Volume Two: The Mortal Realm - Chapter 135: And So We Ask the Sovereign of the Common Folk

Upon the Ascension Terrace, towering above the entire capital of Yangjing, Huang Zhong stood solemnly upon the lofty altar in magnificent black-and-gold robes of sacrifice, his expression grave.

He was the Deputy Celestial Overseer of the Yangjing Guard Office. Today’s grand ceremony, at which thirty thousand people would be offered to Heaven, had been entrusted to him. It was a position with an excellent chance of earning a gift from the Heavenly Dao and the Celestial Court.

His gaze slowly swept over the thirty thousand commoners who had already been brought into position behind the altar. Then he turned to look across the silent, deserted city of Yangjing.

He knew that forces of resistance from the mortal world would most likely appear today, but he did not care in the slightest. Although he was only a cultivator below the Spirit Transformation realm, as long as he was within Yangjing, he was utterly confident that he could cut down even a Spirit Transformation cultivator with a single sword.

That was a military art capable of overturning the entire cultivation world. Though it had never once been employed by the Yangjing Guard Office throughout all these years, Huang Zhong had visited the immortal-demon battlefield at the border of the barbarian wastes. He had absolute faith in it.

At that thought, his eyes unconsciously began searching the Ascension Terrace. He did not see the Penglai sword cultivator who, in name at least, ought to have presided over today’s ceremony.

The white-robed swordsman had been in Yangjing for nearly half a month, yet had appeared at the Guard Office only once. Not seeing him brought Huang Zhong a slight sense of relief, along with a trace of undisguised scorn.

That swordsman had at least known his place and refrained from coming to seek humiliation.

For the past ten years, the Yangjing Guard Office, controlled by Fangzhang Immortal Island, had been almost entirely replaced by Fangzhang’s own people. It had been forged into an impregnable fortress, allowing the island to monopolize the greater share of the resources sent by the mortal world to the cultivation world.

Under the pact between the three islands, each of the three Immortal Islands would take turns sending one of its core disciples to guard Yangjing. Each term lasted twenty years. However, because the previous Celestial Overseer had died ten years ahead of schedule, Fangzhang Island was supposed to appoint his successor according to the rules. There had never been a precedent for a Celestial Overseer dying early.

Yet the ever-arrogant Penglai Immortal Island had actually sent one of its core disciples ten years ahead of time. The matter concerned ten years of offerings from the mortal world, and it enraged Fangzhang, which had never enjoyed cordial relations with Penglai. Huang Zhong had already received an indication from his sect that they were not to relinquish control of the Yangjing Guard Office, and the next warden was already on his way.

What he had not expected was that Penglai Immortal Island had truly sent only a single Spirit Transformation cultivator to Yangjing—a lone ruler of Great Xia, with no support behind him. Besides, before the defensive formation of Yangjing was handed over, a Spirit Transformation cultivator within the city was nothing worth fearing.

“Clang.” “Clang.” “Clang”...

The final thirty-six bells before the ceremony began to ring in succession.

From his position, Huang Zhong could see the entire city below. The ceremony was about to commence, yet to his surprise, apart from several minor assassination attempts against the ruler of Great Xia, neither the cultivators who had stood guard all day nor his own spiritual perception had detected any trace of those martial cultivators.

Could it be that they did not intend to rescue these thirty thousand commoners?

Then what was their true purpose?

His gaze passed over the countless towers and palaces of Yangjing and settled upon the equally towering Vermilion Bird Gate.

* * *

“Clang.” “Clang.” “Clang”...

“His Majesty approaches!”

“Kneel—”

The final thirty-six bells before the ceremony began to ring in succession.

Amid their pealing and the grand, resonant cries of the master of ceremonies, the wilderness beyond the Vermilion Bird Gate, bathed in the blood-red light of the setting sun, filled with densely packed people. From near to far, they slowly fell to their knees and bowed.

“You have not even determined what is truly right. Why throw your life away?”

“That man is nothing but a ridiculous puppet. Killing him will do nothing but offend the Guard Office. What meaning could it possibly have?”

Jiu Jian’s voice, edged with urgency, sounded beside him.

“I have always been searching for what is absolutely right.”

“But this world is too complicated. Many truths cannot be found through thought alone. What is right needs people willing to act to prove it.”

Ye Mingke turned his head and looked at Jiu Jian with clear eyes. He smiled.

“I have always wanted to be a hero. An old man once told me that a hero must possess courage and righteousness. But in the end, being a hero is about wine—it is about a great, unrestrained drunkenness beneath Heaven and Earth.”

“You may be a Sword Immortal, but you do not drink. So you could never understand us.”

“Ah... suddenly I feel like having a drink.”

He remembered the old man that night, slapping the wine jar he had snatched from the Demon Ape and laughing uproariously. Smiling, Ye Mingke raised his head with lazy ease and looked toward the dignified ruler standing high above upon the city wall. At that very moment, their eyes met.

Below the gate tower, the young man in common clothing narrowed his eyes slightly. Amid the countless voices chanting, “Long live the ruler,” he gave his sleeve a gentle flick. Then, with a single movement, he ascended the hundred-yard-high tower from below, walking up the city wall as casually as if strolling through his own courtyard.

Every place where his hand touched the wall was marked by a charred, sunken black handprint.

As he passed the many weapons embedded densely along the top of the wall, he reached out and broke off an ancient, silent longsword.

The young man in plain clothes stood upon the battlement with the sword at his side. Amid the bells reverberating through Heaven and Earth, he moved with effortless, flowing grace. He lifted the enormous wine cup placed upon the altar for the sacrifice to Heaven, pushed one cup through the air toward the stunned monarch before him, then raised another to his lips and smiled lightly at the sovereign dressed in imperial robes.

Perhaps the boy’s arrival had been too sudden and natural, and perhaps he had shown not the slightest trace of killing intent. Only then did the white-robed cultivator turn around and fix his eyes upon him.

The young man raised his cup toward the monarch in a toast and spoke in a clear, ringing voice.

“Ruler of Great Xia, I ask on behalf of a friend: why does the kingdom of Great Xia honor only ghosts and gods, and not the living people of the mortal world?”

Xia Yin, ruler of Great Xia, stared in horror at the strange young man who had suddenly appeared before him and at the wine cup flying toward him. He stumbled backward. He had not heard a word the young man said; he simply opened his mouth to scream.

The white-robed cultivator’s face was cold with fury. He had already stepped between Xia Yin and the young man.

Ye Mingke looked at the silent ruler and slowly shook his head. His aura calm, he stepped forward. With a reverse grip, he drew the ancient sword Startling Silence. His figure swept across several yards, and an extremely fine, brilliant streak of sword light flashed toward the imperial robes fixed in his gaze.

The sword was called No Yielding.

The white-robed cultivator, who had been standing between the sword light and the emperor, had already reached the Unity of Origins realm. Yet when faced with that stroke, astonishment appeared on his features. He retreated hastily, unwilling to meet it, exposing the terrified figure in imperial robes behind him.

“No!”

The noble figure’s twisted face had time to utter only that single syllable. The sword light swept across him, and his voice abruptly ceased.

A vast spray of blood rose like rain falling upward and merged with the blood-red sunset, deepening its crimson hue.

But that redness belonged to the dying day.

Ye Mingke held the sword in reverse. Blood stained his delicate face and plain clothes, yet his expression remained calm, touched only by a hint of weariness.

He spoke softly to the soul suspended within the blood.

“I am not killing you. I am killing the emperor.”

“His Majesty has fallen!”

The officials and soldiers upon the wall awakened from their brief daze and confusion. Screams and furious shouts merged into a tumult that swept outward like a great tide.

Carrying the bloodied head and leaning upon his sword, Ye Mingke sat astride the raised platform atop the wall. In silence, he watched the refugees below. They, too, had begun to understand what had happened amid the chaos on the tower, and unrest spread through them from near to far.

A buzzing like that of mosquitoes drifted from the foot of the wall into the distant wilderness, gradually swelling into thunderous uproar.

Yet everything had happened too suddenly, and the shock was too great. Everyone stood blankly in place, doing nothing but seeking news and opinions from those around them.

The Guard Office cultivator of the Unity of Origins realm stared fixedly at Ye Mingke seated upon the wall. His furious expression was mingled with fearful disbelief as he spoke slowly.

“The long-lost twelfth level of the Martial Path. And that sword stroke... it seems to have surpassed even the twelfth level.”

“Could you be the one who reached the Thirteenth Tower of the Martial Path—the one who killed the previous Celestial Overseer?”

His voice trembled faintly, filled with both terror and disbelief. According to their intelligence, the person who had broken through the twelfth level of the Martial Path was the Sword Sacrificer from ten years ago, and he should already have died.

Ye Mingke did not look at him. His gaze passed directly over the cultivator and fixed upon the towering Ascension Terrace at the center of the city.

“Hah. Whether or not you have suddenly reached the twelfth level of the Martial Path, I have already ordered Yangjing’s war formation to activate. You are here today, and you will never leave Yangjing alive.”

Seeing where Ye Mingke was looking, the white-robed cultivator spoke through a faintly contorted expression.

Having witnessed that sword stroke, he did not dare truly fight the young man in plain clothes alone. He merely maintained a certain distance, intending to interfere should his opponent attempt to flee.

Ye Mingke did not answer. He simply sat quietly upon the city wall, leaning on his sword.

By then, the dying sun had reached the end of its journey across the horizon. The splendid glow of the clouds was swallowed step by step by the rising darkness, and crystalline snow began to drift down from the sky.

Cold darkness gradually closed in around the land.

With the last trace of sunset behind him, Ye Mingke watched the darkness of Heaven and Earth converge from above and below, like the eyes of the Underworld King.

He looked toward the refugees below and spoke softly.

“Great Xia has fallen. Winter is coming.”

His smile slowly twisted into something faintly mocking. He laughed soundlessly at Heaven, Earth, and the wilderness, murmuring to himself with self-deprecation.

“The cold winter night has arrived. The immortals have become evil gods. No one is coming to save you.”

“If you will not save yourselves, are you still going to rely on a devil like me?”

Night descended completely.

With a thunderous boom, he suddenly turned his head toward the distant Ascension Terrace, where a magnificent pillar of light had abruptly shot into the sky.

Amid the boundless darkness, he threw the dripping head down toward the clamorous mass of people below. Then he drew his sword and walked step by step toward that pillar of light.