before the world of the small town fractured, they really did live as mere mortals, without any superhuman abilities.

What secrets lay hidden within, secrets he still did not know?

He also recalled the teacher’s words: the town was a unique experiment. Was the academy a crucial part of this experiment? And what were they testing?

He sensed, in some obscure way, that this was a vital clue to the town’s great enigma.

He strained to recall everything he had learned from Qiao Qiao and Tao Yao about the academy, but nothing came to mind, and a look of pain crossed his face.

“It’s alright, Brother Ye. Whether one can cultivate or not is fate. Even disciples born in the Immortal Residences, not all have the talent for cultivation.”

Hearing Ye Mingke’s words and seeing the pain on his face, Li Han consoled him sympathetically.

Mysterious origins, uncanny skills, not a native of the Misty Sea nor knowledgeable of Great Xia, with many cultivator friends but not a cultivator himself—

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Altogether, it painted the picture of a young man cast out from some Immortal Residence, unable to cultivate—a useless outcast, perhaps even abandoned to the dangerous Misty Sea after offending someone. And a blood relative, unable to bear leaving him behind, had braved the perilous seas, only to perish.

Following this thread, Li Han imagined a host of tragic, fate-tossed stories. The way he now looked at Ye Mingke was filled with sympathy and natural reverence for someone of immortal lineage.

“I’m fine—just lost in thought,” Ye Mingke answered, puzzled by Li Han’s strange look.

He had no idea that the steadfast Li Han had already invented for him a heartbreakingly tragic background.

“I actually had a chance to tread the path of cultivation myself, but... never mind, best not to speak of it,” Li Han said, recalling his own past, but then changing the subject.

“Brother Ye, can you sense danger in the mist before it appears?” he asked, turning to glance at the thick, inky darkness ahead. In such eerie, terrifying gloom, Ye Mingke had never once seemed to truly look around, yet he had miraculously predicted danger multiple times.

“Is it like the legends—having ears that hear the wind, eyes that see a thousand miles?” he asked curiously.

Ye Mingke wrapped his polished sword case in black cloth, traded from the men, then glanced into the mist and replied calmly, “I can indeed see some things beyond the dense fog. It’s not like having eyes that see a thousand miles, more like... having many pairs of eyes.”

He used a metaphor that Li Han could hardly comprehend. In truth, it was not just many eyes, but also many ears, many hands that touched everything.

Though he never looked directly at his surroundings, in his mind, every blade of grass, every insect, every stone was vividly outlined—more real and detailed than anything seen with his own eyes.

This was thanks to countless little spirits flitting around, connected to his consciousness.

Even the strange fog contained little spirits, unlike the gold, red, blue, green, and yellow ones he’d seen before. These were gray, lazy, ill-tempered, but soft-hearted beneath their gruffness.

The first time his consciousness touched them, he felt a stinging pain, but soon, the little spirits softened and became his many eyes.

Thus, in the mist, he could sense his surroundings even more clearly.

“I don’t quite understand. But if you really can sense danger in advance, then our return voyage tomorrow will be much safer—at least we won’t get lost,” Li Han said, a bit heartened.

“Get lost? Haven’t you crossed the Misty Sea a few times before? And didn’t you just enter a few days ago?” Ye Mingke asked.

“This is my third time entering the Misty Sea. The directions and paths within are always changing. The first two times, we relied on unreliable handed-down rules and luck to find our way out, but there’s no guarantee we’ll make it next time, especially now—the Misty Sea has become much more eerie and dangerous for some reason.”

“If you hadn’t shown up, none of us would be sure of making it home alive.”

Li Han spoke slowly, remembering the brothers who had died before meeting Ye Mingke, and felt a pang of sorrow.

“If only I had your ability to sense danger ahead of time. Having a leader who can see through the Misty Sea’s fog would greatly increase our chances of survival.”

“They say even immortals fear to enter the Misty Sea lightly. On one hand, they meet even more terrifying dangers, and on the other, even they cannot see through the heavy mists.”

He regarded Ye Mingke with a look of surprise and respect.

“You’re the first I’ve ever heard of who’s unaffected by the Misty Sea’s fog. Though, I suppose many immortals could do it too, but the world just doesn’t know.”

“Maybe. It’s nothing special—just some little tricks my elders taught me,” Ye Mingke replied.

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His ability to move unimpeded by darkness was honed through countless games of chess with Aunt Long.

Suddenly, he missed her deeply, missed those peaceful, warm days at her side.

“Your elders must be remarkable people,” Li Han said, now fully convinced that Ye Mingke was descended from some Immortal Residence.

“They are the greatest people in the world,” Ye Mingke replied.

Uncle by the hearth, unmoving as a mountain, teaching him to seek beauty in the world; Da Bai... each and every one was the strongest and most wonderful person in existence.

He closed his eyes, not wanting to dwell in memories, afraid that if he sank too deep, he would lack the courage to face the present loneliness and hardship.

Someone taught by such extraordinary people should not be like this!

“It’s late. We set sail for home tomorrow. You said the seas are dangerous—get some rest while you can,” he said, his voice once again calm and gently distant as he opened his eyes.

“Yes, alright. But if you get truly tired, wake us—we can keep watch together. It would be safer that way,” Li Han replied, hearing Ye Mingke’s wish to end the conversation.

As he turned to leave, Ye Mingke suddenly called out, “Why are we leaving tomorrow?”

“Those things seem very important to you—why not gather more for another couple of days?”

“Because we fear we cannot bear the sudden wealth,” Li Han replied, turning back, smiling simply, though there was sorrow in his smile. In that moment, he seemed as honest a fisherman as any of the rugged men behind him.

“We are just fishermen and hunters. What we have now is already more than we can handle. If we take more, we may not be able to hold on to it.”

“Such is fate. It gives you some of what you desire, but always takes something else in return. This sea is the same.”

He nodded at Ye Mingke and walked back toward the fire. Perhaps from exhaustion, his shadow stretched long and hunched behind him.

Ye Mingke could sense something from him and the other fishermen.

Was it fate?

He felt it, but he resisted—he did not want to accept it, did not want to let go. He gripped the sword case wrapped in black cloth even more tightly.

He refused to give up anything. He wanted to seize everything he wished to hold on to.