Volume Two: The Mortal Realm Chapter One Hundred Nineteen: The Spirit Within the Box

Tonight, the moon hung in the sky like a giant, luminous sphere suspended against a backdrop of blue velvet. Perched high atop the dragon’s head—the mountain's peak—the moon seemed to dip so low it threatened to crush the jagged, frost-dusted, withered branches below.

The night was drawing to a close, yet Ye Mingke felt no urge to sleep. He had wandered out of the dilapidated wooden shack some time ago. Now, he sat cross-legged with his black sword case laid across his knees, watching the moon in silence. His right fingers tapped a rhythmic beat against the case, as if weighing a difficult choice.

The night was hushed, and the soft, repetitive sound echoed gently through the moonlit air.

Ye Mingke slowly lowered his gaze to the case.

The tapping stopped abruptly.

Silence reclaimed the surroundings for a few moments, and then, with a crisp *click*, the case Ye Mingke was staring at began to open.

The interior was pitch black, obscuring everything within. Even the clear, bright moonlight of the night could not illuminate a single fraction of its depths. Perhaps it was because his blood had once seeped into the case, but since that day, Ye Mingke seemed to have formed a mysterious, subtle connection with it—a link to its dormant spirit, though it remained far more indistinct than the connection he shared with mortal blades. Still, during the battle in the Dragon’s Neck fire cavern, he had discovered he could exert a measure of control over it.

Ye Mingke reached his hand into the darkness of the case. From the outside, the box did not appear thick, yet as he extended his arm, it vanished almost entirely into the void without ever touching the other side.

He frowned, searching within the darkness for a moment. His gaze sharpened as if he had caught hold of something. As he began to withdraw his arm, a strange glint flashed in his eyes: bright, crimson blood was trickling down his wrist, which was still partially submerged in the gloom.

Ye Mingke’s expression remained unchanged as he pulled his hand completely out. Under the pale moonlight, his empty hand was now gripping an ancient box adorned with intricate, complex patterns. A profusion of blood spilled slowly from the box, reflecting the cold, pale light with a vivid, eerie beauty.

Ye Mingke looked at the terrifying, blood-drenched object in his hand and curled his lips into an inexplicable smile. He placed the box onto the snow and, curling his index finger, tapped lightly on the second layer of the three-tiered wooden box. The sound was low and hollow.

*Tap, tap.*

"Is anyone there?" he asked with a light chuckle.

Before his laughter could fade, he tilted his head, corrected himself with a feigned tone of apology, and tapped the second layer again.

*Tap, tap.*

"Excuse me... are there any ghosts here?"

No ghost answered. The sound of the tapping and his laughter echoed in the night like a pebble dropped into a deep, dark pool.

The moonlight was pale, casting a hazy, veil-like glow over the mountain wilderness that swayed gently in the night breeze. The antique box lay silent on the snow, but the blood seeping from it grew more voluminous, staining the white ground in an ever-widening circle. The trees around them swayed with increasing intensity.

*Whoosh.*

A sudden, sharp gust of wind swept up the accumulated snow. A surge of blood gushed out of the box with a muffled, bubbling sound, and the second layer of the sinister object popped open with a sharp *bang*.

A low, hoarse voice, as if rising from a distant abyss, resonated through the air.

"You... are going to die."

"In exactly... thirty breaths."

*Bubble.* The ominous, surging blood spread from the snow toward Ye Mingke, pooling around him in a glaring, eerie red ring.

Ye Mingke nodded thoughtfully, answering the voice with great sincerity.

"Oh."

The terrifying voice seemed to falter for a moment, but soon continued in its spectral, haunting tone.

"I am the cursed spirit within this puppet box. The moment you touched this box, you were already dead."

"Is that so? That sounds quite interesting," Ye Mingke said, propping his chin on his right hand and watching the box with keen, earnest interest.

The voice faltered again, clearly caught off guard by his reaction. After a pause, it grew even hoarser and more twisted, tinged with a hint of madness.

"Boy, your soul is incomplete. A portion of you is already trapped within this box. I can consume that part of your soul whenever I wish, and you will die soon enough."

"If you do not want to die, then be a good servant. Offer me blood and spirit stones. Otherwise, in thirty breaths, I shall kill you, scatter your soul, and ensure you never find peace in any afterlife."

The mad, sinister voice echoed through the moonlit night.

"Oh."

Ye Mingke, still propping his head, replied with that single word, his tone as earnest as before. Then, he rolled his eyes, shook his head, and said with clear disdain, "Your threat lacks effort. It’s too cliché. Absolutely no creativity."

"How dare you offend a vengeful spirit! Do you wish to die right now?" The hoarse, sinister voice suddenly turned sharp and shrill.

"A vengeful spirit indeed. So much resentment—you’re like a little bitter widow. It seems there’s nothing to discuss. It’ll be simpler if I just beat you until your soul dissipates." Ye Mingke remained seated, wearing a brilliant smile, though the light reflected in his eyes was icy.

The hoarse, sinister voice cut off as if someone had grabbed it by the throat.

After a while, the voice tentatively tried again.

"The moonlight is poor tonight; it is not a suitable time for me to kill. We were not meant to be, so perhaps I shall let you go tonight. You can just toss me into some corner like trash."

"Oh? You’ve gone from 'I, this exalted one' to 'this little one' in a single sentence. You’re quite the opportunist. I never would have guessed you were once the Guardian Immortal of the entire North Sea Prefecture."

Ye Mingke gently pinched some snow stained with blood from the ground, his voice calm. He raised his head, his sharp eyes fixed on the sinister box, and said slowly, "Spirit... Dust... Immortal, right?"

The sinister box trembled, the gushing blood instantly drying up. The voice fell silent, not daring to make another sound.

"I never knew how a villain was supposed to speak, but now I do."

Ye Mingke stared at the antique box, the amusement in his pupils fading until only a faint, chilling murderous intent remained.

He coldly declared, "You are going to die."

"Within thirty breaths, give me a reason not to kill you. Otherwise, I will destroy you, scatter your soul, and ensure you never find peace in any afterlife."

After Ye Mingke spoke, the antique box on the snow remained silent, motionless. Ye Mingke did not look at it; he simply tilted his head back, admired the moonlight, and rhythmically tapped his sword case.

One tap, two taps, three... By the twenty-fifth tap, Ye Mingke’s fingers struck with more force, causing the sword case to emit a hollow, humming resonance.

The blood that had reached his feet suddenly retreated on its own, flowing back into the sinister box. A distant, pained howl erupted from within.

Ye Mingke did not look up, continuing his taps. Twenty-eight, twenty-nine...

*Whoosh!* A small, paper-like wax figure crawled out, frantically tearing at the blood-filaments that were biting into it like thin snakes. It vaulted over the edge of the open box and tumbled onto the snow. As it lifted its head, it revealed a face entirely devoid of features.

Yet, this faceless wax figure cried out in a panicked voice, "No! This Immortal... no... this exalted one—bah, forget it! This little one has emerged! I am willing to serve you as a beast of burden. I am of great use to you, Master, please show mercy!"

The creature was incoherent. Feeling the blood-filaments within the box coiling like snakes toward him again, he tried to flee, but the filaments shot out and pierced his body, suspending him half a foot above the snow. He sobbed, "Great use? What use could you possibly have?" Ye Mingke asked with a faint, smiling gaze.

This man had wreaked havoc in the North Sea Prefecture for a decade, and yet he hadn't fully perished that snowy night. If Ye Mingke hadn't awakened the sword case, which then refined this strange box, allowing him to control it, he never would have guessed that a remnant of the man's soul was still clinging to this sinister object.

"I... I know how to use this puppet box. I can teach you, Master."

"That is my reason for killing you. With a hidden danger like you around, I cannot rest easy using this box."

"This box carries a terrifying curse! Everyone who has used this box before has died. Only I know how to break it!"

"What curse?" Ye Mingke finally showed a flicker of interest.

"Anyone who holds this box will eventually be turned into a puppet by it. Only I... only I have used it for decades and never succumbed to its curse."

As he said this, the faceless wax figure held its head high, seemingly filled with pride.

"But..." Ye Mingke frowned, gesturing toward the sinister box. "You have already been turned into one of its puppets."

"No! I wasn't turned by the box; I turned myself into a puppet! Ha! That way, I am my own puppet, not the box’s, and the curse becomes useless!" The faceless wax figure laughed maniacally, his small body rocking back and forth.

"But... how can you be sure it wasn't the box that made you *want* to turn yourself into a puppet? In that case, you remain its puppet all the same." Ye Mingke looked at the deranged little figure and said calmly.

The dancing, manic figure suddenly froze, like a toy with a broken spring.

"It seems you are useless after all. I’ll just burn you to end it."

Ye Mingke smiled coldly and reached out a hand. His originally fair, slender hand was suddenly covered in crimson scales, and a faint, ghostly flame ignited between them.

Before his hand even reached the figure, the wax of the creature began to melt. Sensing his life was in danger, the wax figure snapped out of its stupor, saw the hand wreathed in nether-flames, and shrieked in terror, "I’m not useless!"

"I know! I know!"

"I know what you are!"

The wax figure suddenly looked up at Ye Mingke, laughing maniacally.

Ye Mingke’s hand, reaching toward him, came to a halt.