Volume Two: The Mortal Realm Chapter Fifty-Two: On the Eve of Life and Death

"Without the support of numerology, we're left with only two methods that rely entirely on luck," Ye Mingke shifted his gaze onto Jian Jiu's face as he spoke.

"You tell the first, I'll say the second," Jian Jiu swept aside the long hair that had fallen over his eyes, tossing it behind him, revealing a pair of deep, intrigued eyes fixed on Ye Mingke.

Song Mingyu, standing nearby, looked at Jian Jiu in shock, then at Ye Mingke, nearly snapping her spirit sword in half from anxiety. Yet the two paid no attention to her, only watching each other.

"The first method is to take advantage of the moments when I can confirm the ghost's presence while it is concealed. You attack it then. We'll see if the ghost can be destroyed while it's hidden," Ye Mingke said frankly. "But none of you have ever confronted a ghost in its concealed state, so there's absolutely no guarantee this plan will succeed."

"The second method," Jian Jiu continued, "is to try to seal it while its strength hasn't yet grown beyond our ability to deal with. But whether a ghost can be sealed, or how to seal it, remains a complete unknown."

Jian Jiu paused, looking at Ye Mingke. The first method was exactly what he'd had in mind as the alternative. "You're impressive," he smiled, his eyes bright as he gazed at Ye Mingke.

"You are too," Ye Mingke replied calmly, meeting Jian Jiu's gaze. The second method was just what Jian Jiu had thought of—an unspoken accord between them.

"Your sword case is quite nice—I rather like it. Care to lend it to me for a bit?" Jian Jiu looked at the sword case slung across Ye Mingke's back, his smile curving into a dangerous, sharp arc, his voice clear and cold.

"Your sword isn't bad either. How about you lend it to me?" Ye Mingke caught the hostility in his tone, his eyes cold as he glanced at Jian Jiu's flying sword, matching his challenge.

One wore immaculate white robes, the other clothes stained with dust, but as they stared each other down, their temperaments revealed a startling similarity—like two equally sharp, gleaming blades.

Yet the interest between sword and sword often only ends when one cuts down the other to prove its own sharpness.

"So, do we just wait for the ghost to appear next?" Li Guifan sensed the rising tension between them and interrupted, steering the conversation back.

"There's another issue," Ye Mingke said.

"If we can't destroy the ghost while it's concealed, then its possession will inevitably kill at least one person."

Ye Mingke and Jian Jiu broke their locked gazes, Ye Mingke turning to address the other white-robed cultivators.

"That won't be a problem for us," Ying Kui sneered from the back.

Many present instinctively glanced at Fang Wu, whose face turned deathly pale. According to Jian Jiu's 'weakest law', the next likely target for possession was still him, the one with the weakest constitution.

"Don't forget what you promised me. Don't use my people as sacrificial pawns," Ye Mingke said coldly, recognizing from their words and reactions that they'd deliberately sought out the mortal group to use them as expendable victims.

"I have a solution. Find a dying creature and keep it by our side; perhaps this will break the deadlock of the ghost's possession killing someone," Ye Mingke said.

"Good, substituting with a living creature—that's simple and might work. We hadn't thought of it before," Li Guifan said, trying to smooth things over without provoking Ye Mingke.

"No, you thought of it long ago," Ye Mingke replied icily. "You just substituted a human for the 'living creature.'"

Only two hours had passed since the ghost last appeared, so it was still a relatively safe interval. Now that everyone had a preliminary plan for dealing with the ghost, they began to settle various details—the warning from Jian Jiu's Dawn Sword, Ye Mingke's ability to pinpoint the ghost's location, how to attack it while hidden, what to do if the attack succeeded, and how to contain it if the attack failed.

All the arrangements took only half an hour, mostly led by Li Guifan.

Ying Kui and Song Mingqing then went into the woods to catch wild beasts to prepare for the ghost's possession, and the once lively beach quickly fell silent.

The other cultivators sat cross-legged, seizing the opportunity before the ghost appeared to recover their spiritual energy as much as possible.

Meanwhile, Li Han and the other mortals, exhausted from a day of trekking and harrowed by both the pressure of immortals and the threat of the ghost, found themselves too worn out to care. Knowing there was nothing they could do against the ghost, they simply lay down, hoping for deep sleep, especially Fang Wu, who fell asleep quickly, as though he'd finally scared himself unconscious.

Only Li Han remained awake, sitting by the fire, looking at Ye Mingke with complicated emotions and deep guilt.

He was supposed to be the leader of this group, yet when disaster struck, he was powerless to do anything, for what he could do was meaningless.

Ye Mingke sat behind a tree, eyes downcast. He knew Li Han was watching him. He understood what Li Han was thinking, for he felt the same—suddenly bearing the lives of so many, facing an enemy so powerful he couldn't even resist.

He didn't blame him; he knew Li Han couldn't handle the immortals, much less the ghost. But that didn't mean he agreed with his resignation.

Whether something is meaningful can only be judged after it's done; the outcome isn't the only thing that matters.

He thought of the Emperor's vast, boundless majesty and Uncle's graying temples.

Are you, too, always facing a dead end that not even your utmost efforts can break?

You never gave in, and I will never give up, Uncle.

He thought silently, drawing more courage from within to face this cold world.

Suddenly, he opened his eyes to see Ying Kui dragging a wounded, blood-soaked mountain goat before him, staring coldly, his face shrouded in shadow, gaze chilling.

"His name is Qin Guizhen," he said slowly.

He didn't specify who 'he' was, but Ye Mingke quickly realized he meant the cultivator who had died that day.

"He's not my junior in the same sect, nor from the same cultivation family. But he was my friend—one of my only few friends."

"They all say I've gone mad from a cultivation mishap. I don't know if that's true."

"I don't care what others think. In my eyes, he could have survived. You stole that possibility, so you deserve to die!"

He stared at Ye Mingke, a discordant blend of calm and madness on his face, making him seem all the more eerie and deranged.

"So, you'll die, and so will that Fang Wu. No matter where you run."

He sneered at Ye Mingke, then glanced at the sleeping Fang Wu, turned, and dragged the blood-soaked goat away, leaving a glaring trail of blood behind.

Ye Mingke listened in silence, saying nothing.

Having escaped the first calamity, now facing the ghost, and even if he survived that, there'd still be a madman to confront. And after the madman, what then?

So many towering, endless mountains—yet one must climb before one falls.

If you want me dead, you'd better see if you can survive first.

Ye Mingke's eyes gleamed with a cold, sharp light.

In the silent camp, two hours slipped by swiftly, and midnight arrived. According to the ghost's previous patterns, it could appear at any moment now.

Those who slept lightly began to awaken, Fang Wu whimpering and crying softly in fear. Several cultivators dared not meditate, instead remaining alert to their surroundings.

Song Mingyu was the last to wake from meditation, stretching lazily and grumbling, "This damned place drains spiritual energy faster than usual, and it's harder to recover. It's really haunted."

Her careless words rang loud in the quiet night, and everyone glanced at her. She blushed, stuck out her tongue in embarrassment, then covered her mouth and fell silent.

Invisible danger fermented in the oppressive silence.

After midnight, the mist over the beach thickened, and the roaring bonfire seemed shrouded beneath a dense veil. The firelight, dampened by the fog, cast everything in ghostly silhouettes, swaying and twisting with the occasional night breeze.

Five hours had passed. Of the ghost's previous six appearances, three had occurred in the fifth hour of the interval, making this the most perilous hour.

The group was divided into three parts.

One was Fang Wu, isolated in case ordinary creatures couldn't serve as possession targets.

Another was Song Mingqing, standing by the wounded goat, ready to throw it out as a substitute for the ghost's possession target. Originally, Ying Kui was in charge of this task, but since Ye Mingke determined the ghost's position, Song Mingqing, fearing Ye Mingke might retaliate against Ying Kui, insisted on taking his place.

The last group clustered together: four cultivators formed an outer ring, Ye Mingke at the center, the remaining mortals behind.

An uneasy, ominous atmosphere enveloped everyone.

The goat's plaintive cries and Fang Wu's sobbing echoed faintly in the gloomy night, heightening the sense of dread.

Time seemed to flow with tangible texture—each person acutely aware of their own heartbeat.

Jian Jiu lowered his gaze, idly playing with the delicate sword in his hand, now newly coated with golden blood. Song Mingyu clutched Jian Jiu's sleeve, almost pressed against him. Ying Kui still embraced his sword, leaning against a tree. Li Guifan stared ahead, face heavy and troubled.

Ye Mingke sat by the fire, eyes lowered, the subtle sound of the wind, the texture of the rocks, the surge of mist—countless streams of information flooded his mind, being sifted again and again.

Waiting, waiting for the arrival of the ghost.