Volume Two: The Mortal Realm Chapter Sixty-Seven: Illuminating the Branch with a Single Leaf

“We need to hurry. We used so much spiritual energy this time—if we encounter another ghost, we might not leave this place alive.” Ye Mingke saw that Jian Jiu and Song Mingyu were both emotionally unsettled, so he stepped forward and gently reminded them.

Jian Jiu nodded, his gaze falling on Li Guifan lying on the ground. “He dared to make his move so suddenly—he must have confirmed that the end of the Misty Sea is close by, and he’s likely already left once himself. We should be near the boundary of the Misty Sea.”

“I thought so too. That’s why I had you all use your spiritual energy right from the start. As long as we leave the Misty Sea, the ghosts won’t be able to follow us,” Ye Mingke agreed, nodding.

“Then… let’s go.” Jian Jiu waved his right hand lightly, and seven spiritual swords quivered as they withdrew from the motionless Li Guifan, returning to Jian Jiu’s side.

Jian Jiu then walked over to the unconscious Ying Kui and the other men, checking their conditions again himself.

Song Mingyu had already given the men some healing medicines, so their breathing had stabilized considerably. But when Jian Jiu examined Ying Kui, his brows furrowed—the situation was not optimistic.

Li Guifan’s sudden sword energy, hidden within the mist, had struck unexpectedly, and at that moment Ying Kui had not protected himself with spiritual power. It was only thanks to Ye Mingke’s push that he survived, but the prospects were grim.

We must move faster, Jian Jiu thought.

He took out the pouch that had once failed to capture the vengeful ghost, and placed them all inside.

Turning around, he saw Ye Mingke facing the surging sea, carving words into a rock with a dagger, each stroke focused and sorrowful.

The names he carved were Fang Si and Zhao Yuan.

Below, he added: “Eternal rest in this sea.”

Jian Jiu silently walked over, standing beside him.

Ye Mingke’s face was pale and haggard, his dim eyes fixed on the misty sea before them. He spoke softly. “These waves are too fierce and fast.”

“So fast that I couldn’t save them, so fast that… I couldn’t even find their bodies—they simply died and vanished.”

“I once thought I could be like an elder I admired, a man of his word. I promised to take them home, but I failed entirely.”

He lowered his head, recalling he had once promised a girl he would visit her after the first new rain, but in the end he could not even find her.

A promise is but a sentence, weightless, so easy to utter. Even if you are sincere both in making and carrying out that promise, there are many things in this world that no matter how hard you try, you simply cannot accomplish.

“Being true to your word doesn’t mean risking everything for every promise. It also means not making promises lightly.” Jian Jiu turned toward Ye Mingke, his tone calm.

“You are just a mortal, walking through the treacherous Misty Sea. You should never have promised to guide others out—you lack the ability. Doing so only exhausts you and endangers those who trust your promise.”

Ye Mingke was silent.

“I understand,” he said, nodding and lifting his gaze to Jian Jiu, heartfelt. “Thank you for your wisdom.”

“No need… for thanks,” Jian Jiu replied, tilting his head and returning his gaze. His answer stumbled awkwardly, clearly unused to such pleasantries.

Ye Mingke noticed and laughed, clapping his shoulder. Jian Jiu was much taller, so he had to reach up, but the gesture was practiced, reminiscent of how he used to pat the tall Tao Yao.

“I said thanks, that’s enough. Let’s go—it’s time we left this cursed place.”

He smiled at Jian Jiu, whose face remained cold but whose lowered eyelids held traces of amusement.

The two turned together toward Song Mingyu.

Yes, after such a long struggle, they were finally about to leave this haunted place.

Jian Jiu led Ye Mingke and Song Mingyu, preparing to fly on their swords. Song Mingyu glanced back at Li Guifan, now lifeless on the ground, hesitating as she looked at Jian Jiu, her misty eyes filled with reluctance.

“We’re just leaving him?” she asked.

Ye Mingke saw her expression and knew what she was thinking. He didn’t express an opinion directly, but his tone was somewhat cold. “We have innocent bodies left behind in the sea, and no time to search for them. Time is running short.”

Jian Jiu also glanced back at Li Guifan, his expression subtle and complex. He didn’t examine the body closely, lost in thought.

“Let it be. As cultivators, we are meant to transcend flesh and bone.”

He withdrew his gaze and led Ye Mingke, soaring into the air on his sword. Song Mingyu said nothing more, following on her sword.

Their sword light cut through the vast mist, crossing the endless sea.

Ye Mingke stood on Jian Jiu’s flying sword—for him, this was only the second time he’d flown, the first being on Da Bai’s palm.

But standing on the sword for the first time, he felt little fear, quickly adapting, marveling at the scenery flashing past below.

He crouched cautiously on the sword, then, imitating Jian Jiu, sat cross-legged.

Jian Jiu was thoughtful, knowing this was Ye Mingke’s first time riding a sword, so he offered him the “Giant Gate,” a sword shaped like half a door, stable and comfortable.

Mist billowed around, and Ye Mingke gazed curiously at the islands drifting beneath the dense fog.

White clouds drifted, swords flying thousands of miles across rivers and mountains.

Is this what immortals see?

Yet, from this height, the scenery was monotonous, quickly becoming dull.

Sitting on the sword, Ye Mingke’s initial excitement faded, and he turned to Jian Jiu for conversation.

“You might not believe it, but I’ve flown many times before.”

“But only in dreams.”

He blinked and smiled; in Da Bai’s stories of sword immortals and sword warriors, the high-flying swordsman was always his favorite, and so he dreamed of it.

Jian Jiu sat silently, giving no response, lost in thought.

Noticing this, Ye Mingke asked, “What’s wrong? Still thinking about Li Guifan?”

“Yes,” Jian Jiu replied slowly. “I’m thinking—he made many mistakes, but the first was simply taking the Awakening Talisman.”

“But at the time he left, most of us, myself included, believed there was no hope, no way to fight the ghosts. In his mind, he abandoned a group of doomed people. All his actions were for survival.”

“He was selfish, but his sins were amplified and twisted by circumstance and fate. All his mistakes began with a single thought. If…”

Jian Jiu stopped, because speculation only brings sadness.

But Ye Mingke understood.

If, if there had not been that single thought, if the subsequent chain of events had not unfolded, would Li Guifan still be their kindly senior brother?

But there are no ‘ifs.’

“Those who err always encounter moments that magnify their mistakes. Sometimes you wonder why a small misstep becomes a burden too heavy to bear.”

“It’s because before that minor mistake, you’ve already committed countless small errors—that’s what makes you the person who errs.”

“Li Guifan’s single thought was the thread connecting all his knots.”

“There is no coincidence in this world.” Ye Mingke looked ahead into the swirling mist, his eyes resolute and cold.

This was the belief all disciples of the Celestial Calculation School held.

“A moment can birth three thousand thoughts—human hearts are unfathomable,” Jian Jiu said.

“Every thought has its thread,” Ye Mingke insisted, his gaze stubborn as an old man’s.

Only if the world is predictable can he find its patterns, choose his own fate, and not let fate decide for him.

He remained the bright-eyed child from the mountain town; he wanted to know his origin, choose his ending, live or die with clarity.

“Ye Mingke, Ye Mingke.”

Jian Jiu looked at his stubborn gaze and suddenly smiled, repeating his name.

“It’s a bold name.”

He met Ye Mingke’s bright eyes and said, “With a single leaf, you seek to know the world, but the world is vast—can a leaf growing on a branch comprehend it all?”

“Of course. Give me a few numbers, and I might construct the entire world,” Ye Mingke replied without hesitation, eyes bright.

“I too am confident, but you are more audacious than I,” Jian Jiu said after a pause, shaking his head with a self-deprecating smile.

“Someone like you cannot be an ordinary mortal.”

He looked at Ye Mingke again. “I know you don’t want to reveal your origins, so I won’t ask. But where will you go next? Can you tell me?”

“I…” Ye Mingke hesitated. The words his uncle had spoken years ago, about clues to his father, echoed in his mind.

“Find a person—Nine-Spirit Sage. He is the tallest in the mortal world, living in its highest place. That’s all I know.”

The tallest in the mortal world? Height, or cultivation?

If it’s cultivation, he should be famous. Ye Mingke thought, so he asked directly.

“Do you know the Nine-Spirit Sage?”

Jian Jiu considered, his face puzzled. “I’ve never heard of him, but I’m lazy about remembering names. Mingyu, have you heard of him?”

He turned to Song Mingyu, who was also riding her sword. She shook her head, indicating she hadn’t heard the name.

“Who is this person? Any other details? Just a courtesy title—it’s hard to know who it refers to,” Song Mingyu asked curiously.

“I want to find him. Someone told me he is the highest person in this world.”