Volume Two: The Human World Chapter Seventy-Eight: The Hanging Bow

"Where is the person you mentioned?"

The wooden gate of the courtyard stood wide open as the obese immortal shuffled slowly through the yard, his naturally plump face seemingly always adorned with a faint, gentle smile as he cast his gaze about. He turned, looking quietly at Fang Wu.

"Did they run away?" The smile on his large, fleshy face deepened as he spoke, "I recall telling you not to inform anyone, just to lead the way."

"No, no, perhaps they just happened to step out. They’ll be back soon," Fang Wu replied, trembling violently as he bowed his head.

"Indeed, the teapot is still warm. There’s no sign of a hasty departure inside, and the door was carefully closed. Perhaps, as you say, they merely went out for a stroll."

The obese immortal settled at the stone table in the courtyard, examining the neatly arranged teacups before him. He picked one up and slowly rotated it in his hand, then glanced at Fang Wu.

"But in deep mountains, on snowy days, with little firewood and scant warmth, boiling a pot of hot water is no easy feat. What would make someone abruptly abandon their tea to go outside, especially as dusk approaches?"

"And in a mountain plagued by wild beasts, how could the courtyard gate lack a bolt? What is the sawdust behind the door?"

His gaze swept over the bed inside and lingered on Fang Wu's face, pale as paper, before he asked quietly, "Finally, why didn’t you tell me that, aside from the youth, at least two others lived here—a grown man and a child?"

"Spare me, Immortal!"

Unable to withstand the terror within, Fang Wu collapsed to his knees in the snow, burying his head deep and crying out hoarsely.

"Ah, it seems you truly spoke what you shouldn't have," the immortal murmured.

Fang Wu dared not respond, only pressed his head lower, his body trembling violently.

The obese immortal poured a cup of hot tea from the teapot, sipped it experimentally, and frowned.

"Truly awful," he said coldly, a flicker of anger flashing through his small, squinting eyes among the folds of his face.

He tossed the remaining warm tea at Fang Wu. As the tea left the cup, steam billowed in the chill air, but in the brief space before reaching Fang Wu, it froze into countless sharp shards of ice, pinning Fang Wu’s hands deep into the snow like a hundred knives.

Fang Wu shrieked in agony, but seeing the obese immortal slowly approach, he swallowed his cries, his body twitching uncontrollably in pain.

"Now, tell me—how many people are here? When did you leak the news? How long might they have been gone?" The immortal bent his oversized head and gazed at Fang Wu’s terror-stricken, pallid face, his voice still gentle.

After a while, the obese immortal stepped outside the courtyard. At the sound of his footsteps, the curtains of two sedan chairs were pulled aside, revealing the impatient faces of two other immortals.

"I say, Fifteenth Brother, what are you up to? Where are the people?" asked the tall, thin immortal, rolling his eyes.

"There’s been a mishap—they escaped," Fifteenth Brother replied with a forced smile. "But they can't have gone far. Junior Brother is preparing to take some men to search for them. Why not rest inside for now, Senior Brothers?"

Both sedan chairs were carried into the courtyard, leaving only the obese immortal and twenty or thirty young men from Li Village.

The immortal’s ever-present gentle smile vanished, replaced by a sinister expression as his cold gaze swept over the villagers.

"I know one of the three is your former village chief, Li Han. But if any of you dare show favoritism, even if you care nothing for your own lives, consider your extended families!"

His words were laden with icy authority, and every villager he looked at instinctively lowered their heads.

"Search! Turn the mountain upside down if you must! Bring me those three, especially the youth!"

Under the immortal’s pressure, the villagers dispersed into the nearby forest, most following the trail deliberately left by Ye Mingke.

…

Ye Mingke paused at a set of footprints, his heart chilled. He had followed Li Han’s tracks far, but here they veered sharply, turning toward another path leading back to the cabin.

The cabin... those people must have arrived by now. Whether they chose to lie in wait or begin searching, there was a high chance some enemies remained at the cabin.

Would he make it in time?

He launched forward, following the prints, his senses overwhelmed by the sea of information fed back from countless points of spiritual energy within a thirty-yard radius.

After his recent illness, his body was frail, but his range of perception surpassed even what he’d achieved in Misty Sea, aided by the fog. There seemed to be other changes he had yet to understand.

As he searched, his expression grew grim. The feedback ahead revealed not only Li Han’s footprints, but also many unfamiliar tracks—evidence that others had begun searching the mountain for them.

And their numbers were considerable.

He was alone. In these mountains, what were the odds he’d find Li Han—especially as Li Han, unaware, walked toward the cabin?

Ye Mingke instinctively gripped the iron bow, steeling himself for the worst.

Suddenly, he spun, left hand raising the bow, right hand deftly nocking an arrow and drawing the string taut.

With a sharp whistle, an arrow flew straight ahead.

It struck deep into the snow, the shaft quivering violently and raising a cloud of snow dust. Soon, crimson blood seeped through the snow.

"A fine bow," Ye Mingke murmured, surprised that Li Han’s family’s longbow could withstand his immense strength. He stroked the finely patterned bow and its sturdy string with delight.

He quickly ran to the snowdrift where the arrow had struck, retrieving a snow hare pierced through by the arrow. After reclaiming both the arrow and the hare, he continued toward Li Han’s trail.

His shot had covered a hundred paces—a feat for someone with only basic archery training.

His ability to precisely control his body, sense minute changes within forty yards, and run complex calculations at high speed enabled him to achieve such accuracy with ease.

The days he’d spent learning the Wave-Stepping technique had shown him the true value of the training Sword Uncle and Aunt Long had given him in the small town: perception, control, deduction—even an extraordinary temperament.

That training, combined with his natural talent, had deepened his foundational abilities to a level few could match.

Though he had not cultivated, and learned only a little martial arts from Sword Uncle, his solid foundation allowed him to master anything he touched with astonishing speed—even without guidance.

Holding the cold bow, running like a stag across the snow, Ye Mingke, for the first time, felt a measure of confidence in facing immortals as a mere mortal.

But it was still not enough.

As he ran, he raised the bloodied hare and tore into it, devouring it in large bites. Soon, his eyes burned crimson.

His body had not recovered since his illness. He knew that eating blood meat in quantity could quickly restore his strength—even grant him greater power. But he remained deeply wary of this strange, demonic constitution.

He dreaded the loss of consciousness and reason accompanying each transformation. He believed that, if not for the great flaws in this constitution, Sword Uncle and Aunt Long would never have made him endure so much pain to resist the urge to feed.

But now, he could no longer drag his sickly body.

For, as he feared, the situation he faced would soon become perilous beyond measure.

He leapt down from a snow pine and found another of Li Han’s footprints, but his heart sank; there were countless other tracks here, marks of struggle.

Was he too late?

Ye Mingke clenched his teeth and bounded forward, darting through the woods like a flying ape, using the trees to conceal himself.

Snow had begun to fall heavily again, muffling the forest with countless soft sounds. The tracks remained clear despite the snowfall, indicating Li Han had only recently been captured—perhaps by mortals, perhaps the immortals had not yet arrived. There might still be hope.

Suddenly, a torch-like blaze flared in his perception. Ye Mingke’s heart raced as he instinctively hid behind a tree.

A cultivator had entered his range—these immortals appeared in his senses like blazing torches in the night, utterly distinct from mortals.

He had run into one.

Moreover…

Ye Mingke’s breath came in gasps, mouth wide. He sensed Li Han’s presence—and even heard Ah Ru's hoarse cries, wrenching his heart with pain.

The group binding Li Han and Ah Ru was clearly heading toward the cabin.

There was only one immortal, only one. In his perception, this immortal’s aura was brilliant, but far less than any of Sword Uncle's party he’d met in Misty Sea.

Should he act?

Ye Mingke stood on a snow pine’s branch, leaning against the massive trunk, breathing deeply.

If he could not rescue them while only one immortal was present, then when all three arrived, would he have any chance at all?

He slowly clenched the bow in his hand, then abruptly leapt into action.