Volume Two: The Human Realm Chapter Fifty-six: Deserters and Deadlocks

Sword Nine lingered at the edge of the forest, occasionally gazing into its depths, a hint of worry flickering in his cold, clear eyes.

“Sword Nine.”

Ye Mingke suddenly called out, not lifting his head, but continuing to stare at the row of initial data where he had erased the glaring “seventy-seven.” His eyes grew brighter and brighter.

“Have you found something?” Sword Nine’s heart stirred at this, and he strode quickly to stand in front of Ye Mingke.

“I suspect the pattern of the ghost growing stronger is directly related to the spiritual power you expend in each battle. Don’t include that seventy-seven—try recalculating. I don’t know how to calculate your spiritual energy consumption.”

“If it’s spiritual energy consumption we’re calculating, why shouldn’t we include seventy-seven?” Sword Nine looked at the numbers, his brows furrowed.

“Just calculate first!” Ye Mingke insisted bluntly.

“All right.”

Sword Nine didn’t hesitate and began calculating anew.

But… after a while, what greeted them was still a chaotic jumble of numbers, with no discernible pattern.

“Did something go wrong?” Sword Nine glanced at Ye Mingke, his gaze questioning.

“It went wrong,” Ye Mingke said, his brows knotted, his eyes never leaving the numbers before him. “But why? Why is it wrong?”

Could this line of reasoning truly be a dead end?

He pondered desperately.

Nearby, Song Mingyu awoke from her meditation. Seeing Sword Nine and Ye Mingke clustered together, she got up and walked over.

“Have you found a way to deal with the ghost?” Song Mingyu asked, without much hope.

Sword Nine shook his head, indicating nothing had been found, then lifted his eyes to look at Song Mingyu.

“How’s your true essence recovery?” he asked.

“Just about done,” Song Mingyu replied.

At that moment, Ye Mingke, lost in thought, caught their exchange. Something flashed in his mind—a faint impression, elusive and hard to grasp. He tried desperately to recall it, but it wouldn’t come.

“What were you just talking about? Say it again!” he suddenly looked up, his eyes burning with intensity, almost feverishly, as he loudly demanded of Song Mingyu and Sword Nine.

His tone was rude, almost interrogative. Song Mingyu, never having been shouted at by a mortal before, raised her brows, ready to retort.

Sword Nine sensed Ye Mingke was searching for something crucial and quickly signaled Song Mingyu to be silent. Then, looking at Ye Mingke, he carefully recalled, “I just asked Mingyu if her true essence had recovered. She answered, almost.”

True essence? Recovery?

Ye Mingke stared at Song Mingyu’s pretty, slightly angry face, listening to Sword Nine’s repetition. The faint impression in his mind slowly struggled free from the depths of his unconscious.

It was last night—Song Mingyu had also just awoken from meditation, looking frustrated. She had said—

“This damned place! The rate at which true essence disappears is faster than usual, and it takes longer to recover. What a nightmare.”

He had eliminated a misplaced number; now he felt he had found a missing one.

“Sword Nine, in your previous calculation, add the extra amount of true essence lost in the Misty Sea compared to usual, then try again!”

Sword Nine’s eyes lit up at this request. Once more, he started calculating from the initial value, tracing the familiar figures through the winding formula.

Allowing for the slight discrepancies between Sword Nine’s estimates and reality, the numbers that emerged were all strikingly familiar.

One, three, seven, nine. Then, starting from twenty, they got twenty-seven, thirty-nine, forty-nine.

At last, they had found the thread that connected all the numbers together!

“But why is it so?” Sword Nine looked up at Ye Mingke, joy in his starry eyes tinged with confusion.

“The seventy-seven was a mistake. I suspect it’s because the consumption of the Awakening Talisman shouldn’t be counted as your spiritual energy expended fighting the ghost.”

“And the final extra amount is because, even when you’re not fighting, the ghost continuously draws some of your strength from you.”

Ye Mingke looked at the numbers calculated by Sword Nine on the ground, relieved as if a burden had been lifted.

“The Awakening Talisman? Is it because it’s a spell, so it doesn’t count in our energy expenditure?”

“No, others have used spells before. The difference is, the Awakening Talisman is so powerful we can’t drive it with spiritual power; it’s triggered by mental strength, so the ghost’s rules don’t count it as our power.”

Sword Nine’s thoughts raced, quickly finding the key.

“That’s my guess too,” Ye Mingke replied.

“So, the method to deal with the ghost is clear!” Sword Nine’s brows arched, his eyes flashing with sharp sword intent.

“Yes. And we likely only have one chance.”

Ye Mingke’s eyes were bloodshot as he looked at Sword Nine gravely.

“What method?” Song Mingyu quickly asked.

“But… why has Li Guifan been gone for half an hour and still hasn’t returned?”

Sword Nine didn’t answer Song Mingyu immediately, but recalled his earlier worry. He looked again into the depths of the forest, his gaze growing heavier and more troubled.

It had been three hours since the ghost appeared—the chance of its return was increasing rapidly.

“I’ll go check now; I’ll be right back!”

Knowing he couldn’t delay any longer, Sword Nine leapt into the forest, his figure vanishing quickly among the trees.

“Hey, what method did you come up with?” Song Mingyu crouched down, glaring fiercely at Ye Mingke, who was rubbing his brow, pale and exhausted.

Hearing there might be a way to fight the ghost, everyone, including Ying Kui, instinctively gathered closer.

Ye Mingke didn’t lower his hand from his brow, but answered with his head still bowed.

“The ghost grows stronger as you expend more power fighting it. Eventually we’re trapped in a cycle where the ghost gets stronger and stronger, until it’s powerful enough to kill everyone.”

“To break this cycle, you either kill the ghost outright without using your spiritual power—which is impossible now—or you use a force that doesn’t belong to you to destroy it, breaking the cycle. For example… the Awakening Talisman.”

“The Awakening Talisman? Right now, only Senior Brother Li Guifan has one.”

Song Mingyu looked up toward the depths of the forest.

She understood why Sword Nine was so anxious about Li Guifan’s delayed return—not only out of concern for him, but because he carried the only talisman that could break the deadlock.

Many others also looked toward the forest with anxious, worried eyes.

They waited a long time, the pressure of the ghost’s imminent appearance making time seem frozen—so heavy it was hard to breathe.

But Sword Nine and Li Guifan remained absent.

“At any rate, the talisman is with them. Surely the two immortals wouldn’t just leave on their own?” Fang Wu, who had only just gathered the courage to raise his head, said, trembling.

“Shut up! Sword Nine would never do such a thing!” Song Mingyu, her patience worn thin, turned and glared at Fang Wu.

“Sword Nine wouldn’t, and has no reason to. But what about Li Guifan?” Ye Mingke, who had been resting with his eyes closed, suddenly opened them, his tone cold.

“Of course Senior Brother wouldn’t either.”

Song Mingyu answered instinctively, with conviction.

“Why? Why are you so sure?” Ye Mingke pressed.

“Because…” Song Mingyu started, but for a moment didn’t know how to explain. She thought for a while, hesitated, and said, “Because Senior Brother is the leader of the team, always the most mature and steady. He cares about everyone in the group. Even agreeing to your request to join us—wasn’t that his decision?”

“He’s quite adept at using others. But he may not truly care about anyone,” Ye Mingke recalled the first meeting, Li Guifan’s ever-friendly smile, and how he smiled at Ying Kui’s relentless pressure. His gaze grew cold.

“Otherwise, when you encountered the ghost that escaped and returned, why did Sword Nine use his Awakening Talisman first, and not the leader?”

“Why is it that, every battle, he’s always in the safe spot, while Sword Nine takes the front line?”

“That’s… that’s because, although Sword Nine joined later than Senior Brother, he has the highest cultivation among us.”

Song Mingyu still refused to doubt, arguing back.

“And why did he leave alone?”

Ye Mingke turned his gaze away, no longer debating.

He disliked it.

Only harsh reality can awaken someone unwilling to wake—not anyone’s words.

Sword Nine returned, his usually pristine white robes now dusted with leaves and dirt. His face was dark and cold as he emerged from the woods, his steps heavy.

“He’s gone.” Sword Nine walked through the crowd, speaking coldly.

“Senior Brother is missing?” Song Mingyu asked, unwilling to accept it.

“Not missing—he left of his own accord.”

Sword Nine closed his eyes, his voice icy.

“I was worried he’d run into the ghost or some other danger alone. I followed his aura across the whole island and finally found traces of him leaving over the sea, riding his sword.”

“He left on his own.”

Song Mingyu was struck as if by lightning, her face pale as she staggered back, shaking her head in disbelief.

“But… why?”

“We had found the method, we could all survive…”

“But he didn’t know that when he left. Most people had already lost hope by then. He just wanted to live a little longer, have a bit more chance to escape.”

Ye Mingke calmly voiced his speculation.

“Going alone, with the Awakening Talisman, he can survive the ghost’s attack at least once. If the ghost attacks us, he’ll have two intervals between attacks to stay alive and search for a way out.”

“So, just to live a few more hours, he abandoned us?” Song Mingyu said, grief-stricken.

“If time can be stretched out, there’s still a bit of hope.”

Sword Nine remembered Li Guifan’s grim face last night, murmuring those words, and felt a coldness like ice in his heart, mingled with a fiery rage.

The group sank into a despairing silence, as if all hope had died.

“So now, are we all just waiting for the ghost to kill us one by one?”