Volume Two: Mortal Realm Chapter Seventy-Six: Falling Stone

Ye Mingke leaned in and asked Zhugan in a hushed tone, curious, “Who is Aru’s mother?”

But Zhugan shook his head and replied that he knew nothing of the particulars, only that Li Han had met her in Yangjing, and that it must have been a sorrowful affair—Li Han rarely spoke of it.

Ye Mingke’s curiosity burned even hotter, but though he loved stories, he knew better than to pry into matters others were unwilling to share.

Zhugan chatted with Ye Mingke about other things for a while, and as dusk approached, he finally rose to head home. Before leaving, he bowed deeply to Ye Mingke, expressing profound remorse for having gone along with the crowd in sending Ye Mingke away from the manor. Ye Mingke laughed softly and steadied him, offering gentle words of forgiveness and comfort. Only after bowing once more did Zhugan turn and leave.

“Zhugan is a decent lad at heart,” Li Han remarked quietly as he stood in the doorway, watching Zhugan’s figure fade into the distance. “But his ears are easily swayed, and his temperament is too restless. When he acts on impulse, he might do good, but just as easily stumble into regretful misdeeds.”

Ye Mingke stood in the courtyard with his back to Li Han, also gazing at the disappearing figure. Hearing Li Han’s words, he bowed his head slightly, still smiling.

“I know. I never truly blamed him. After all, he wasn’t wrong. Perhaps I really am an unlucky omen—a monster. I’ve been regarded differently for so long that I’ve grown used to it. But fortunately...”

He looked up at Li Han, his gaze sincere, his smile unwavering.

“Even knowing I am a monster, there are still those in this world willing to accept me, aren’t there?”

Li Han gazed silently at the youth, whose appearance was even younger than Zhugan’s, and suddenly saw a trace of poignant, weary sorrow.

In the next two days, Zhugan came by again, bringing news that nothing out of the ordinary had happened in the village. The three immortals were somewhat hard to please, but the village could still manage, though expenses were high. Li Han and Ye Mingke were finally able to relax.

The mountain was sealed beneath heavy snow. Apart from Li Han occasionally venturing out to gather dry wood, the three had little to occupy themselves. Aru remained lively every day, dashing around, battling snowflakes, or suddenly quieting down to earnestly build one cute snowman after another in the courtyard before the cabin.

A solemn little girl dressed in white, surrounded by white snowmen—a tranquil and beautiful scene.

“This girl isn’t always so ill-tempered. She can be calm and well-behaved at times,” Ye Mingke thought with a touch of sentiment as he watched her.

But scarcely had the thought formed when he saw her produce the wooden stick she always carried, her gaze sharp.

With a swift motion, she chopped off half the head of the snowman before her.

Ye Mingke paused, looked away, and silently banished his earlier thought.

Li Han persisted in studying scriptures, pondering their mysteries. Bored, Ye Mingke lazed on the bed by the window, his mind wandering aimlessly to past and future.

None of them realized that a crisis they knew nothing of was hovering close—a boulder swaying precariously at the edge of a cliff, uncertain whether the next gust of wind would send it tumbling down.

...

Fang Wu was also deep in thought—always thinking.

He had paced outside that door several times today, unknowingly circling the village again and again, yet never mustering the courage to enter.

He kept thinking, kept thinking.

He had been troubled for days; ever since he entered the Ghost Sea, terror had never let him go, driving him onward, threatening him, forcing him to think endlessly.

He wondered: how many years’ tribute could the herbs and minerals brought from the Ghost Sea cover? Some of the herbs and minerals had been lost in the sea when Fang Si and Zhao Yuan died; the rest were hard to preserve, so only the minerals remained—how many years would they last?

One year? Two?

After a year or two, would he have to enter that nightmarish place again?

Even if his chance was slim since he’d already gone once, there was still Fang Da and Fang Er. Several grown men in their family—someone would be chosen. There were so few robust men left in the village.

He feared death, but loved his family dearly. Otherwise, when Li Guifan from the Misty Sea unleashed ghosts that killed Fang Si, he could never have overcome his cowardice and rushed forward.

An immortal, after all!

Fang Wu recalled the incident, his legs still weak. How had he dared then? And now, why couldn’t he even step through that door?

“I cannot die. Nor can Da and Er. Five brothers—San and Si died young; the rest of us must live well.”

He halted before the wall of a wooden house, muttering this mantra to himself over and over, then looked up once more at the notice posted on the wall of the largest house in the village.

He knew few characters, but could just manage to read the words.

“By decree of the immortals: seek out those born with extraordinary abilities. Those who conceal such knowledge shall be severely punished; those who help the immortals find them shall receive a promise from an immortal.”

“A promise from an immortal.” Fang Wu mouthed these four words, hoping they might deliver him from the dread clinging to his bones.

But what if the immortals refused to see him? Would an immortal keep a promise to a commoner? Would he be so terrified before them that he could not speak? Was what he knew even correct?

He stood trembling, barely a yard from the grand entrance to the ornate house, unable to take a step.

Creak—

A flamboyantly dressed, beautiful woman suddenly opened the door.

He dared not look up, but knew she was one of those the village had hired at great expense from the town’s brothels to entertain the immortals.

She looked at him. Instinctively, he wanted to turn and flee. But she spoke first.

“Hey, you—come here. Take out the immortal’s chamber pot from last night and empty it.”

It did not take a gale—just a gentle breeze, and the boulder at the cliff’s edge began its descent.

Fang Wu did not know why, but upon hearing those words, he suddenly relaxed. Because he knew—he was going in.

He stepped through the door, led to the bedside of an obese immortal, who lay there, elbow propped on his massive head, a beauty in his arms. Sensing someone’s arrival, he glanced at Fang Wu.

Fang Wu dropped to his knees, feeling as if he were shouting with all his might, though his voice was still faint.

Yet the fat immortal heard him, turned with mild interest, his cold gaze falling upon Fang Wu.

“Lowly Fang Wu has important information related to the Seek-the-Strange List to report to the immortal.”

“Speak,” the fat immortal said, moving his neck slightly.

“This lowly one knows of a boy, possessed of remarkable strength, far beyond a mortal’s. I once saw him slay a white tiger barehanded—I believe he may be the extraordinary person the immortal seeks.”

“Oh.”

The fat immortal sat up half way, still holding the beauty, and asked,

“Where is this boy now?”

Fang Wu’s body trembled violently, but he gritted his teeth, forced himself to bow deeply, and spoke in a voice as thin as a whisper,

“The Seek-the-Strange List says those who aid an immortal in finding an extraordinary person may gain a promise from an immortal. If I help the immortal find such a person, would the immortal kindly exempt Li Manor from future Ghost Sea tributes?”

With the last word, Fang Wu nearly collapsed, but what terrified him more was the fat immortal’s laughter—a harsh, mocking sound that echoed through the grandest house in the village.

“You’re greedier than I am,” the fat immortal sneered.

Boom—Fang Wu felt his head thunder, his throat tighten, his racing heart about to leap out.

“Well then, I’ll give you five spots—you and your family and friends need not enter the Ghost Sea to gather herbs.”

“If your information proves useful.”

The fat immortal’s tone shifted, still indifferent.

“Thank you, immortal! Thank you!” Fang Wu wept with joy, kowtowing fervently.

...

Snow continued to fall.

Zhugan returned from the mountains and suddenly saw three grand sedan chairs in the village, a flurry of activity, and more than twenty able-bodied men gathered as if waiting for something.

Curious, he asked several people, but none knew what was happening—only that it was the immortals’ command.

Until he passed by Fang Wu, who suddenly pulled him aside to a quiet spot.

Fang Wu, usually gloomily downcast, now looked spirited and radiant, joy shining from his brow.

“You’re just in time. The immortal forbade me from telling others, but I had to tell you first, so you can warn Li Han to keep out of the way,” he whispered conspiratorially.

“What do you mean?” Zhugan asked, baffled.

“Good news. Didn’t you oppose letting that boy from the Ghost Sea stay in the village? Well, now the immortals are seeking the extraordinary—I’ve told them about him.”

Fang Wu wore a sly, secretive smile, waiting for Zhugan to catch on, but Zhugan remained confused.

“The immortal said, if the right person is found, I can choose five people never to enter the Misty Sea again. Besides my eldest and second brothers and myself, I plan to pick you and Li Han. I’m loyal, aren’t I?”

“But you’d better have Li Han hide—if he’s caught with that strange boy, he’ll be punished for not reporting it. Go warn him. I have to go back to the immortals now.”

He slapped Zhugan’s shoulder, smiled, and hurried off toward the immortals.

Zhugan stood frozen, hands and feet cold as ice, as though plunged into a frozen abyss.

Then, he broke into a desperate run for the outskirts of the village.