Volume Two: The Mortal Realm Chapter Forty-Nine: The Contest Between Immortal and Mortal

The young man stood calmly where he was.

He was clothed in simple garb, barefooted, with a wooden sword without a scabbard hanging at his waist, and on his back he bore a massive long case shrouded in black cloth.

His gaze, tranquil and clear, rested upon the hostile faces of the white-robed cultivators before him.

He was, by all appearances, merely a mortal, yet showed none of the usual terror that mortals displayed when confronted by immortals. Though his face, fair and marked by dust and mud, retained a sense of pristine clarity.

The white-robed cultivator nearest to him, with a sullen and sinister countenance, approached Ye Mingke slowly, gripping a celestial sword blazing with fierce flames.

His sharp, sword-like aura pressed down upon Ye Mingke, so that the men who had been standing in front of Ye Mingke instinctively stepped back.

“You are just a mortal?” the man asked.

“And yet, for the sake of another mortal, you caused the death of my junior apprentice.”

He spoke slowly, his voice cold.

Soon, nearly everyone had retreated from the scene, leaving Ye Mingke standing alone. The sinister cultivator allowed a faint smile to cross his face, though he was vaguely unsettled by the boy’s persistent, tranquil gaze.

“I promised them I would protect them,” Ye Mingke replied, his voice calm yet as steadfast as a pine.

“As for your junior, he was the one who was meant to die. Was he not?”

“Yes, you have a point,” the cultivator conceded. “But I think you ought to die as well!”

His sword trembled in his hand, a sharp, obsessive smile curling his lips, his gaze upon Ye Mingke cold as ice, radiating murderous intent.

“You dare not kill me,” Ye Mingke said.

A wave of icy killing intent swept over him, the sharp aura lifting Ye Mingke’s long hair, already disheveled from his earlier movements.

Ye Mingke stared steadily into those cold eyes, making no move to evade.

“Oh?” the sinister cultivator mused, amused by the exchange. “Is this where I’m supposed to ask you why I wouldn’t dare kill you, and then you’ll try to persuade me with your silver tongue?”

“But I am indeed curious.”

The celestial sword’s blazing light suddenly extinguished as he smiled, his expression becoming unexpectedly genial.

Yet in Ye Mingke’s eyes, his pupils contracted to pinpoints like a startled cat, though his unflinching gaze remained fixed.

“But still…” The cultivator chuckled lightly, his eyes softening.

Ye Mingke’s whole body tensed in an instant.

A brilliant, razor-sharp sword light flashed in Ye Mingke’s vision, slashing toward him.

“I wonder what your expression will be if you die like this,” the sinister cultivator sneered, his face twisting with vicious glee and manic laughter as the sword light bore down.

“You cannot kill me.”

As the sword aura neared, Ye Mingke closed his eyes. The wind whipped his long hair, snapping the strands one by one in the face of the sword energy.

The sword aura targeted the center of his brow.

A slender sword, stained with golden blood, suddenly crossed before Ye Mingke’s forehead, its gleaming light flowing like water to envelop his entire body.

The clash of sword energy against that watery light sent ripples coursing outward, until the sword aura was utterly consumed. Standing unmoved, Ye Mingke calmly opened his eyes once more.

“Ying Kui, you truly cannot kill him now.”

From a distance, Jian Jiu lowered his forming hand seal and spoke coolly.

“Young man, it seems you really can see through the mist.”

Li Guifan approached Ye Mingke, his gaze solemn, his voice quiet. “When you saved that man just now… did you see that ghost?”

As he spoke, Li Guifan moved to stand beside Ying Kui, smiling at Ye Mingke while also prepared to restrain Ying Kui should he act rashly again.

At the mention of that ghost, the entire gathering fell silent once more; the demon had left a shadow in everyone’s heart.

Now, those cultivators who hadn’t paid attention to how Ye Mingke had saved the mortal began to recall the moment.

At that time, instead of simply dragging the man away, the youth had hurled himself at the man, knocking him down, even at the risk of injuring the arm of his friend who had been seized.

It was as if he was deliberately dodging something.

As if he were avoiding… the ghost that no one should have been able to see before it possessed someone?

“I truly can see the ghost, and I can see in the mist,” Ye Mingke replied frankly to Li Guifan.

“That’s why I was able to save that man, and also saw the sword technique that Jian Jiu performed for my benefit in the distance. I even saw you speaking to him and could infer what you said by watching your lips.”

Ye Mingke calmly repeated the words he had seen.

“You said to him, ‘Old Six is having another fit; in a moment, you’ll have to step in and save that man.’”

“So you really can see through the mist,” Li Guifan remarked, glancing back. Though he now stood closer to Jian Jiu than Ye Mingke did, in the thick mist he could only vaguely make out Jian Jiu’s hazy form—it was impossible to see anyone’s lips move.

Yet what he did not know was that not everything Ye Mingke said was true.

He actually could not see the ghost, but rather it was the ghost’s absence that let him sense its presence.

In the mist, the gray little spirits allowed him to sense everything around him with clarity, but wherever the ghost appeared, though he could still see, the gray spirits in that area would abruptly lose contact.

So, at that moment, he could see what was before him, but it was as if a curtain of darkness had fallen across his vision.

And his lack of reaction to the oncoming sword aura was not because he could see the actions of Jian Jiu and Li Guifan, but because, with them all in the mist, every movement was within his perception.

To his senses, these cultivators were like blazing torches, burning brightly amidst the little spirits he could sense.

When someone like Ying Kui prepared to strike, his torch would flare suddenly, drawing the surrounding little spirits into himself, which then became pure energy through some unknown process.

So Ying Kui’s cat-and-mouse taunts had not affected him; he had always known that Ying Kui was a pawn the cultivators used to test him, and that when true danger arose, someone would intervene.

“I can help you deal with that ghost. But I have conditions,” Ye Mingke said, looking at Li Guifan.

“Conditions? A mere mortal dares bargain with us immortals?” Ying Kui sneered coldly, his gaze upon Ye Mingke still laced with icy murderous intent. “Even if you have some use at present, do you think your involvement in my junior’s death can simply be overlooked?”

But Li Guifan only smiled mildly, saying nothing.

“I know we are but mortals. So my condition is simple: you must not harm me or those behind me in any way,” Ye Mingke said, taking a deep breath. He did not look at Ying Kui, but continued to meet Li Guifan’s gaze directly as he stated his request.

He could not retreat, could not yield. He could feel the icy killing intent and immense power of these cultivators; he could only cling to his last hope.

Yet Li Guifan only regarded him with calm kindness, withholding any response.

“No harm to you or those behind you—is that to let my junior die in vain?” Ying Kui snorted, a cold laugh escaping him. “I’m curious—if I don’t kill you but just cripple you, leaving you with your eyes to see, what would you do?”

“I would choose to die. And so would you,” Ye Mingke replied coldly, turning to look at Ying Kui with unflinching ice in his gaze.

“Then what if I only take one hand and one foot? You’d still have a hand and a foot—wouldn’t you consider living on?”

“I would choose to die!” Ye Mingke met his bloodshot eyes without flinching.

“My, how precious you are with your own life. Then perhaps I should simply kill one of your companions as payment. That’s fair, isn’t it?” Ying Kui turned his gaze from Ye Mingke’s steady eyes to the trembling mortals behind him, his smile as sharp as a blade.

“If you kill one of them, I will still choose to die,” Ye Mingke said calmly.

“Why?” Ying Kui asked curiously, his gaze drifting over the group of men, each of whom broke into a cold sweat under his scrutiny.

“I gave them my word.”

“And my word is my life!” Ye Mingke said each word with unwavering resolve.

“How stingy. Maybe I’ll just cut off the thin one’s hand—just one hand, surely that’s acceptable?” Ying Kui turned back to Ye Mingke, bargaining in a tone as if haggling for meat in the marketplace, though the matter was cruel in the extreme.

“My condition is that you cannot harm any of us in any way,” Ye Mingke replied, his voice clear and steadfast as a mountain. “Any harm done, and I will choose death!”

He could not retreat; he had no way to retreat. His slender hope could never truly shield them, and if he showed any fear, he might lose everything in an instant.

He did not want to die, yet could only stake his own life as a bargaining chip in this deadly gamble.

“Our lives may be worthless to you, but I am your only hope to deal with the ghost. Your lives, surely, are valuable to you!”

Clap. Clap.

“Such courage. Such spirit. And that ‘my word is my life’—I’m nearly moved to believe you,” Ying Kui laughed, applauding.

He leaned in close to Ye Mingke’s ear, his voice soft and mocking. “But anyone can say that. How can I know you would truly die for someone else’s hand?”

A vein throbbed at the corner of Ye Mingke’s eye.

Without hesitation, he suddenly lunged to Ying Kui’s left.

He threw himself in the path of a flying sword—one that had been utterly silent until the instant it met him, erupting in a surge of sword energy.

Behind his body, trembling in pain and clutching a broken arm, was Fang Wu.

“No!”

“Ying Kui!”

“Stop!”

It all happened in a flash; the others had no time to react. They shouted in alarm, swords flying to intervene, but the swiftest—Jian Jiu’s slender blade—was still a fraction too late.

Blood blossomed in the air.