Volume Two: The Mortal Realm Chapter Seventy-Three: There Exists a Sword Among Mortals
“Yangjing Sword Sacrifice?”
Ye Mingke mused, savoring the grandeur and tragic resonance of the name.
“This happened in the final year of my ten-year wandering pursuit of immortality. That year, the ruler of Great Xia issued the first Edict of Reverence for Immortals.”
“The edict declared that the Great Xia dynasty would forever honor the Immortal Path. All registered cultivators would be exempt from taxes and punishments, and wherever they walked, they would receive offerings from the mortal world. No citizen of Great Xia could offend an immortal; otherwise, the offense would be treated as equal to offending the king.”
Li Han seemed to recall some personal memory, his face showing a complex mix of guilt and remorse.
“At that time, I was still obsessed with seeking immortality. Hearing the edict, I was quite pleased.”
“But on the second day after its proclamation, rumors spread that a reckless martial wanderer had killed several novice cultivators. The city was shaken, and within half a day, word had it that the wanderer and his family had been captured and would be publicly executed at the Vermilion Bird Gate in Yangjing a few days later.”
“During the millennium of turbulence before Great Xia’s founding, martial heroes were rampant. But after Great Xia established its dynasty on the foundation of immortals, the realm was pacified; they began confiscating weapons and forbidding martial practice among the common folk.”
“Yet there were still wanderers moving in the shadows. Novice cultivators aren’t much different from ordinary people, especially those with poor talent.”
“When such cultivators wreaked havoc among mortals and encountered martial wanderers, sometimes, when pushed to the brink, blood would spill within five paces. For a mortal to defy an immortal was not without reason.”
“A hero walks the narrow path—a person of fierce courage. That so-called reckless wanderer must have been such a man.”
“A few days later, before the towering Vermilion Bird Gate, tens of meters high, immortals sat aloft, gazing down. Great Xia’s armored soldiers lined the walls, and tens of thousands of excited citizens crowded to witness this unprecedented grand execution.”
“At that time, I was one among those thousands.”
Li Han took a deep breath.
“That day, led by a bearded swordsman, nearly a hundred martial heroes who had long lived in the shadows suddenly ascended the Vermilion Bird Gate.”
“As mortals, they climbed the city wall, broke through the armored soldiers, destroyed the edict, and the bearded swordsman even leapt up with his sword and struck the immortal from his lofty seat, sending him tumbling down the wall.”
“That was the first time I realized that mortals could possess such majestic power.”
“To be honest, I always feared cultivators. That time, in the peril of the Misty Sea, I could pick up a stone and strike the immortal only because the memory of that swordsman’s act inspired me.”
Li Han remembered the awe-inspiring scene he had witnessed years ago. He unconsciously clenched his fist again, his gaze intense and bright, clearly stirred.
“And what happened afterward?” Ye Mingke was completely captivated by Li Han’s story and couldn’t help but ask.
“Afterwards...” Li Han’s smile was tinged with bitterness as he turned to gaze at the swirling snow outside the window, murmuring.
“Afterwards... how can a mortal defeat an immortal?”
“Eee, ya.” Sensing the heaviness in her father’s tone, A Ru gently nestled her head against his chest, as if answering his words, softly murmuring.
...
In a snow-covered village
“What did you say? People? People are no better than dogs.”
A gaunt-faced young man strode down the village road, clad in a stone-blue brocade cloak embroidered with golden cranes, a blue belt adorned with bird motifs at his waist, and in his hand a folding fan decorated with exquisite jade pendants.
Several respectful village elders followed behind him. Whenever the immortal spoke, the elders responded meekly.
The gaunt-faced youth sneered, raising his fan and attempting to open it in the snow, but his movements were clearly clumsy, failing several times. Annoyed, he simply handed the jade-adorned fan to the elders with arrogant contempt.
“See? Yesterday I received the disciple token from the Canglan Sect. I am a registered immortal in the imperial records. The Edict of Reverence for Immortals clearly states that immortals walking among mortals are to be worshipped.”
“I am not human. So don’t tell me how hard it is for you mortals to pay tribute—I don’t know and I don’t care.”
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The elders behind sensed the immortal’s anger and bowed, ready to plead and beg forgiveness.
“Haha.”
A repressed, hoarse laughter suddenly sounded from beneath the eaves of a nearby thatched house—a filthy old beggar curled up under the roof, covered in dirt and snow.
Beside him was a little boy in tattered clothes, who, upon noticing the gazes, fled in fear.
The old beggar kept laughing madly, face to the ground, his body trembling, laughing so hard he collapsed, half blocking the path.
The laughter was so hoarse and muddy, it was impossible to tell if he was laughing or crying.
The gaunt-faced youth in finery looked coldly at the mad old beggar, not even pausing his stride, sneering,
“Just now I misspoke—people live worse than dogs.”
He strode forward without hesitation, and when he reached the beggar, he kicked him hard. With a loud thud, the beggar crashed into the door of the thatched house.
The beggar’s laughter abruptly faded, and he curled silently under the eaves.
“Such filth offends my immortal eyes. Your village must double its tribute this winter!”
“No, Immortal Master, our villages barely scraped together enough for tribute this winter. If you double it, even if we sell our sons and daughters, we can’t pay!” The elders behind him cried out in terror.
One elder waved to another, “Quick, get some men and throw this damned beggar out of the village. Don’t let him offend the immortal’s eyes again.”
“I said, don’t tell me about your mortal hardships—I don’t know and I don’t care.” The gaunt-faced youth ignored their pleas, striding ahead in the snow, sneering.
The elders accompanied the gaunt-faced youth, quickly passing the curled beggar under the eaves.
As they walked off, the elder who went to fetch help hadn’t returned yet, leaving only the old beggar under the eaves, still emitting low, hoarse laughter.
“Crazy old man.”
The little boy in tattered clothes, who had fled, now returned, crouching before the beggar, nudging him gently.
“Are you alright? Why’d you laugh just now? You scared me. My mother says never offend an immortal, or the whole family will be executed.”
He patted his chest, still frightened.
“Hehe.”
The old beggar chuckled, slowly lifting a face mostly hidden by tangled beard and hair.
He squinted, his voice raspy as he laughed, “A man insults himself, claiming not to be human, and feels proud. Isn’t it funny?”
“What do you mean?” The boy scratched his head, confused, but quickly remembered what he really wanted to know and pressed close, urgently asking,
“Forget that. Crazy old man, what happened next?”
“You said the swordsman cut down that hateful immortal from the Vermilion Bird Gate—what happened afterwards?”
“Afterwards... hehe.”
The old beggar laughed again, struggling to sit up and lean against the wall of the thatched house, shaking his head as if drunk, his smile wild and distant.
“Afterwards... how can mortals defeat immortals?”
“When will mortals stop hurting themselves?”
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At that moment, an elder led several men to the beggar, shooing the boy home. Two men roughly dragged the beggar toward the village outskirts.
The beggar was dragged through the snow without resistance, his muddied eyes gazing indifferently at the world.
“Ugh, what bad luck.”
“That beggar made the immortal double the tribute.”
A burly man spat heavily into the snow, his mood gloomy and agitated.
“We don’t even need double tribute—the village is almost out of grain. If we give it all, everyone will starve,” the other man said bitterly.
Halfway out, they suddenly heard a hoarse, broken cry from the village.
“Immortal Master, you can’t take this grain!”
The two men’s faces changed, as if realizing something dreadful. Forgetting about the beggar, they left him in the snow and hurried toward the source of the cry.
“Hmph, you mortals claim you can’t pay tribute, but my immortal arts show otherwise. Aren’t these goods for tribute?” a cold voice demanded.
“This is the last food in the village. The mountains are sealed by snow, game is gone—without this grain, we won’t survive the winter.”
“Tribute belongs to immortals. What does it matter to you?”
“What, you dare offend me?”
“No, Immortal, we mortals only beg your mercy.”
“I said, don’t tell me your mortal troubles. I don’t care. Take it all.”
“No, Immortal!” Multiple anguished cries echoed in the swirling snow.
The old beggar listened to the heartbroken voices, lying on his back in the snow, his muddied eyes staring blankly at the gloomy sky.
The mortal world’s bitter cold.
Suddenly, the cries were abruptly cut off.
“Wait, who are you? How dare you offend me?” The gaunt-faced youth’s shocked voice rang from the main house.
No one answered.
Only a loud crash. The gaunt-faced youth, clad in finery, burst out of the house, slammed into the snow, leaving a deep trail behind, his robes covered in snow and mud.
“Who are you? Do you know the price of offending an immortal?” The youth struggled in the snow like a fish out of water, managing to stand, glaring fiercely in a certain direction, shouting with forced bravado.
Boom.
Boom.
Heavy footsteps approached, each one shaking the snow.
A thin figure in a patched cotton robe, wrapped in a scarf faded beyond recognition, emerged from the swirling snow and dust, carrying on her back a massive iron sword as tall as herself.
Boom.
She let the sword drop, slamming it into the snow, sending up a cloud of powder. Amid the snow, she raised her head; her face was smeared with dirt and snow, yet still bore traces of feminine delicacy and beauty.
Her eyes, hidden beneath tangled hair, lifted to look at the terrified and furious youth. She grasped the giant iron sword and spoke coldly,
“The sword that will cut you down is named ‘Mortal World.’”
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