Volume Two: The Mortal Realm Chapter 101: Martial Transmission on the Snowy Mountain

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Upon hearing that familiar laughter, Lingchen barely had time to react before he lowered his head—and suddenly saw a golden fist pierce through his chest. Countless radiant golden cracks spread from the point where the fist penetrated, almost crawling over his entire body, still in the process of merging.

That familiar voice whispered close to his ear with a light laugh.

“Master, this time, it’s finally not me weaving your shroud.”

“Your disciple has always been terribly afraid—terrified that one day, even my little life would be casually taken away by you, Master.”

“Now… I no longer have to be afraid.”

The clear voice sighed long and deeply behind his ear, filled with emotion, praise, and a sense of relief.

Lingchen’s entire body trembled violently, as if trying to break free from that fist. But the golden light on the fist spread like a living thing, weaving countless golden veins all over his body, even creeping over his face and neck, pinning him firmly in place.

“Master, don’t bother trying to break free. The Golden Light Curse is a mid-grade secret technique. Without my level of talent, you can never learn it. With your current body—not even at the peak of the Second Stage of Yi—you simply can’t break free.”

The immortal Lingchen’s eyes were bloodshot, staring straight ahead into the swirling snowstorm, yet he couldn’t even turn his head to look at the betrayer behind him. Only a muffled sound rolled in his throat, unclear in meaning.

“Master, you don’t need to struggle to speak. Whatever you want to say, your disciple can already guess.”

“You want to ask why I didn’t die, why I stayed here waiting for you. Maybe in your heart, you still foolishly hope that this traitorous disciple, always clumsy and dull-witted, might accidentally spare you this time.”

The once seemingly dull and incompetent Yi Yi now spoke mockingly into his ear, a cunning, triumphant smile curling on his lips like a sly fox.

“I have been your disciple the longest. Of course, I know you must have a secret lifesaving technique hidden. And Master, you faked death so vividly that even when your body was shattered, you could still survive. Though I am not as profound as you, as your disciple, I can at least fake death well enough to fool a fake Eleventh-tier warrior woman.”

“Finally, rest assured, Master. I won’t be like that foolish kid who just split your body in two with a single sword. Given our bond, I will at least pulverize your bones to dust to repay your years of teachings!”

Yi Yi’s smiling words carried a chill deeper than the surrounding snow.

His golden right fist that had pierced through Lingchen’s body slowly rotated. At that moment, the golden veins completely enveloped Lingchen’s entire form.

Suddenly, Yi Yi slammed his fist.

Countless dazzling golden lights burst forth from every inch of Lingchen’s skin, cutting and exploding outward. Lingchen never moved an inch nor uttered a word. His still waxy, half-formed body shattered into countless fragments.

Yi Yi stooped down, carefully picking the smallest fragment from the shards, clutching it in his palm, then strode away.

But moments later, he returned.

On the snow-covered wasteland, a massive bonfire blazed. Yi Yi stood before it, eyes fixed on the piercing flames until both of Lingchen’s bodies were completely reduced to ashes. Only then did he close his eyes.

He stretched out on the snowy ground, limbs splayed, beside the fire that burned the remains of his junior disciples and master with whom he had lived for many years. Yet, in a strange way, he felt a long-lost peace and relaxation.

He held tightly the single waxen fragment in his hand.

If that old ghost had not lied, this piece should be a clue to find a Level One bounty—a warrior who had broken through the Twelfth Stage of Martial Dao.

With his own Lunhai Realm cultivation, past merits, and this precious clue, he should be able to succeed that old ghost as head of the Canglan Prefecture’s main guard.

That should buy him a few more years of quiet days.

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But how many days of such tranquility could truly be pure? That old ghost had also been pressured and harassed harshly by higher-level cultivators over these years.

What use is the Lunhai Realm? Above it lies Tongyuan, above Tongyuan, Hualing, above Hualing, Tianwen—and above Tianwen… is an endless, perilous path of exploitation layer upon layer.

Despairing, difficult to climb, yet one must ascend, or risk losing everything.

“The most prosperous era, an unprecedented immortal cultivation golden age, an era of great contention. Great contention.” Yi Yi closed his eyes, softly repeating the last phrase.

Lying in the fierce blizzard, he would soon be covered by snow. The roaring bonfire beside him had burned out, leaving only smoldering gray ashes.

...

The terrain of Long Ridge was indeed as the old beggar had described: perilously rugged and complex, especially in the thick snow of deep winter. Ye Mingke looked around, sensing the world was a uniform white, direction impossible to discern.

But the old beggar ahead and the sword-bearing woman walked swiftly. Ye Mingke had to run at full speed just to barely keep up with their figures.

Neither of them paused to check direction; they found paths through seemingly identical snowy landscapes that allowed them to cross layer after layer of snow-covered ridges.

Often, Ye Mingke felt the way ahead was blocked by towering peaks rising abruptly, blocking all passage. Yet following the old beggar and Liu Xixing, they always found crevices—sometimes mere narrow gaps between twin peaks that were invisible until approached closely.

Sometimes, they were not walking on the surface at all but had descended underground, traversing the intricate, winding subterranean caves that extended deeply and broadly. Some cave walls shimmered with multicolored brilliance, beautiful like a fairyland.

Though exhausted from the trek, Ye Mingke opened his eyes wide in wonder, admiring landscapes impossible to see in his small hometown.

On the first day, they traveled hundreds of miles, deeply penetrating this desolate mountain range.

At night, the old beggar and the woman stopped first in a valley; Ye Mingke, carrying Qiao Qiao, also halted. Two camps were set up about ten yards apart, each with a fire.

The long night was silent. After eating, both groups sat quietly watching the flames. In the deep winter mountains, all beasts had vanished; other than the crackling fire, the silence was so profound that even the fall of a needle could be heard.

“Boy, if I teach you martial arts, will you learn?”

In the stillness, the old beggar suddenly raised his eyes and asked Ye Mingke from across the fire.

“If I agree, does that mean you’ll want me to bear the burdens of the mortal world too?” Ye Mingke slowly asked, looking up.

“Of course.” The old beggar’s voice was tinged with anger.

“Then you won’t learn. Because I dare not promise. I can’t bear that burden.”

Ye Mingke met the old beggar’s eyes filled with frustration but shook his head firmly, speaking solemnly.

He still remembered what Sword Nine had told him: a solemn promise is not only to be fulfilled but also not to be made lightly—especially promises one cannot keep.

He lacked the ability and the will to shoulder such weight. Better never to give anyone false hope.

“Hmph. No courage, no responsibility.”

The old beggar angrily turned his head but soon faced Ye Mingke again with a cold glare.

“What if I hit you? Would you dare to fight back?”

“No. You have helped me before; how could I dare offend you?” Ye Mingke answered calmly, though surprised.

“Hmph, if you don’t dare to fight back, then can you at least dodge?”

“I wouldn’t want to disappoint you. If you think beating me can ease your anger, I’m willing to accept punishment,” Ye Mingke said earnestly.

“Oh? What if I want to beat you to death? What would you do then?” The old beggar’s eyes blazed with harsh killing intent.

Feeling the murderous aura closing in, Ye Mingke tensed his whole body. His crystal-clear eyes locked onto the old beggar, equally serious.

“Mingke’s life is heavily burdened; he cannot leave his life here. Besides, a man born of heaven and earth would never meekly submit to death.”

“Then let me see if you truly are a man.”

Before the old beggar’s words finished, the campfire in front of Ye Mingke suddenly exploded in a dazzling flare. The old beggar’s fist had already shattered the flames before Ye Mingke, whose pupils dilated in the firelight.

“Bang!”

Ye Mingke crossed his hands, bracing fully against the old beggar’s punch but was still struck back, crashing through dozens of yards of snow.

He fixed his gaze; amidst the falling ashes and dying embers, the old beggar stepped forward, fist extended in an ancient boxing stance, the strike direct and forceful.

Just as Ye Mingke clearly saw this, “Bang!” The old beggar stepped again through the wind and snow, delivering another punch, this time upward in a hooking motion.

Along with the fierce strike came an icy, bone-chilling killing intent that made Ye Mingke’s hair stand on end. He activated his spiritual eye, pressing down with both hands to withstand the blow but was still forced upward, leaping back.

More importantly, as the old beggar struck, Aru was on Ye Mingke’s back. Ye Mingke quickly pulled out cloth strips and tied Aru securely to himself in midair.

“Boom!”

Ye Mingke crashed into the snow, legs bent slightly, and looked coldly at the old beggar ahead.

“If you strike, just aim at me alone. Don’t hurt the child.”

“You want to protect someone? Do you have that strength?”

Without pausing, the old beggar dashed across the snow and leapt slightly, delivering a crushing downward punch.

Though Ye Mingke’s spiritual eye tracked the punch clearly, he could not defend against the old beggar’s simple yet powerful boxing style, retreating step by step in the blizzard.

No longer holding back, Ye Mingke summoned all his instinctual combat intuition and immense physical strength to fight back.

Because the cold killing intent on the old beggar forced him to fight with all his might, and because he carried Aru, whom he refused to let suffer harm.

Yet the old beggar never unleashed strength beyond Ye Mingke’s level, relying on a few simple ancient boxing forms in the snowstorm to leave Ye Mingke barely able to counterattack, struggling greatly.

For the first time, relying solely on instinct, Ye Mingke deeply glimpsed the power of technique.