Volume Two: The Mortal Realm Chapter Eighty-Six: The Mortal World Is Not Beautiful

“Sixth Brother is here.”

A clear, piercing voice rang out suddenly in the snow-covered forest.

A man dressed in a fitted blue robe, a dark green sword strapped to his back, stood at the edge of a snow pit, gazing downward. Then he lifted his handsome face and looked toward a tall, thin figure not far away, his expression indifferent as he spoke.

“He’s dead.”

“Dead? How could that be?”

The tall, thin figure was none other than Yi Eleven, who had gone to the prefecture city to seek reinforcements. Hearing the man’s words, he hurried over.

He looked at the corpse in the snow pit, already almost buried by the thick snow, and fell silent, stunned. Only after a long moment did he mutter in a daze, “That shouldn’t be. That Imperial Body barely managed to kill Yi Fifteen at the peak of Spirit Aperture, and was heavily wounded. I thought maybe Old Six could capture him, but how could Old Six die?”

The man with the dark green sword said nothing, but leaped into the snow pit, brushed the snow off the body, and then suddenly spoke.

“He wasn’t killed by the Imperial Body. It’s a sword wound.”

Yi Eleven also jumped in and saw the massive gash that nearly tore Yi Old Six open. He was startled. “A sword wound? What a huge sword.”

“Indeed, a huge sword. In this world, there may only be one sword of such size.”

The swordsman’s face grew grave as he looked at the wound that nearly split Yi Old Six from head to toe.

“Second Brother, do you know whose sword made this wound?” Yi Eleven looked up and asked Yi Old Two.

“The Swordsman of Sacrifice. I didn’t expect them to be roaming this region already. The Heavy Sword of the Mortal Realm, the very weapon the Emperor of Men was said to wield.”

Yi Two replied, reaching out to touch Yi Fifteen’s stiff body. He closed his eyes and concentrated. “Aside from Yi Fifteen’s own fireseed spiritual power, there is no other trace of spiritual energy. It was torn apart by pure force. With such power, it must be the Swordsman of Sacrifice.”

“The Swordsman of Sacrifice? Those ridiculous mortals who made up the Emperor’s prophecy? Didn’t they all die when they attacked Yang City?” Yi Eleven recalled something but found it hard to believe.

“Most of them did die at Yang Capital back then. The remaining few mortal heroes are nearly all gone now, but... according to rumors, Liu Yifu, the leader of the Swordsmen of Sacrifice, is still alive, still fighting the cultivators, and has yet to be killed.”

“Old Six must have died at his hands. This may be beyond what you and I can handle.”

Yi Two traced the savage wound, faintly sensing a lingering, razor-sharp sword intent that chilled his fingertips.

“Is this Liu Yifu really so formidable?” Yi Eleven asked.

“The so-called Swordsman of Sacrifice and the Emperor’s prophecy are a joke to us cultivators, but the Swordsmen themselves are not.”

“If you haven’t entered the Wheel Sea, you’re not truly on the path to immortality. The greatest martial artists in the world can at most match a peak Scripture practitioner, but this Liu Yifu is said to stand against those who have reached the Wheel Sea realm.”

“Wheel Sea?” Yi Eleven, only at the peak of Spirit Aperture, was stunned. “A mortal can reach that level? Among us, only Eldest Brother has attained the Wheel Sea realm.”

“That’s why I said this is probably beyond us.”

A thought suddenly struck Yi Two. He frowned, then carefully examined Yi Old Six’s wounds again. His frown eased a little.

“No signs of fist or arrow wounds. That likely means Old Six never encountered the Imperial Body. The Imperial Body and the Swordsman were not together. Old Six must have run into the Swordsman while searching for the Imperial Body.”

Yi Two flicked the snow from his hands and stood up, speaking coolly, “We can still try to find the Imperial Body. As for the Swordsman, forget it.”

“I’ll report what happened here to the sect through the Sentinel Division’s spirit talisman and see if Yi One will intervene.”

“Yes, I’ll follow your lead, Second Brother.”

Yi Eleven stood up as well, nodding in agreement. In front of Yi Old Six and Yi Fifteen, he could be cunning and sly, but before this handsome man, he was obedient and meek.

They stood and left the pit.

Not far away, two squads of sword-bearing soldiers stood at attention in the snow. Seeing them rise, a military officer hurried over to Yi Two’s side, bowing respectfully to report something in a low voice.

Yi Two’s brow furrowed slightly as he looked at Yi Eleven. “Eleven, let’s go. There’s a clue, but also a troublesome matter.”

Once he saw Yi Eleven react, he turned and led the soldiers away.

...

Amid the bleak wind and snow, a gray, dilapidated temple stood silent and forlorn. Ye Mingke stood before its door and slowly reached out his hand.

Creak.

That blood-stained wooden door swung open under his hand, feeling unbearably heavy.

The door’s screeching sounded sharp, as if scraping at his nerves.

Why should he fear opening this door? With his spirit eyes awakened, had he not already seen what awaited inside?

Wisps of dust rose through the widening crack, like drifting, scattered souls.

Ye Mingke stepped into the ruined temple without looking, striding quickly toward the half-collapsed idol, where behind it he found Li Han and Aru, unconscious and slumped among the weeds.

Li Han, his body half-stained with blood, held Aru, who slept peacefully against his chest. Their faces were serene, as if they were merely resting in the snowbound cabin from days before.

Ye Mingke knelt halfway down, gazing at the resolute but now nearly translucent face of Li Han, and called softly, “Brother Li.”

His pupils reddened, his face stricken with grief. His voice was thick with something suppressed—was it guilt for once again dragging those closest to him into disaster? Anger at this wretched world? Or simply sorrow?

A pure, vast sorrow, as fathomless as the sea.

His gaze dropped to Li Han’s wound. He knew there was nothing to be done.

At the sound of Ye Mingke’s voice, Li Han’s eyelids fluttered and slowly rose. His eyes were first clouded and confused, but seeing Ye Mingke before him, a clear light began to well up in their depths.

It was as if he had been waiting for him all along.

“Brother Ye,” he rasped, his voice weak.

Seeing Li Han awaken, Ye Mingke’s spirit lifted. He steadied Li Han’s swaying body, joy evident in his voice. “Brother Li, don’t worry. I’ll go find a doctor for you.”

“It’s no use.”

Li Han’s last clarity returned. He looked at Ye Mingke, a bitter smile at his lips.

“There’s been too much blood. I know... it’s too late.”

He struggled to sit a bit more upright, and Ye Mingke quickly reached to help him.

Li Han managed to sit up but then bowed his head in a fit of harsh coughing. When he finally looked up, a sickly flush had bloomed across his formerly deathly pale skin.

But his eyes shone with dazzling brightness.

This was his final flare, like a lamp burning its last oil, bursting into brilliance before it was snuffed out.

“Brother Li, I’m sorry. It’s because of me that you ended up like this.” Ye Mingke gazed into his eyes, his voice choked with emotion.

“It’s not your fault. I told you before—here in Great Xia, plagued by immortal disasters, no one knows if they’ll live to see the next day. Besides, my life was already forfeit, and you saved it once in the Fog Sea.”

Li Han’s voice was hoarse and gentle, but when his gaze fell on the still-unconscious Aru, sorrow welled up within him again.

“I just can’t let go of Aru. Brother Ye, will you promise me one thing?” He looked at Ye Mingke, hope and pleading mingling with his grief.

“Take Aru to Yang Capital.”

“Her mother is there. If she’s willing to take Aru in, then entrust her to her care.”

“Don’t worry, Brother Li. I’ll see Aru safely to Yang Capital, I promise.” Ye Mingke met his hopeful gaze solemnly, giving his word.

Li Han, hearing this solemn promise, finally let go of his worry for Aru. The brightness in his eyes gradually faded.

“That’s good,” he murmured softly, looking at Ye Mingke with calm trust. “I believe you, Brother Ye.”

“I believe in your word. I believe you’re extraordinary—not like us mortals, powerless to resist, swept along by fate. And what of fate? Has the heavens gone mad? This world is truly not beautiful.”

His breath grew weaker, his pupils unfocused, when suddenly a thought jolted him. His eyes flew wide, and he gripped Ye Mingke’s hand, his voice quivering.

“Brother Ye, I remember now. It was Aru...”

Ye Mingke grasped his hand, watching him intently, confused.

“It was Aru... who killed them.”

Ye Mingke’s confusion deepened.

“It was Aru who killed those soldiers. She’s not an ordinary mortal, just like you.”

A vein twitched at Ye Mingke’s temple as he looked in shock at the still-sleeping Aru.

Suddenly he recalled the bodies in the snow—men dead without a single wound.

Li Han’s eyes were wide with confusion. “Why does Aru share her mother’s fate? Is it that parasite again?”

“Aru’s mother? How do I find her? What kind of person is she?” Ye Mingke realized there was something crucial he had not asked, and pressed anxiously.

“Aru’s jade pendant is the token and clue to find her mother.”

“As for what kind of person she is...”

Li Han’s consciousness was nearly swallowed by darkness. Before his eyes appeared once more that enchanting woman, singing atop the red tower, her smile gentle and radiant.

Her ethereal song echoed in his ears again.

“She is the woman with the most beautiful voice in the world.”

“She was the last beauty I found in this unlovely world.”