Volume Two: The Mortal Realm Chapter Sixty-One: White Hair

The world gradually shifted from overwhelming clamor to utter silence.

Water, sky, sword, and specter—all spun and blurred, dissolving into countless swathes of color, some deep, some pale. Sword Nine felt his blade grow unbearably hot in his grasp, while his own body cooled inch by inch, colder than ice, as the sword burned fiercer than fire.

How could a block of ice ever hold a ball of flame?

But how could he stop swinging his sword?

He felt his hand melting, his whole body melting, like ice falling into fire.

A splash.

He sensed someone falling into the water nearby.

"The ghost is dead."

A voice he could trust rang clear in his ears.

"The ghost is dead?"

The taut string holding his body suddenly slackened. Darkness descended abruptly, enveloping his consciousness entirely.

He plunged into deep, heavy darkness.

In a haze, he felt the bottom of the darkness, and strangely, it was warm there—as familiar as the embrace he knew best.

So tranquil, so reassuring.

He did not know how much time passed. In the deepest dark, a hazy glow ignited, spilling countless warm, shimmering lights that trickled into his cold, bleak world.

The gentle fragments of light melted the frozen shell around his mind; warmth began to stir in his icy body.

Struggling, struggling, he finally reopened his eyes. Before him was a face he knew better than any, yet one that now seemed strangely unfamiliar.

Warm light flowed from her into him. She kissed him, and suddenly, seeing his eyes open, she shyly and hurriedly looked away, tilting her head, her gaze full of joy and worry—just as she had looked at him for so many years.

But the long hair draping from her tilted head was now frost-white, just like his.

She, who loved beauty above all, now bore no trace of youthful radiance, only weariness and emaciation.

She had traded her youth to extend his life.

"Fool."

Pain surged violently in his heart as he gazed at Song Mingyu, who smiled at him. He reached out, gently caressing her withered cheek and frost-white hair, his eyes full of sorrow.

"Did you not know that using your life essence to save others exacts a terrible price? Did you not know that the depletion of life essence may never be restored?"

"I knew it all. But it doesn't matter."

Song Mingyu, suddenly aged, tilted her head, smiling softly at him, her hair now as white as his.

"Ten years to share a boat, a hundred years to share a pillow, and a thousand years to grow old together with one heart."

"This journey—being able to share the boat, the bed, and to grow old together with you..."

She drew close again, embracing the man who had always been cold but now suddenly wept. With tender finality, she said,

"I have no regrets left."

Sword Nine closed his eyes. Awkward with words, he found nothing to say. He simply held this woman—perhaps no longer beautiful, but who had given him everything—and vowed never to let her go.

Many moments passed.

Sword Nine suddenly remembered the heavy shadow hanging over everyone’s heads and asked urgently,

"How long was I unconscious?"

"A day and a night," Song Mingyu replied.

"A day and a night? The ghost appeared again?" Sword Nine gently pushed Song Mingyu aside, his expression grave and anxious. "Did Ying Kui use spiritual power?"

The ghost had never appeared among Li Guifan and the others with intervals longer than a day and night.

"The ghost appeared," came Ye Mingke's bright, cheerful voice from outside the cabin. He ducked in from outside, carrying a sword still dripping with blood.

"But don’t worry—Ying Kui didn’t use spiritual power. I killed the ghost with your sword!"

"That's right. This guy is more wicked than the evil ghost itself! Even the evil ghost can't deal with him," Ying Kui followed Ye Mingke inside, his half-jesting, half-serious tone filling the cramped cabin.

Ye Mingke, leading, came to Sword Nine, who still looked haggard, and placed the cold, bloodied sword and its sheath on the table beside him.

Sensing the presence of its true master, the cold sword vibrated on its own, singing a note that sounded almost joyful.

"You?" Sword Nine’s gaze rarely showed confusion as he looked at Ye Mingke’s clear, smiling eyes.

The youth seemed little changed, even though he was somewhat worn; yet he showed no signs of the weakness or aging that usually followed wielding the sword that devoured life force.

"Yes," Ye Mingke said, his face alight with ease and heroic spirit not seen for days.

"We’re all on the same boat. You don’t have to shoulder everything alone. We can do much, too. So many lives—we each must carry them together. By the way..."

Ye Mingke turned to Ying Kui, who had just entered, and smiled.

"The path out of the Misty Sea has been found—it was Ying Kui who discovered it."

"And the boat—now Li Han and the others take turns rowing day and night, hoping to get us out of this cursed place soon."

Ying Kui, cradling his sword, sat before Sword Nine. The usual gloom and madness in his face had faded, though his tone still carried some pride and coldness as he shook his head.

"The path wasn’t found by me—it appeared on its own."

"But you were the first to notice, weren’t you?" Ye Mingke said, sitting cross-legged.

The cramped cabin now held two more people. The four sat close together, while outside, Li Han and Old Liu stood by, and a few strong men at the stern watched with quiet smiles.

The distance between people was close and warm. Hearts, too, were close—protecting and relying on each other, creating a haven of warmth amid the malicious, vast sea.

"What happened while I was unconscious?" Sword Nine relaxed a little, but everything before him seemed so sudden and unreal.

He was even afraid that all this was but a dream conjured while he lay unconscious.

"Don’t worry. This isn’t a dream. We really found the path out, and we really killed the ghost without using spiritual power, breaking the cycle of accumulated deaths."

As if seeing through Sword Nine’s worry, Ye Mingke patted his hand, gazing seriously at him with clear eyes.

"Let Ying Kui explain. He was the one who found the way out of the Misty Sea." He turned to Ying Kui.

"I already said, it wasn’t me—the path appeared on its own." Ying Kui repeated, sensing Sword Nine’s lingering confusion, and continued.

"That day, I noticed the direction of the mist changed, moving steadily in one direction even though there was no wind. I remembered how we were swallowed into the Misty Sea by the surging fog."

"The boundary of the Misty Sea has always been fixed according to the sect’s records, for tens of thousands of years. This time, something strange must have happened inside, causing the sea to become turbulent and its range to shift."

"But since the boundary never changed in all those years, the mist must be confined by some rule to a certain area—the change in range is likely temporary."

"When the mist’s direction suddenly shifted, always moving one way, I guessed the Misty Sea’s fog was receding. All we needed was to sail against the direction of the mist, and we would likely escape these waters."

Ying Kui paused. Ye Mingke took up the story.

"But we don’t know how long the mist’s movement will last, or how long it will guide us. So now Li Han and the others are rowing day and night—even Ying Kui helps—to make the most of the guidance and escape as soon as possible."

"We were already near the edge of the Misty Sea—not deep inside. At this speed, we have a good chance of getting out."

"I see," Sword Nine pondered, his heart growing steadier. As long as they had found a way, there was hope. He looked up at Ying Kui, who for some reason kept his head down, his mood subdued.

"I never noticed before how keen your observation is. You’ve done well."

"Spare me. Well? I slogged through water for days with someone, and now, when I enter the water I sink, while someone else can stride on the waves to slay ghosts," Ying Kui said, his voice low and tinged with mockery—along with a hint of jealousy and grievance.

Sword Nine turned to Ye Mingke, his eyes full of surprise.

"You really mastered the Wave-Stepping Art in just a few days? Even I needed two months to become proficient."

"Mhm," Ye Mingke scratched his head, a little sly and a little shy. "Yes. The night before the ghost appeared, I still couldn’t do it well. When the time drew near and you hadn’t awakened, the pressure made me learn faster."

"That’s not just faster—that’s cheating," Ying Kui grumbled, his voice oddly endearing.

Under the immense pressure of Sword Nine’s unconsciousness, Ye Mingke combined the fine control he learned chopping wood, the perception from blind chess, and the Wave-Stepping Art Sword Nine taught him, making a sudden breakthrough.

His natural talent was high, and Sword Uncle and Aunt Dragon had built a strong foundation for him. To him, the Wave-Stepping Art was never difficult.

Being able to take seven steps, he was already not far from walking on waves.

"Three or four days to master the Wave-Stepping Art? Fine, but even so, how did you use my sword to slay the ghost? And you weren’t badly affected by its backlash."

Sword Nine gazed at Ye Mingke, still puzzled.

"And there’s the heart of the matter," Ye Mingke said excitedly, striking his right fist into his left palm.

"Your sword is truly remarkable—especially suited to me. I always wondered why I was so drawn to your sword..."

"We’re a perfect match. Not just a match—it's like we met too late, far too late! If only I had found it sooner..."

Ye Mingke’s eyes brimmed with tears as he remembered something sorrowful, reaching shakily for the cold sword on the table.

His expression was so vivid, his hand so mischievous, that the usually aloof sword recoiled in fright, leaping with a bang into Sword Nine’s arms as if a shy maiden terrified of being molested or stolen away.