Volume Two: Mortal Realm Chapter Seventy-Two: The Scourge of Immortals

“What book are you reading?” Ye Mingke asked Li Han, who was seated at the writing desk, his gaze curious and intent.

“This is one of the Four Classics, expounding the Way of Benevolence. Have you studied the classics before, Brother Ye?” Li Han put down the book and turned toward Ye Mingke, his eyes bright.

In the village where he lived, few people could read, let alone discuss the deeper meanings of the classics with him. Ye Mingke had once written his name in front of him. Though his script differed somewhat from the widely used Daxia characters of the present age, it was clear he was at least literate.

“No,” Ye Mingke shook his head, his eyes lingering on the well-thumbed, dog-eared book before Li Han. Without any other inflection, he asked sincerely, “The Four Classics—they’re books about lofty principles, aren’t they? What’s the use of learning such things?”

He was fond of reading. He enjoyed listening to Dabai narrate stories from books, and also liked the practical natural philosophy texts he borrowed from Qiao Qiao at the local school. The former were entertaining, the latter useful. Yet, after listening to Li Han read these past few days, he still could not grasp the purpose behind those convoluted sentences.

“These are the writings of sages—books whose worth lies in their lack of practical use. Indeed, they rarely prove directly useful in daily life. Their true value is in cultivating oneself and one’s heart,” Li Han replied gently, not at all bothered by Ye Mingke’s straightforward question. “If there is a direct use, it’s that these classics are compulsory for anyone taking the civil service exams.”

“You’re planning to take the exams? Do you wish to become an official?” Ye Mingke asked, his curiosity piqued. He had heard of the imperial examinations in Dabai’s stories and knew it was an ancient method for selecting government officials.

“When I was a child, my mother saw that I had an aptitude for learning, so she devoted herself to raising me in the study of poetry and the classics, hoping I would achieve something on the official path. She held high hopes for me,” Li Han’s expression grew complex as he spoke of becoming an official.

“Unfortunately, when I was a youth, the flourishing trend of immortal cultivation in Daxia influenced me, and I became fixated on the immortal path. Even when I turned fifteen and took the Celestial Test, learning that only 107 of my spiritual apertures had opened and that I was essentially unfit for the immortal way, I stubbornly persisted, traveling to the capital, Yangjing, to seek immortality.”

“In the end, I became a laughingstock, as expected. Ten years later, I failed to become an immortal, returned home having neglected my studies, and my mother had already passed away from illness.”

“Only then did I realize I should not have forced the immortal path and abandoned the responsibilities I owed to the human world.”

“In recent years, I have served as the village head, trying to make up for the mistakes of my youth by fulfilling my duties to others. As for the classics and the official path, after ten years of neglect, I don’t know if over twenty years of diligent study can make up for it.”

“I plan, come next spring, to head south with Aru to take the exams.”

Li Han looked at Ye Mingke and spoke in one breath, as though the words had been buried in his heart for many years, drawn out by a single question.

From Li Han’s somber voice, Ye Mingke sensed a certain strength—a weight forged by time and hardship. He wanted to say something, but knowing too little of the ways of the world, he could only offer gentle encouragement in the end.

“That’s wonderful. I believe you’ll achieve your wish, Brother Li. I’m planning to head south myself in a while—perhaps we’ll be able to travel together.”

He turned to look at Aru, the quiet, well-behaved little girl who always stayed close to her father, and smiled. “At that time, I can also help Brother Li look after this mischievous little imp.”

“Yah.” At the sight of Ye Mingke, Aru rolled her eyes at him and waved her imaginary reed pipe in a gesture of disdain.

Someone who can barely take care of himself wants to look after her?

Over the past few days since his awakening, Ye Mingke had come to understand that when the little girl said “yi,” she was usually happy, approving, or pleased. When she said “ya,” it meant quite the opposite—unhappy, refusing, or displeased.

Yet in his presence, she was almost always the “ya” girl.

Ye Mingke scratched his nose awkwardly. Was he really so hard to like?

Only now did he finally ask a question that had been on his mind for a long time.

“Aru…why can she only say ‘yi’ and ‘ya’?”

It truly seemed that the little girl could say nothing else.

When his words faded into silence, the wooden house grew quiet. Aru leaned her face gently against Li Han’s shoulder.

“I’ve had doctors examine her. They all say there’s nothing wrong with her voice, but for some reason, she’s never spoken.”

“Perhaps she’s just a late bloomer. Maybe when she grows a bit older, it’ll resolve itself.” Li Han patted Aru, who was a little downcast, and comforted her.

He never believed his daughter was mute.

Though others thought that if a child still could not speak by ten, she would be mute for life.

“Yes, perhaps when we go to Yangjing, we can find a more skilled doctor for her. The doctors in the capital are probably better,” Ye Mingke said, and then, remembering his earlier curiosity, asked, “Just now, what did you mean by the Celestial Test? And what’s the connection between spiritual apertures and cultivation aptitude?”

He had always been curious about spiritual apertures, for Sword Nine had told him that his own were completely unopened, and thus he could not cultivate.

“The Celestial Test was established after the founding of Daxia, conducted by the Celestial Administration in every province and county. Every citizen of Daxia—girls when they come of age, boys at adulthood—must take this test to measure the number of spiritual apertures,” Li Han explained after a moment’s thought.

“The human body has as many as 720 spiritual apertures, including 361 principal points, and among those, 108 vital points.”

“Connecting the 108 vital points is the prerequisite for channeling spiritual energy in a cycle. But that’s only the basic requirement. The Celestial Test seeks to register those with at least 280 principal points opened. Anyone below that essentially has no chance at the immortal path; even if they try to cultivate, they will achieve little.”

Having traveled widely in search of immortality for ten years, Li Han was clearly well-versed in these fundamental facts.

“However, the current imperial court greatly esteems immortal cultivation. Cultivators walk the mortal world, unbound by secular law, and enjoy state support. This drives even those with poor aptitude to compete fiercely, abandoning families and scruples, by any means possible, to pursue immortality. Most, in the end, gain nothing.”

There was a trace of self-mockery at Li Han’s lips, for he, too, had once been swept up in the craze.

“Moreover, the widespread dissemination of cultivation methods has allowed those of questionable character to set foot on the path. Possessing the power of immortal arts without cultivating their hearts, retaining mortal greed and malice, and free from legal restraint—such so-called immortals act at will among mortals, no different from demons, inflicting endless calamities upon the common people.”

“That’s why, Brother Ye, you encountered us ordinary folk in the Ghost Sea.”

Li Han’s voice grew heavy, his gaze lowered, as though he bore an immense weight.

“In our Canglan Prefecture, there is an immortal named Lingchen who founded the Canglan Sect. In his first year here, a beast from the mountains came out to devour people. After a rampage, the immortal appeared, drove the beast back, and told the surrounding villagers that suppressing such a beast required tremendous spiritual power. He demanded that someone venture into the Ghost Sea and fetch immortal herbs and stones as tribute, or else he could not keep the beast sealed.”

“Even knowing the dangers, nearly a hundred men risked their lives to gather the offerings, hoping to help the immortal suppress the monster.”

“The next year, the beast returned. The immortal appeared again, and before suppressing the beast, demanded more immortal stones and herbs from the Ghost Sea. Once again, the youths of the prefecture entered the sea at great risk.”

“After that, it became an annual custom for the men of the prefecture to enter the Ghost Sea and offer immortal stones and herbs to Immortal Lingchen. Every year, countless young men died in the sea. If ever the tribute was missed or insufficient, the beast would descend from the mountains and slaughter indiscriminately.”

Ye Mingke listened to Li Han’s heavy words, his own expression gradually growing grave. He asked quietly, “Is it really the beast eating people, or is it the so-called immortal?”

“Who can say? Before the immortal arrived, we’d never heard of such a man-eating beast in these mountains,” Li Han replied, shaking his head with a bitter smile. “After setting up his sect in the mountains, the immortal’s disciples ran rampant, no better than the beast itself—murdering, looting, and oppressing the villagers under the guise of cultivation. They became another blade hanging over the heads of us mortals.”

“We’re only dragging out what remains of our lives. If nothing changes, we’ll die in the Ghost Sea, or in the jaws of the beast, or perhaps one day, cross paths with those lawless cultivators and meet our end.”

“I’ve traveled Daxia and seen that this is not a problem unique to our Canglan Prefecture, but an affliction plaguing the entire realm.”

“Has no one tried to change things?” Ye Mingke asked, his heart heavy, gazing intently into Li Han’s eyes.

“These days, everyone in Daxia strives to become an immortal. Few realize the harm they bring. And even if they do, what can we mortals do to resist immortals?”

“My only hope is that, if I ever succeed in the exams, I might stand in the Golden Hall before our emperor and ask: Daxia is a nation of men—why do we honor only gods and spirits, and not care for our people?”

Li Han spoke every word with force, his eyes blazing, his face as unyielding as steel, as if confronting the ruler he both revered and held in anguished reproach.

He sighed, seeing Ye Mingke staring at him as if seeing him for the first time, and smiled self-deprecatingly. “The bravado of a scholar—speaking wild words and making a fool of myself before you, Brother Ye.”

Ye Mingke was indeed surprised. On the Misty Sea, he had not realized that beneath the plain exterior shaped by hard labor, this man harbored such passion and grand ambition.

“Earlier you asked if anyone had ever tried to rid us of the immortal plague. My knowledge is limited, but I recall something magnificent I once witnessed in Yangjing.”

“One hundred swordsmen of the martial world—offering their blades in sacrifice at Yangjing.”